Lisa Niver's Blog: We Said Go Travel, page 375

PRAYER: My Safe Haven in the Philippines

Take freedom away from an individual and everything else is priceless. Indeed, freedom comes with no price yet with high value.

History tells us that millions of lives have been sacrificed for freedom’s sake. Take the Philippines’ struggle against the Spaniards for an example. My forefathers, our then heroes, have fought for independence up until their last breath to finally become free from the chains and bludgeoning of the colonizers. Hence, even if freedom is of no price, it became essential to me and my fellow men for blood have been shed for it.

Freedom made us who we are today. It has allowed us to explore a myriad of opportunities as an autonomous man. It has encouraged us to practice and claim what are rightfully ours. On top of that, it has given us a name that we ought to protect and nurture.

Nowadays, having been able to acquire our self-determination, millions to billions of the country’s residents subject themselves to different acts of freedom. Most people tend to practice autonomy as a basic right and nurture it with apt care and great responsibility like a gift given to them. Some people try to engage with sharing their thoughts and speaking it up for others to hear and understand. While others indulge themselves to expressing their feelings towards the people they admire, love and care. Moreover, a few of them go around and take pleasure in traveling and sojourning around as single individuals.

As for my part, I perform my freedom in different ways. As a writer, I express my ideas freely through writing essays, poems and some in forms of song lyrics. As a person who loves to sing, I enjoy going to music lounges along with friends who share the same interest with me. Through this, I have learned to express how I feel and to let go of the hurt I sometimes keep within myself. On top of that, my most significant venture of freedom is when I go to a silent place and intently talk with someone I have not seen since time immemorial.

I’d say, praying is my ultimate means of freedom. Instead of enjoying scenic views when I go for long vacations, I prefer going to ancient churches here in the Philippines. I have traveled to the Bohol Province a year ago before it became a victim of the 7.2 magnitude earthquake. With that journey I was able to locate where most of my country’s old churches are built and had a proximate view of the symbolic features of our pasts.

Praying, like most pious individuals do, has been part of my daily routine not only in times of my travel adventures. As I wake up, before meals, at work, in times of trouble and difficulties and even during happy moments; I pray to God. It has given me the chance to connect with someone of higher power and to unite with my inner self. It has allowed me to liberally share my feelings, ideas, understanding and achievements without being ignored. Indeed, praying is my refuge from all dangers through out my days, a repository of my hopes and a vessel of my devotion.

I have always believed that God is omnipotent. That being said, I strongly hold in my heart the belief that He listens and understands me every time I converse with Him. I know that He never criticizes a person for his mistakes. Instead, He showers them love and affection. Even though He can not be seen, His undying love is manifested in the thousands of folds of blessings we receive each day. An example is the gift of life we benefit from everyday.

Furthermore, life has been so delightful to me since the time I started the good path with God. I pray not just for freedom per se but also as an act of reverence to the Almighty. With the line I have established with Him, I was able to reach unfathomable surfaces and unreachable horizons. Telephoning God in heaven is just like calling your best friend to share some adventures and unusual experiences. True as it may seem, my daily conversation with Him helped me a lot in all my struggles and pleasures in life.

Above all, this chosen endeavor has taught me that a prayer is the key to what we think is impossible. It lifts our hearts above the battles of life and gives us a glimpse of God’s resources which spell victory and hope. Hence, never cease praying.

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

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The Long Flight to Bangkok, Thailand

The Long Flight to Bangkok, Thailand

They say your twenties are your years of freedom. They say your twenties are the last shot you have. They are one last hopelessly dwindling opportunity to define who you are, and what you are, before the cold hands of reality take hold of your life. I’m not so sure about all that, but this much, I think, is true: the twenties—the decade that leads up to that invisible line dividing youthful energy and ambition, the freedom to wear sweatpants in public without shame, and age-appropriate penchants for Taco Bell with toddlers, mortgage payments, diet soft drinks, and fully receded hairlines—the twenties are by and large the time to find yourself.

I thought about this fatefully vague adage the entire 16 hours of my flight from Chicago to Hong Kong. At twenty-five, I was in the peak of my “find myself” years. Half of my friends were in graduate school or considering applying for graduate school and the other half either were ladder-climbing young professionals or had changed professions a dozen times already. We were all looking for ourselves, even if we didn’t know we were lost. My odyssey was taking me to a place I’d hardly even thought about until I signed up for a TEFL course on a whim: Thailand.

It was November, about a week before Thanksgiving. I was sitting cross-legged, with Haruki Murakami’s 1Q84 on my lap, and still trying to process the dramatic curve that events in my life had taken. I had resigned my own professional job at the start of June and spent the summer working for a running company (i.e. selling shoes, sports bras, GU, and stuff like that) and reading a lot of books. One night, while leafing through a Matsuo Basho book of travel sketches, I stopped on a line—“Do not seek to follow in the footsteps of the wise; seek what they sought.” The air was thick outside; it was the start of August, the dog days, when life comes to a standstill in Midwestern America. Even the birds had become languid, retreating to ponds and refusing to chirp in the sticky heat. In that delirious heat, I decided on a path, totally unsure of what I was doing, but feeling very liberated.

Now, I was almost there. The thought hadn’t escaped me. I was too groggy to think deeply, though, so I vacantly eyed the terminal. At 9 pm, the airport sort of hummed with activity, like a shopping mall shortly before closing time. Only a couple of flights were scheduled to depart in the coming hours. Not many people hung around the seats in the terminal. The two most popular spots were the smoking rooms and the single computer with Internet access, which had drawn a line the length of a fire hose. And so I was sitting, alone and oblivious, when a woman came up and sat next to me.

“Nice shoes,” she said, pointing at my pumpkin-colored New Balance Minimus. She was older, middle-aged. She had close-cropped hair and wore glasses. When I looked over, I saw her pointing at her feet with a smile spread across her face. She had on a pair of purple Minimus. “So where are you headed?”

We got to talking, and we talked for a while. She was on her way to Bhutan for a 6-week tour of the reclusive kingdom. She had only recently retired from her role as race director of a major American marathon. At first blush, it sounded like a dream job to me. So I asked her about it.

“Best job I’ve ever had,” she said, “and the worst, too. Not much time to do anything. That’s why I’m out here now, making up for lost time.”

She asked a lot about me. I gave her the most honest answers I could. Her daughter, she said, had just come back from teaching in Thailand. Living in the rural Northeast, she had become fluent in Thai. When she returned home, her fluency had helped to land her a job with an NGO that worked with Thai immigrants. Now, she was happier than ever and on an upward trend.

“You never know what’s going to happen in life. Isn’t that right,” said the rather sage woman in the hard-back seat next to me. “Well, it’s good you’re doing this. It’s going to be an amazing experience and you’ll never forget it.” And, with that, she wished me good luck. After we boarded the plane, I never saw her again.

No one ever tells you where or how you’re supposed to spend your years of freedom, or how much time you’ve got to do it. You’re just instructed not to waste them. The rest, they say, is up to you.

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 with knowing hendiadys. 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.

Within 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. Behind 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.

About the author: Matt Bundy is as former advertising Business Director taking a career break to travel through Asia and Australasia. It may be a steteotypical mid-life crisis but he is having the time of his life.

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

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Soothing Saudi Arabia

Soothing Saudi Arabia

I was only nine months old when the plane touched down. Cradled in the arms of my mother, welcoming myself to arguably the most conservative country in the world. A place where women cannot leave their house without Burqas*, shops have to close five times during the day for prayer, and unrelated men and women can’t hold hands in public. Can a thing as freedom exist in a place like that? I had yet to find out.

Having lived in the blistering heat of Saudi Arabia all your life, as a human being, it is still biologically impossible to adapt to the heat that takes over the country in summer. I, a student at a British school, often sought refuge from the sun. Oh, the sun – a great cause of annoyance, smelly sweat, and the frequent fly. Avoid the sun whenever possible. I was only twelve.Oh, how ignorant was I?

I had traveled to many places by the time I was 15 – UK, Spain, France, Italy, USA, Malaysia, Pakistan – but never had I really explored the hell I lived in. Saudi. It was the day after my 15th birthday, my dad decided to take a family trip to the outskirts of the Rub Al Khali* (the empty quarter). Surrounded by nothing but sand, no electricity, no good food, why would anyone even imagine a place like that let alone wanting to visit it? However, I agreed on going because, well, you only live once. And because my dad threatened to take away my PS3 if I didn’t. And so the journey had begun.

We left the house at around 12 AM hoping to catch the breathtaking dessert sunrise. A journey of five hours passed very quickly because… I slept throughout. As I opened my eyes to the purportedly hell I had promised myself to avoid my entire life, I witnessed the most magnificent sight that God had offered to mankind. Like a piece of heaven bestowed on earth just so people could know. Know how insignificant their worries are, how vast the earth actually is, and how nature has the capability to make you hate the things you love and love the things you hate. Twilight had taken over the dessert. It was a purple I cannot describe in contrast with the rich golden of the sand. I stepped out of the SUV ignoring anything mum, dad, or my sister were saying. I had found the place.

Our tent had already been set up. Everyone entered the tent, tired from the road trip, hoping to get some rest. Everyone but me. I sat right outside, my back against the wooden rod that supported the tent, my feet dug into the sand, just glazing into endless, beautifully carved dunes made of glimmering sand and the tiny specks of life far, far away. Only now do I come to realize that we might be the ones missing out – not the Bedouins. I now knew a place where I could seek refuge to from all the hustling of the world, all the daily stresses, where I could just come and…reflect.

The calm of the moment was disrupted by a high pitched sound. I looked up and saw what I had only seen in textbooks. A Golden Eagle. Flying into the horizon, such a prestigious creature, gliding in the air like it possessed the sky. It was everything I wanted to be in life.

My mind and my body were in comprehensive tranquility. This was my Nirvana.

*Burqa: A black dressing worn by females that covers them from head to toe revealing only the hands, eyes and feet.

*Rub Al-Khali: In the Southern part of Saudi Arabia. Largest sand dessert in the world.

About the Author: I am a 15 year old Pakistani living in Saudi Arabia. I study at the Bristish International school in year 10. Currently doing my O-levels, (GCSE’s). I just wrote the article to share a very unique experience in my life, hope you enjoy!

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

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Taking Delight in Paris, France’s Highlights

Taking Delight in Paris France’s Highlights

I have a confession to make. Strolling down the wide Parisian boulevards on an ultimate extended weekend escape during last year’s Easter holidays, I did not eat any meal at one of the many wonderful bistros the French capital is famous for. As it behooves a true sweet tooth I could not resist the many sweet temptations within reach and indulged in a ‘scandalicious’ sugar feast instead with visits to Paris’ countless pâtisseries and chocolateries.

The genteel cordiality of the Parisians is unparalleled. Accompanied by a gracious smile, “Bonjour, Madame!” was the very first sound I heard while I was warmly welcomed each time I entered an establishment. After admiring many delicacies and making a careful choice at several boutiques, my delicious purchases were wrapped up meticulously, and soon I was walking down Paris’ street labyrinth with bags full of sweet goodness’s. With great expectations I eagerly unpacked the bags in my spacious room-with-a-view at the magnificent hotel Concorde Opera Paris. I was not disappointed. I had found the best fresh mint chocolates at exclusive little chocolate factory Le Chocolat Alain Ducasse, homemade vanilla-bergamot marshmallows at Pain de Sucre, scrumptious pistachio specialties at La Pistacherie, perfect chocolate éclairs at Un Dimanche à Paris, crispy vanilla croissants at Cafe Pouchkine, an exquisite mango-passion fruit tart at Des Gateaux et du Pain, a fragrant rose-raspberry tart at Ladurée, heavenly macarons at Pierre Hermé, exclusively designed violet pastry at Carl Marletti, candied chili peppers and sugar-coated rose petals at sweetshop Le Bonbon au Palais … in short, too much deliciousness to mention.

During my second evening I decided to walk up north to the Montmartre district in a – probably vain – attempt to burn up the many calories of the sweet treats I had digested the day before. I climbed the stairs to the Sacré-Coeur, a famous cathedral located on a hill in the middle of the upper district. A magnificent view of Paris unfolded itself right in front of me. The City of Light did justice to its name; in the distance I saw the Eiffel Tower illuminate the beautiful night with numerous sparkling lights. A little further on the horizon to the west I noticed a tall skyscraper and I became intrigued. The next afternoon I stood on the highest point of this tower: the Tour Montparnasse. In less than a minute I reached the 56th floor of the building at a height of 200 m. with Europe’s fastest elevator. There I took up the last few stairs that led to an open-air roof terrace for an incredible 360º panoramic view over Paris.

In between the stops at Paris’ sweet spots and high rise, I paid a visit to various museums. Unexpectedly, I bumped into another independent lady three times along the way: the Statue of Liberty. In miniature, she held her torch up high in both the Musée d’ Orsay and the Musée des Arts et Métiers and at night I saw her watch over the city amidst the Seine at her own little private island Île aux Cygnes. Before hurrying off to catch my plane back to Amsterdam after three wonderful days, I made my way to one more must-visit place: the romantic Musée Rodin. Enjoying a final moment of Parisian ‘joie de vivre’, I joined the legendary The Thinker statue in the museum garden and dreamed away under the sun… taking delight in my memories of Paris’ sweet highlights.

About the Author:

Wasima Khan is a PhD candidate in Corporate Law at Erasmus University Rotterdam. One of her favorite quotes comes from Mark Twain: “Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.” Always ready for new adventures, she loves travelling over the world.

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

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Personal Liberation in Europe

Personal liberation in Europe

Personal freedom to me is an awareness that we are able to live and travel freely, and in that awareness also realize that there are a lot of people who are not able to leave or return to their homes and country for even a short while, or not at all. Fortunately, over the years I have been free to travel to places that have made me feel very much alive;

Standing in a yellow field near Arles, France in the heat of an early summer day thinking that maybe Van Gogh may have sat in the same spot with palette and brush applying his wonderful swirling strokes to a canvas.

Following a priest through the cool marble cloisters of Frejus cathedral in France on a hot, still afternoon, and seeing the love and delight on his face as he bent down to stroke the ears of his pet mother cat and her kittens nestled in a basket by the door.

Walking on the beach in Algeciras, Spain looking out at the Rock of Gibraltar silhouetted by the setting sun, accompanied by a friendly local mutt as he picked his way through the shallows.

Marveling and being a part of a magical sunset while sitting at the base of Poseidon’s Temple at Cape Sounion in Greece,

Climbing Lycabettus Hill in Athens and being rewarded with a magnificent view of the Acropolis.

Sitting amongst the ruins at Mycenae, Greece, listening to the wind carrying the tinkling of bells from the goatherd below as it blew through the ancient stone walls.

People watching outside the Blue Mosque in Istanbul and enjoying a freshly boiled cob of corn from a street vendor as the call to prayer begins and mingles with the laughter of children playing nearby.

Gazing out the window on an early flight into Denizli, Turkey at Mt. Honaz bathed in the pink light of dawn..

Lighting a candle in the chapel of the house of Mary, the mother of Jesus, where it is believed she spent her last years.

Descending the glistening mineral coated terraces of Pamukkale in Turkey and reveling in the feeling of the luke warm mud between my toes.

Engulfed in a chilly sea mist on the cliffs of Tintagel, England, listening to the sound of the gulls crying overhead.

Witnessing two fireballs streak across the sky of Alberta, Canada within a few weeks of each other.

Wondering at the reddish glow of the Aurora Australis in the night sky as a child growing up Australia, and decades later watching the brilliance of the Aurora Borealis dancing across the western Canada sky with my children on a camping trip.

In recalling these experiences, I get an overwhelming sense of pure liberation and joy. It brings to mind a quote from a story of a woman who was free in her thoughts, even though she was bound by the constraints of her time and circumstances..

“I am no bird; and no net ensnares me; I am a free human being with an independent will.”

– Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte

About the Author

My name is Louise Zontek. I was born in Sydney, Australia and have lived in the United States since 1980. I love to travel and have a particular passion for ancient civilizations and history.

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Home is Where the Heart is in the USA

Home is Where the Heart is

It wasn’t until I went away to college that I realized some places were more liberating than others. I had never really traveled as a child, at least not outside of family vacations to see more family, and I had lived in the same small Midwestern town my entire life. I had always been a little different than most of my peers, in that I didn’t really follow every typical social norm and reveled in what I considered to be my own particular brand of weirdness. Everything from my religious and political views to my own sexuality went against the grain, especially since I had spent twelve years obtaining a Catholic education. Not to say I was a social pariah – I had plenty of friends and a family who loved me. However, that didn’t stop them from teasing me mercilessly over what I read, how I dressed, my favorite music and the way I viewed the world. So while I never really felt like I fit in but I didn’t exactly mind; I just figured that’s how things were supposed to be.

Then I moved a few hours away to attend a state university. Almost immediately, it felt like a huge weight had been lifted off of my shoulders. I could breath. People were more accepting of almost all aspects of my personality and I found others who shared my interests and tastes. I learned that the way I viewed the world wasn’t so strange after all and that I wasn’t nearly as alone as I had thought myself to be. I felt enlightened and reveled in my new found freedoms. And then I went home for my first visit.

It was as though a heavy, wet blanket was covering me and becoming more oppressing with each passing mile. By the time I drove up my parent’s driveway, I felt as though all of the freedom and individuality I had experienced had blown out of my open car window. Things were as they had always been and they remained that way until I got back on the road to return to school. Then that damp blanket disappeared and I felt buoyant once again. I encountered this phenomenon during each visit of my freshman year and that was part of the reason I didn’t return home for summer. I felt freer than I had ever felt in my entire life and staying out of my hometown seemed to be the key to all of that. I didn’t want to give it up.

As time passed and I grew older, though, I realized that my hometown wasn’t my problem. My own mentality was. I had been too scared to let my real personality shine through on a permanent basis and kept reverting to my younger, sheltered self when I was around family or old friends. After a while, though, I decided that keeping my most interesting parts to myself half the time wasn’t really an honest way to live. Instead, I started to focus on staying true to myself wherever I went, from my childhood home to my college campus and everywhere in between. It was redemptive and scary and fascinating all at once.

The place that allows me to be free isn’t a tangible spot found on a map – it’s inside of me. My own determination to embrace my personality and enjoy the woman I have become is what allows me freedom. I carry it with me wherever I go and I never have to worry about not being able to find my way back. It may not be conventional or conformist, but then again neither am I. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

About the Author:Paige has been a reader and writer since she was a talker and walker. She enjoys not-so-fine wines, blogging and playing fetch with her cat.

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

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Rediscovering the Mara in Kenya

The engine shudders and is silent. Outside the vehicle, jewelry adorned limbs jostle for position. A nimble hand slides my window open and forearm displaying almost a dozen colorful, beaded Maasai bracelets is thrust across my lap.

‘Miss! Miss! What is your name?’

‘Jina langu ni Malee,’ I say. I ask the woman’s name in Swahili, ‘Jina lako ni nani?’

She tells me her name is Ann. I untangle myself from my seatbelt to shake the hand attached to her bracelet decked wrist as the engine rumbles back to life.

After spending part of my childhood in Nairobi, I am back in Kenya for the first time in twenty years. It is surreal to be on safari again with my family— the Land Rover is also toting my parents, younger twin sisters and their husbands. As we rumble through the Seikani Gate into the Maasai Mara, I realize I have become the kind of visitor I derided as a child—a pampered tourist, outfitted in two-tone, quick-dry khaki, sliding helplessly in my seat in my frictionless clothing each time the Land Rover navigates an obstacle in the road.

The tawny grassland of the Maasai Mara seem s to go on forever, stretching to the horizon and melting seamlessly into the Serengeti plains in neighboring Tanzania. The tall grass dances in the breeze, rippling like the muscles of a lion’s back. We raise the Land Rover’s pop-up roof, and for the first time in two decades, my sisters and I jostle for position out the open top of the safari vehicle, a tangle of binoculars and telephoto lenses.

At first, the landscape appears almost devoid of life, the sweeping savannah vistas dotted with only occasional patches of scrubby acacia trees. It hardly seems possible these plains accommodate one of the greatest mass movements of the life on earth— the annual migration of over a million wildebeest, eland, Burchell’s zebra, and Thomson’s Gazelle.

The Mara also supports those preying on the great herds. A wide array of carnivores tracks the migrating ungulates, waiting patiently in the towering oat grass, or in the shadows of the flat top acacia. Lions are undoubtedly the dominant predators, the grassland seems almost made for the big cats, and the Maasai Mara Reserve hosts one of the highest densities of lions on earth.

As a kid, lions regularly occupied my daydreams, and occasionally my nightmares. On one camping trip with my family in Tsavo East National Park, we spent the night listening to cacophonous chaos unfold as a group of lions killed a young baboon. Another time, in the Nairobi Game Park, my father got almost halfway out of our car to retrieve something from the trunk before I noticed the tell- tale twitch of a black-tipped tail in the grass—a group of lionesses was sprawled lazily just a few meters away.

We arrive at a deep cleft in the road. The engine hums patiently. Peter, our driver, opens his door and leans out to assess the obstacle. The golden grass ripples around us, and for a moment, I think I see something moving tenderly through the soaring blades. My heart flutters and cool sweat beads at the surface of my skin. I feel a combined rush of awe and adrenaline I haven’t experience since childhood. Outside my window, a lilac-breasted roller perches on the decaying remnants of a termite mound, feathers a patchwork of lively pastels. Suddenly, the gears grind, the Land Rover lurches forward, and we are moving again.

We rattle across a bridge over the Mara River. Hippos bob in water below, like smooth boulders, relishing their predator-free existence. Weaver bird nests hang like ornaments in the branches of the yellow fever trees above.

I notice dark shapes dominating the landscape ahead. A group of elephants is feeding along the fringes of the riverine forest, their sandpaper skin immune to the scrubby thorns. They move purposefully, gently ushering adolescents away from the vehicle. We idle and watch. A female begins to lumber past us, and stops. She turns her head to face me, eyes wide, her long, soft lashes a seeming contraction to her rough, wrinkled skin. Slowly, the female rejoins the group and we continue toward Paradise Plain.

In the hills ahead, I can just make out the shape of our lodge. A lone Maasai giraffe stands blocking the road, a diligent sentry. He chews his cud, and observes us casually. In the distance, I can still see the elephants, meandering away from the river toward the open plain, casting a long shadow in the late afternoon sun. The giraffe licks his lips with a nimble, purple tongue. The engine idles and we wait, existing as just another singular piece of this vast ecosystem.

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

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Discovering Freedom in the USA

Discovering Freedom in the USA

6:05 a.m. – groan and wake up

6:10 a.m. – have coffee, one cup

7:00 a.m. – sigh and start work

12:00 p.m. – go completely berserk

5:30 p.m. – stuck in rush hour

7:00 p.m. – frozen dinner, devoured

7:30 p.m. – have travel day-dreams

9:30 p.m. – concoct money schemes

10:00 p.m – come to realization

10:05 p.m – dismiss aspirations

10:30 p.m. – fall asleep

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. REPEAT.

Caught in this trap

Of my life map

With no diversions,

Only one path.

Days pass, seasons change

Though my life doesn’t rearrange

It’s as if I’m surrounded by water,

and all I want to do is swim,

Though I’m trapped in a boat,

too afraid to go out on a whim.

Until one day, when enough was enough,

Quit my job, and packed my things up.

Said my goodbyes, and left the same night,

Got to the airport, and took the next flight.

Twelve hours later, I awake as we’re landing,

And with so much excitement, I find myself standing.

“Sit down, please!” Cries the stewardess madly,

And with nervousness and exhilaration, I sit down and chirp, “gladly!”

I turn to look out the window instead,

And I am in shock of what lays ahead.

Mountains and ocean, as far as I can see,

And immediately I know this is where I’m meant to be.

I walk out of the plane, and down a long ramp,

And then I receive my first passport stamp.

As I approach a cab I slowly inhale,

“Sir, take me anywhere,” I say without fail.

We drive through the streets and chat as we go,

He tells me about the ocean, I tell him of snow.

Eventually he pulls over and I get out to pay,

But he stops me and says, “come, let’s get ceviche.”

We walk towards a café and the music is bright,

And colorfully clothed dancers come into sight.

Mesmerizing aromas waft towards the door,

And before I have even tried the food, I know that I will want more.

As we wait for our food, a man asks me to dance,

And I think, if I’d been asked yesterday, I would have said, “not a chance!”

However, it is today, and today I am daring,

So, I grin happily, and get up without caring.

We take to the stage, and the man starts to lead me,

And, in this moment, I am undoubtedly

F. R. E. E.

As we dance, though, I come to a new revelation,

What it took, though, was a new destination.

Independence isn’t determined by your longitude or latitude,

But, instead, is completely dependent on your attitude.

And at this, the song ends, and the crowd begins to cheer,

My cab driver, now friend, winks at me, and holds up a beer.

I return to our seats to enjoy our beers and ceviche,

While thinking about my adventurous and exciting day.

The cab driver asks, “where to next, do you dare?”

I smile and reply, “doesn’t matter, because I now know I can be free anywhere.”

About the Author:  Barbara Anne Scheibel is a student at SUNY Oswego studying childhood education. During school holidays she travels anywhere and everywhere. She loves helping others, especially children, and plans on teaching abroad upon graduation.

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

The post Discovering Freedom in the USA appeared first on We Said Go Travel.

Afire in the UK

Afire

By Nicole Mara T. Cruz

Different things come to mind when people hear the word ‘Freedom’. It could mean independence, an escape route or making decision. The definition varies and changes for each individual and one of my definitions of freedom is a place where you feel that fire in you spark. It is not enough that it is written on some piece of paper or that your teacher or parent tells you yourself is free but freedom is to be felt.

You could always tell when someone feels that spark, that fire in them, you could tell by their expressions, body language and their eyes that they could feel free. Some of my friends have found that spark while dancing, writing, drawing, singing or just simply being with the people they adore. Watching people with that flame inside of them perform or looking upon their work just makes the blood rush with adrenaline just by looking at those people who attack life with ferocity and determination makes me feel alive. Even catching a glimpse of those people with a flame inside them, working its way to the surface, sets afire my insides and inspires me to test the limits of how hot my fire can burn. I see it when I watch plays, acts or musicals no matter what genre, the aftermath of that would be to write or sketch. It didn’t matter what I wrote or what I drew I just wanted to get my inspiration to get out of my system and unto the paper to make room the next.

It has always been one of my dreams to go around the world and take in each culture one by one, taking in the best bits of what they have to offer and seeing different people perform different stories but with the same fire in their eyes. There are many things I want to do; going off to some exotic island, scuba-diving for pearls, backpacking into Europe, trying some very questionable but delicious foods but the first thing I want to do is getting out of my chair and go exploring into the most beautiful parts of London with my family is on the top of my list. I have seen the kind’s plays and theatre they have and each of them look astounding in their own way, I want to experience it firsthand, I want to watch the actors play out their lines with raw emotion and passion, making me want to explore more and more of the wonderful streets of London. To hear their accents when they speak, to see Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre and to see London’s fire would be my pleasure. It would make my writing finish every last bit of ink in my pen and I am sure that it would make me sketch in my notebook with each muse and sight I set my hungry eyes upon, leaving no page empty of doodles and drawings. It would be a fantastic start to my adventure around the world.

I imagine that my favourite part would not be tasting the new exciting food nor looking at the many sights that London can offer but watching performers or theatre where I can clearly see the expressions on the peoples’ faces full of anticipation although the performers or actors compose themselves very well I can very well imagine that you would still find their eyes positively glowing ablaze from passion and delight of doing what they love. It makes me want to do everything I tasked with such determination and fire. For now, I shall give my best, spread my wings, make my spark evolve into a blazing fire that burns constantly, in hopes of sending a spark to another individual, and lastly, to be brave.

About the author:

Nicole was born in 2014 at the 24th of April. And she is the youngest to an outrageous family of 6 composed of my wonderful and ever youthful mother, my late father, two fantastically annoying brothers and my wonderfully irritating sister and lastly, Nicole herself. She currently lives in the Philippines where she absolutely love telling experiences and stories to my friends and schoolmates and listening to theirs as well.

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

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