Lisa Niver's Blog: We Said Go Travel, page 372

The Value of Freedom in Malawi

When and where have I felt the most freedom in my life so far?

I thought long and hard about the answer to this question. Was it while trying to outrace a thunderstorm in Lesotho, galloping along a ridge below building towers of storm clouds? Was it finally catching my first wave after a long battle with my surfboard on a Portuguese beach? Or is it sitting in my favourite spot on the French seaside, looking for the meaning of life in the sound of the waves?

These moments all made the short-list, but I have chosen instead to focus on my time in Malawi, because I feel that this is when I became acutely conscious of the variety of ways that freedom can be experienced.

When I left the bustling streets of London for a rural Malawian village, the freedom I felt came initially from the space. Space to breathe clean, fresh air and let the wind blow my hair wildly around my shoulders. Wide-open spaces in which to run and jump and spin, arms thrown out as wide as I wished and no one to judge me for it.

There was freedom to be found in the power of my legs propelling me forward as I flew down bumpy red dirt roads on my bicycle, keeping pace with birds and butterflies. It was found in stumbling upon an unexpected panoramic view and letting the unreal beauty of the scene wash over me. It was in the sun-dappled road as afternoon light filtered green through the treetops, and in the jolt of surprise when a monkey suddenly ran into my path! Freedom washed over me when collapsing breathless and fully clothed into the lake to seek relief from the midday heat. Floating on my back and staring at the blue sky, I could feel the tension and the claustrophobia of the city melting away.

As time passed however, Malawi taught me that there are many ways of experiencing freedom apart from these idyllic moments of perfection.

Next came the freedom of innovation and improvisation. When I could not find the ingredients for my favorite meals, I learned that recipes are only guides, and I found the confidence to experiment with what I did have. When the luxuries to which I was accustomed were no longer available to me, what initially felt like a limitation quickly turned to a feeling of liberation.

Then there was the freedom that came with the realisation of what I needed, and what I could live without. When there was no internet or electricity, I realised that in fact they are not as necessary as I had previously thought. I was able to discover what were the really important elements in my life, and was able to let go of some of the technological dependencies to which I had become accustomed.

Finally, and I think, most importantly, I became aware of a freedom that goes beyond the rush of exhilaration that comes from a moment of pure joy. I started to notice the level of freedom that I had in relation to those around me – the blessing that is the ability to travel, the luxury of having that little bit of extra money in my pocket and the ability to choose to stay in Malawi, or, eventually, to choose to leave.

It is for this reason that Malawi is the place in which I feel the most freedom. In a place where this luxury cannot be taken for granted, I am constantly reminded of the value of choice.

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

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Nigeria: A Place To Feel Free

With or without common sense is everybody vying for their freedom, in fact, every living want to gain independence either in collective or lonely. Apart from seeking independence by either collectively or singly, they also want it in any form or place they are likely to find it. Feeling conscripted is when they fail to sense their freedom.

Independence is so paramount to people that people wish to gain it at every moment it comes to their mind. I do not know whether others think of their setting, that is, where they are living as what is hindering their independence, but I can say it, that I am a cautious person about the settings. Citing who is suppose to work in a setting different from his/her present setting due to the nature of his/her thought far beyond his/her present country and thereby hindering his/her success and continue to live without freedom.

Consequently, when someone is unable to succeed, definitely, he/she will have to depend on others to earn living. This will be depriving him/her of the independence desired by all. The self-awareness creative thinking of travelling to a setting where he/she is ardently needed is very essential for gaining independence.

In addition, if one has ever gone to another state to spend holiday, will be able to know what it is to travel. It feels good as it always feel to have independence by having fun where you are under your own total control. Anyway, you are your boss and guidance as it is your choosing place to feel free from any kind of distress from any form of control for at least a time being.

Nothing is like independence, a state where you have the right to your own opinion. There is a popular idiom that a “beggar can not be a chooser”. It is good to have opinion and the inherently pleasure of having the right to espouse it and defend. This is a kind of independence but can someone under conscription have opinion? Obviously, that is a big NO. Many will gain independence by living where they will be free from this conscription. The conscription in this sense means; living under others control. Some will need to travel to a place that is suitable for them to earn living and be respected, since everyone has the right to respect to dignity and worth.

Many are yet to be aware of the word “fact”. A fact stand alone and someone have to be a Fact if not otherwise, a Fallacy. It needs to be more of the two concepts; Fact and Fallacy. A fact is a statement that stands alone regardless of who espouses it and posterity will judge. Whereas, a fallacy is a statement that can not stand alone, it falls all the time it is attempted to be raises, and posterity will judge as well. Therefore, someone who is a Fact will stand alone, living under his/her ultimate control and this does not mean lacking social network. In a nutshell, a Fact is an independent being.

Furthermore, to be a fact in most cases required to move from where you are not recognized and not in demand, to where you are resourceful and much respected for value construed in you. Some are yet to recognize this hypothesis as they give less importance to it.

When Chinua Achebe said “you will have what is good for you and I will have what is good for me. Let the kite perch and let the eagle perch too. If one say no to other let the wing break”. My perspective on this was that, he was trying to say that the way to gain independence is different and we all have the right to it but his word “what is good for me and what is good for you” is trying to quote that we all got what we deserve due to the way we react to way we want or chose to get our independence. If you chose to get your independence by awful and awkward way that is your way and will get what you deserve. However, if you think perfectly and sought for alternative by considering the factors that could make you to gain your independence and be free, then that is your way and you will get what you deserve and noticeably, nobody can stop you from achieving freedom. The word “let the wing break” have to be looked at with bird-eyes view, because we can not abdicate to parents view. Therefore, if you want to get independence you have to “perch”, that is, travel to where to get to your highest point and independence. You will then recite:

It’s time to spread the news abroad,

That you are well prepared,

To be freed.

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Traveling Solo in the USA

I admit, deciding to travel to New York by myself was an act of spontaneity but nevertheless, it was one of the best decisions I had ever made.

Because I booked my flights far in advance, I wondered for some time if I would actually end up going by myself or whether one of my friends would end up tagging along. Around the ‘100 Days to Go’ mark, it kicked in and I realised that I was definitely going by myself. Some of my friends and family were surprised when I told them I was going it alone, ‘are you sure?’ popped up a few times. But really, it had been dream of mine to visit New York and I wasn’t going to let that slip away just because no one could go with me.

The subject of female solo travel brings up multiple opinions however, my view is that we really shouldn’t have to feel restricted in any way. Yes, there are some countries that people may be hesitant towards but there is still a world full of destinations, ready to explore.

Before my trip, I did a whole heap of research about where I would be staying, the layout of the city, views on getting around as well as reading suggestions by locals. This preparation definitely made the trip easy-going and I felt incredibly comfortable arriving in New York, well, with the exception of the first 3 hours or so as my luggage went missing. Stepped off the plane, first time to New York, first solo trip and my luggage was nowhere to be found. Those who know me, losing my luggage is a big fear of mine but it’s crazy how much you learn about yourself when faced with a challenging situation. I had no one else to depend on. In a sense, it wasn’t an overly bad start to the trip as I proved to myself that I am stronger than I imagined.

I also read a lot of posts by other solo female travellers before jet setting half way around the world and was enlightened by their views and experiences.

One of the best parts of traveling by myself was the freedom. I had a tour planned one afternoon but decided in the morning I didn’t want to partake, I went to the M&M store at midnight because I had crazy chocolate cravings and spent an hour at Top of the Rock admiring the Empire State Building and city lights at night, simply because I had the freedom to do so. Some people like to play on the whole ‘Eat, Pray, Love’ journey but I really believe traveling solo, especially for us ladies, can be life-changing. For the first time I had found peace and comfort within myself.

Traveling solo may not be for everyone. You might miss the idea of sharing the experiences with other people, there were moments during my trip where I had, but I think there is a great deal missed not traveling solo at least once. It can be quite an inspiring and magical experience.

About the Author: I have a passion for traveling and exploration, finding a great deal of fulfilment in experiencing different cultures and cities through food, architecture and performing arts. I am a self-confessed foodie and consider myself a dreamer. My adventures are documented on my blog, Wandering Mason.

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

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On the road to Phonsavan, Laos

There is a freedom to the road rushing past the window, a joy in those inbetween places. Ragged towns cling desperately to roads between more lauded cities, throwing out a tendril of stalls to draw decadent travellers in. Hidden valleys sneak behind the other sides of mountains, where the road hurries round to the prettier, buffed up postcard shot. The places you see but will never be, glimpsed out of the corner of your eye but lodging there. A split second of beauty that was placed there just for you. Laos winks at you as you rush past.

That old saying on journeys and destinations, endowing many a fridge door with stuck-on philosophy, is never allowed to apply to sitting staring through glass. This is the so-called wasted time on unloved bus journeys. Especially here on the road to Phonsavan where smiling drivers cram ever more people, then even more cargo onto the tiny seats made for travellers with hardy spirits and tiny limbs. Another box of fish between you? One more bag of rice under your seat? Of course. Asia abhors a vacuum.

Perhaps we have seen too many melancholy characters staring wistfully out of prop windows, tracing rain machine sobs down the glass, understanding their own trope in straight to DVD movies. We do not believe that there can be joy behind the pane, a pun that luckily does not need to be excused as I sit surrounded by silent Laos travellers, between the crates of supplies for a needy town. I accidentally touch knees with the unknown companion next to me. A smile of understanding with the apology.

For me though this is no glass prison, it is my endless lookout. This is the thrill of snap encounters, the spaces between the lines in the travel guides. Endless momentum, always moving on to the next adventure. Joyous movement, carrying memories in your heart, not wistful but looking onwards. I am not crammed in by the boxes around me, they make a cocoon where I can be wherever I want to be.

Behind the gentle glass I am free to let my mind wander. I let the rolling ranks of hills, the alien trees and inexplicable shapes of rock wash over me, provoking the urge to write. I am inspired by their presence but can never name them. They do not need the tired spiel of a tour guide to justify their existence. By the furthest peaks, I learned the landscape is dug out every few paces with old craters. They shield the Western world from our shame. Laos blighted by the secret war, that ended long ago but still bites at this country’s children with cruel metal jokes left buried in fields. No wonder the landscape is silent, defiant, leaving me to make up my own mind.

There is no greater freedom than time. This is the gift that Laos hands me as I sit with no concern just a reassuring numbness. No meetings to run to, no quicker way to jump to the next stop. Just sit and enjoy the thoughts coming and going wherever they please, with the world flashing by. Words rise up and fly out from me. Not clattering against the glass as wily blackbirds did on Gran’s patio doors, crashing in for a cushy week knowing she couldn’t help but nurse them back to health. Instead, free to roam to the view through the window or the views passed before. My words soar in the knowledge we are on our way somewhere, anywhere, but as the fridge door says, we have already arrived.

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

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Coast to Coast Sea to Sea in the UK

Opening the door at St Bees, I wondered what lay ahead, the future unknown. We were about to walk across England, from one side to the other. Coast to coast.

On the shore, we dipped our toes in a slate-grey Irish Sea and collected smooth round pebbles to carry across our island. My children ran down steep inclines, only stopping to skim stones across a narrow inlet. Already we felt something slip away. A loosening.

Turning inland, shafts of light fell like daggers through the pines of Ennerdale Forest. Beyond the Lake Fells rose up, bleak, grey lumps under scuttling cloud.

The rising hill, the endless slope, the sheer climb: I took great gulps of breath as we climbed Loft Beck, legs as heavy as iron. We reached the sky and the boys careered across the moor, whirling with the wind, light as kites. I watched them on the skyline racing the clouds. And smiled.

From Loft Beck the land fell away to the sea. We could see the route we had travelled. We’d been invisible dots on this sweeping landscape, moving across the days like ants on the earth. Now, I felt connected to the rhythms of my ancestors, to the land that ground me and the time that bound me. You see the world differently when your pace has been slowed right down.

Over the days we followed the sun, the wind and the driving splinters of rain across the landscape. By Grasmere there was water everywhere: above our heads, below our feet, rushing down the mountainsides in every direction towards us.

Still we walked on. Above Patterdale, the Fells stretched out like ripples on the horizon, each range an echo of the one before, until the last was just a faint smudge on the skyline. Here, there was a dark beauty and a threatening wind. With relief we dropped off the mountains to Haweswater.

“Taking the children for a walk?” A walker called out to us, looking uncannily like Mr Miyagi from the Karate Kid.

“Just across England,” I replied on cue.

“What a wonderful gift to give your children.”

They are fitter and faster than me,” I laughed.

“Oh, yes. They have health, youth and time. Treasure these gifts,” he advised solemnly.

At last we’d crossed the Vale of Mowbray and reached the Cleveland hills. Early morning and the sun was already hot as we climbed onto the ridge. We plunged into cool, dark pine-scented woods and emerged blinking in the sunlight. A moon still hung palely in a powder-blue sky.

Happiness crept in and curled up beside me.

My body was now in rhythm with the ground I was walking on. I could feel the Earth breathing beneath my feet; sensed it spinning in space. Each day I watched the sun rise in the east and fall in the west. The movement of time, the days and the seasons was ever present: the morning dew on my boots; later the crackle of dried grasses underfoot; an arrow of birds heading south; pollen drifting across my vision; my boys growing up in front of me.

Then at last the North Sea. We were marching on over the last rise and onto a wide dismantled railway, twisting and cutting a long five miles over the moors. I could smell the sea now; hear it whisper to us. Robin Hood’s Bay was beckoning. We turned a corner to see the red-topped cottages tumbling into the ocean.

While we shed our rucksacks on the beach, my youngest set his flat pebble free, fitted with straw and leaf to sail across the North Sea.

The burden of life, we’d shed a long time ago, somewhere along the road..

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

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Bliss in the USA

There is a place called Winter Park, Colorado that is aptly named because it is a giant playground made of snow in the winter. However, in the summer, I believe it should be renamed Bliss because that is the feeling I have whenever I am there.

While we have been there in the winter, and enjoyed it immensely, we have chosen it as our summer destination this year. My husband is a teacher, and I am a stay-at-home mom, so we are lucky to have a lot of time in the summer to spend in a new place and make it our home for a month.

Our trip started last winter when we were researching places to go that we could afford, and would actually want to go. The places on our list were the Upper Peninsula in Michigan, Door County in Wisconsin, and Bend, Oregon, as well as Winter Park. Last summer we spent a couple of days in Winter Park, and with that experience in mind, our final choice became Colorado.

There is such a freedom in being able to pack up a vehicle and enter into a month long adventure, knowing that the place you are going has everything you want, need, and enjoy. We were able to bring the parts of our lives out here that we needed for the month, while leaving behind the things that could wait. I have a lot of volunteer obligations, but given enough notice, I am able to pass those on to others for the month, or they can simply be put on hold.

That is the allure for my husband and me. My children, ages four and eight, look forward to the pool that comes with the condo we rent, the giant bike park a short riding distance from our place, and having mom and dad all to themselves for a month.

Winter Park/Bliss has so much to offer for free in the summer. I filled out a calendar with all of the events and not a day was untouched by my pen. Every day we are finding more things to add. There are not two, but three free days of yoga a week! These are just the events offered by the local chamber of commerce and the Winter Park Resort.

There is so much more than that! The extensive bike trail system is free! There is everything from the paved Fraser River Trail that we can take our bike trailer on easily to reach just about everything! Then there are the famous mountain bike trails in this Mountain Bike Capital USA that my husband and I enjoy. These trails are also perfect for hiking and wildlife viewing. While riding on a dirt trail next to the Fraser River, my son and I saw an Osprey flying overhead looking for fish in the many ponds available for fishing!

Our days are free from restraints and we can pick and choose from any of the outdoor activities we want to that day, and if we don’t get to it because we are busy enjoying the beauty of the mountains, there is always tomorrow.

Part of the freedom we feel from this place is being able to be here for so long that we feel like we are locals. The other part is simply because it’s Winter Park. The mountain air, inspiring views, and endless amount of activities to take part in every day, allow for a leisurely stay and a schedule that is completely up to our moods for the day. Four year old wants to go swimming, no problem! I’ll take the eight year old to the bike park! Happy summer!

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

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A walk to Lot’s Wife Ponds in the Atlantic Ocean.

A walk to Lot’s Wife Ponds

The looming parasitic volcanoes of Lot and Lot’s Wife dominate the views. These natural monuments tower out of Sandy Bay National Park on St Helena Island. St Helena was forged out of the igneous factories of the mid-Atlantic ridge some 14 million years ago. Since that time it has become fixed on a collision course with South-West Africa.

They say St Helena is an emerald set in bronze. The bronze being a sad reminder of what 500 years of human intervention can do. This landscape would once have been clothed in endemic woodlands, from the Green Heartland down to the Coastal Zone. Despite this walking from Sandy Bay, over the steep ridges and ravines, to Lot’s Wife’s Ponds is a wonderful experience.

The landscape has cultivated a cultural significance that has stretched through the generations to the modern day. On the sharp ridges beneath Lot’s Wife masked boobies nest on hastily gathered stones. Around the nest site streaks of faeces radiate out appearing to be the white hot flames escaping from a sun. From here the island rises steeply to the Peaks National Park where the world’s rarest trees cling on to existence in the same way they cling to the vertigo inducing slopes.

The path to the ponds is one of the 21 Post Box Walks that capture the wonderful scenery and unique biota of this little isolated island. On the way you can see tiny French grass, yellow-flowered boneseed and the succulent babies’ toes. The Post Box walks are the manageable trails of the island, the ones that take more courage have become known as Death Walks giving walkers a constant reminder of their fate should they lose their footing.

After an hours walk you reach the Post Box containing a comment book and stamp for the keen collector. Beyond the Post Box a steep, and crumbling, descent is aided by a rope tied to a large boulder. This is the final section that takes you to the ponds themselves. Lot’s Wife Ponds have been created on the lee side of Black Rocks, thin sills of stone that break some of the energy from the sea. These natural sea ponds glisten like Blue Topaz.

In calm weather these ponds are good for swimming and snorkelling. When the southerly swells sweep in waves crash over the rocks with alarming ferocity turning the ponds into a rush of turbulence. Sitting here on such days and watching crashes of sea rise a hundred foot into the air is humbling. Especially so when you consider that Napoleon and Darwin may have sat on the same rock, and watched the same seas crash in and out.

Beyond the ponds Speery Island rises like a breaching albino whale, frozen still. The grey-white façade of this island is years of bird guano built up from tropic birds, petrels, boobies, noddies and terns. Johnny Hern once told me, ‘we used to climb Speery Island to collect guano for fertiliser and we’d take the eggs for food. Then we’d jump in from the ledge.’ The ledge is nearly fifty foot high.

I can sit here all day and not see another person, the oscillations of the sea touching the shores from Manati Bay to South West Point. And Humpback whales calve here. They arrive in late winter and remain till spring. They gather on the southern shores of the island. I’ve seen them from here twice. Leeroy, one of the fishermen, has even seen them give birth, ‘the sea turned red and you could hear her.’ He described the sound as a deep moan, perhaps a longing for the pain to wane and motherhood to begin.

On the way back, again without another person in sight, I stop at the fossil bird bones. These are reminders of the now extinct birds that were once endemic here; the ground hoopoe, the two species of petrel and a cuckoo. The walk back follows the same route but this time the views draw towards Sandy Barn, a huge lump of layered volcanic deposits. In the late sun it takes on the colour of icing and the layers make it appear as a monstrous cake straight from Gullivers Travels.

About the Author: David Higgins is a conservationist on St Helena Island. His job is to write the plans for 14 National Conservation Areas including National Parks, Nature Reserves and Important Wirebird Areas. He plans to stay on St Helena as long as the St Helenian people will have him.

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

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A home away from Home in Nigeria

A HOME AWAY FROM HOME

INTRODUCTION

As a young chap in his prime, I have always longed for freedom, freedom in terms of a situation where I can conveniently unleash and hurl my talents. Often time when I find myself within the four walls of our home I seem not to feel free. Ideas and inspirational flows seem to be on a slow and steady note. At home I struggle hard to unleash my talents and try to make the most of them with the inspiration I get so far at home bearing in mind that I can still do better if I find myself in my own place of freedom. Then I hoped to see myself performing better as soon as gain admission into a tertiary institution

Alas! I gain admission into the university towards the end of 2013 around October that was the university of Ilorin, in Kwara state Nigeria, my mindset then changed in anticipation to nurturing my freedom and independence in the university community in such a way that it will culminate into scaling through hurdles likewise soaring high and higher both in the adventures of life and likewise in my academic pursuit.

As a fresher, it took a while to adapt to life in the university community say like about a month and half this is what I tagged as “the dilemma of a fresher”. After get used to the new environment I then thought of relaxing, feeling free and being brave to improve myself, make giant strides and bring out the best in me.

MY SCHOOL: A PLACE THAT ALLOWS ME TO FEEL FREE

My school is University of Ilorin given a striking accolade as “the Better by Far University” It was established by a decree of the Federal Military Government in 1975 and is a federal government owned tertiary institution of education. The University of Ilorin is located in the ancient city of Ilorin, about 500 kilometres from Abuja the Federal capital likewise the country’s administrative capital.. Ilorin, the Capital of Kwara State, is strategically located at the geographical and cultural confluence of the North and South.

 

In school I discovered that my talents and potentials are much more that I used to think they were back at home. When I got to the school library, the level of the inspiration I get is just very laudable. Avalanche of ideas keep running through my mind most of which has favoured me not only in my academics but as well as co-curricular activities. Here are some of what areas I have put in my best and had potently turned into landmark achievements.

ENTREPRENEURSHIP

Like every other student in this part of the world, the is often a problem of finance this is predicated on the need of money to pay school fees, buy textbooks and other study materials, take good meals, secure a decent accommodation, board cabs to and fro the campus, procure decent attires, type, print, photocopy and spiral bind assignments. There is therefore the need for every student to embark on a voyage of deliberate and concerted self development: nurturing of the head, training of the hand and building of the mind. The foregoing position is what orchestrated my entrepreneurship skill, I started a small scale printing business on campus and this has to a large extent made me financially free!

CONCLUSION

These and much more are my independence testimony and freedom acts. Indeed I can then say that “Freedom creates prosperity; it unleashes human talent, invention and innovation creating wealth where none existed before”.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Abdulazeez Muh’d Bashir is a a young, gentle and cool headed, Nigerian who takes solace in writing, entrepreneurship and public speaking. I am undergraduate of law in the university of Ilorin. I like reading and travelling.

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Familiar Pain in Thailand

The buzzing of vibrating metal needles characterizes the sound of a tattoo parlor. The noise is frightening, exciting, nerve-racking, and chilling, like the cold leather benches in tattoo shops that refuse to warm and comfort the body. A tattoo would not be what it is if it felt comfortable, yet comfortable was how I felt in the rundown tattoo shop in Thailand two years ago. The pain, while prominent, was miniscule compared to the pride and freedom washing through me. This sense of liberation was not foreign because I felt this way five years prior when I received my first tattoo, which commemorated the passing of my aunt, who was a world record-holding power-lifter. The elation from my first tattoo ignited a burning desire to get inked again.

I got tattooed on my final day in Thailand in the city of Chiang Mai. My family friend, Craig, who I was visiting, drove me through the chaotically ordered traffic to the dusty outskirts of the city. Cars, mopeds, and scooters with three or four people piled on them effortlessly created five lanes out of two, honking as a cautionary action. Upon arriving at the tattoo shop, it reminded me of a seedy hole-in-the-wall restaurant. Mangy dogs with tumors, intimidating roosters, and the sparsely-toothed old woman selling fish from a small aquarium surrounded the entrance. I knew that the tattoo, an eight pointed, ancient Khmer design with Sanskrit letters in the center grid, would be professionally executed by this artist based on the photos of inked clients that hung around the shop. Unlike the air-conditioned, white-tiled tattoo shop where I got my first tattoo, the size and simplicity of this place was comforting. I felt free to be my true self and that this decision was not something to regret.

My heart raced and I rapidly flipped through the pages of tattoo books, while the artist finished a client behind a white shoji screen at the back of the shop. The yantra (symbols or diagrams that are believed to balance the mind or focus on spiritual concepts) design I desired had a protective meaning and was contingent, in theme, with my existing memorial tattoo. I was giddy with excitement and couldn’t wait to make this declarative, permanent addition to my body. The freeing state I relish in when receiving tattoo work comes from the ability to make such a solitary, long-lasting decision, and for the public statement of individuality that a tattoo is. My tattoos put personal, private aspects of my life on display in a public forum where I’m immune to what people think of them.

After finishing the client before me, the tattoo artist emerged from behind the shoji screen and called me over. He wore a dirty white T-shirt with holes on the shoulders, worn out leather sandals, and ink-stained jeans. For some reason, I found solace when I looked into his sun-damaged, smiley face. Although there was a language barrier, I immediately trusted this man to successfully execute a clean tattoo on my arm. A freeing calm came over me and my nerves subsided while the tattoo artist commenced a prayer to begin the tattoo. He grabbed the tattoo machine and dipped the needle in a small cap of black ink at his station. I closed my eyes and the artist began scraping the needle across my skin. The pain was familiar, but I willingly consented to it and it was liberating to know that I had the will power to go through the experience again.

The artist finished the tattoo in about twenty five minutes and pulled out a clear jar with a mysterious solution inside when he was done. He opened the jar, dipped his fingers in, and proceeded to spread the oily liquid over my tattoo as he performed a blessing. I looked over at the tattoo and it was clean and glossy underneath the fluorescent lamp at the artist’s station. He finished blessing my tattoo and allowed me to look at it in the mirror. The symmetry of that beautiful mandala gave me a sense of pride because this moment of freedom and independence would be forever with me, captured under my skin like an idea.

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

 

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Garden of the Gods, Illinois

To me freedom is a feeling of peace. To best find that peace in life, I must wander. Sometimes that means just sneaking away to my secret spot at my favorite park after a tough day at work for a few hours to just breathe in some fresh air and enjoy the scenery. But on weekends I enjoy taking day trips to get me by until my next vacation. My favorite destination within 100 miles of my home in southern Indiana is a hidden treasure in the neighboring state of Illinois located in the middle of Shawnee National Forest called Garden of the Gods.

It is a Saturday in early summer here in Indiana and the corn and soybeans are tall and green. I wake up early and pack a light lunch, fill my car up with gas and head west. As I pass through quaint little towns, the sun peeks through the puffy clouds and I notice the tension in my neck and shoulders begins to subside. After crossing the Indiana border into Illinois, I pass a hitchhiker. He reminds me of Forrest Gump on his run across the United States just because he “felt like running.” This man is very youthful though and has a long dark beard, aviator sunglasses and a camping backpack. He doesn’t stick his thumb out for a ride as I pass by either. I wonder if he is traveling to Garden of the Gods like me, but just has more time to get there. As I approach my destination, the terrain begins to change. Soybeans become wild flowers. Corn stalks become tall trees. And flat ground becomes rolling hills.

I arrive at the park and feel a rush of excitement overcome me. I’m about to experience a breathtaking view that many people will never see. I feel lucky. I remove my flip flops and slip on my hiking boots, grab a blanket and my lunch and begin to walk the quarter mile path leading to the lookout point. I pass an elderly gentleman on the trail on his way down dressed in suspenders. He looks like a farmer. He’s sweating and stops to catch his breath. As I pass him, he says to me “I think I almost bit off more than I could chew.” I respond “but you made it!” And with a grin from ear to ear he said “I did and it was worth it!”

I reach the summit and take in the breathtaking views. The vastness of the wilderness makes my hectic life back home feel like a million miles away. I take pictures. I hear the excitement in the voices of the other explorers I pass by who have never been here before. I see a man in a wheel chair and I’m reminded that you can do anything you want if you set your mind to it and want it badly enough. I take a little detour off the main trail and spread my blanket on a big flat rock covered by shade trees. I wonder how many people have sat here in this exact spot before me. I enjoy my lunch then grab my pen and paper from my bag and begin to jot down my thoughts and feelings in that moment. I’m at complete peace and close my eyes and drift off for a few minutes. I imagine the native Americans and early settlers who must have stumbled upon this area on their journeys. They surely thought it was a piece of heaven on earth like I do. It is a place that could only have been created by God, a beautiful rock garden with majestic views in the middle of nowhere.

I’m reminded of one of my favorite quotes, “Sometimes you find yourself in the middle of nowhere and sometimes the the middle of nowhere you find yourself.” -Unknown. And I realize that I don’t always need a plan. Sometimes I just need to let go, breathe, trust God and see where my journey takes me. I will always wonder where that hitchhiker was going that day. He may not have found the Garden of the Gods but I have a feeling he found his freedom too.

About the Author: Stacey Sloughfy was born in Western Kentucky and now resides in Southern Indiana. She is an aspiring writer and is also passionate about travel, concerts, animals, the environment and promoting positivity. Besides travel writing she maintains a blog website where she has recently started sharing biographies about people who aspire to make the world a better place. She also has nearly 20K followers on Twitter where she posts positive quotes and pictures daily.

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