Lisa Niver's Blog: We Said Go Travel, page 390

Better Late Than Never to Finnish

Finland is a country that is so familiar yet so foreign to me. I have to admit the idea of going there did not fascinate me greatly and I would have never ended up there, until an offer to participate in a summer school and later, a 3-month exchanged period in Turku, Finland appear on my university bulletin board. It also had a lower requirement for student’s grades to apply to and I was not very good at my studies. Finland was my only option out of so many lists of countries and I said to myself instead of staying here and living the routine life, why not ‘Finnish’ myself for the first time?

After 12 hours of flight from Singapore to Helsinki, I finally reached Helsinki and what a beautiful city it was to my first impression. Raised in big cities like Kuala Lumpur, I could have never imagined Helsinki is exactly the Eden Garden to my personal taste. Amazing city vibe in the center, lots of greens and very little skyscrapers compared to my home city, surprisingly, which is a good change to my eyes!

I may not be able to take the extreme Finnish cold very well, but it has certainly taught me to be punctual in doing everything and spend every day productively since shops are closed after 3pm in summer. It has trained me to ditch my procrastination habit where I was so used to when living in a tropical country, where food is widely available 24 hours per day and outdoor activities are generally not affected by the weather condition. It has made me realize that outdoor activities, which the Finns love, are of utmost importance in our daily life to keep us refreshing and recharged to survive for another day. For sunny days in Finland are so limited that the people take every single moment of the warmer days very seriously and embrace it to the fullest. For the first time in my life, as a university student, I was also given the chance even though I was a foreigner to suggest ideas to the local tourism department and our ideas have been taken seriously and implemented to improve local tourisms, the active cooperation between the residents and the municipality is encouraging and certainly reinforces what builds a country in the first place- the local community.

The land of Santa Claus, the country that invented the world famous Angry Bird games and above all, the country that is most famously known for its pride and joy, Nokia, which has dominated the phone market for more than half a century, all these from an approximately 5 million population with little dependence from other countries were definitely a “Journey to the West” experience for me, as one very famous classical Chinese novel is titled to refer to as a journey to enlightenment.

Finland was an important life lesson to my 21 years of journey, not only did I experience many things for the first time, it remains until now the only Western country that I have ever lived in, and fallen in love with. Ever since that, moving to Finland is one of my highest priorities in life. I can go for snowboarding, skiing in the cold winter days, pay a visit to Santa Claus to satisfy the childish side of mine which we all have, while having the possibility to catch the Northern Lights up North in Lapland, kayaking in the lake in summer and appreciate the beauty of nature in the Finnish national parks and do some amazing hiking there in warmer days. At night, I will have a very Finnish time soaking myself in the healthy sauna while having a cold beer and chewing the famous local candy Salmiakki in my mouth. Owning a boat is also inexpensive and rather common to many Finns and apart from the winter days, I can imagine myself cruising around the river and the Baltic sea to do some fishing with a few friends. A small crowd and conversations over some beers in the nature could never go wrong, could it?

To “Finnish” yourself or not- that is the question. I did that and I can safely say I have realized the gems to live a combination of productive, competitive yet healthy, carefree and happy life. These combinations do not coincide very often.

To say I have a particular favourite part in Finland would be one of the toughest tasks in my life. I like all parts of the country equally and I have nothing but compliments to all of them. Kiitos (thank you), Finland for enlightening me with your Finnish values on how to spend my time wisely with no regrets, at all in 3 month time.

About the Author: Yik Wai Chee: A young Malaysian traveller on a continuous mission to explore numerous pleasures offered by different parts of the world.

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Search: Mannheim, Germany is a…

Mannheim, Germany is an unassuming place. A small industrial city about an hour south of Frankfurt, a major hub for international travel, it is often overlooked. It is really not surprising.

Compared to the major cities in Germany, Mannheim is austere and lacking in brilliant photo-worthy castles. It has a well-known university and most of the people living there are either studying or working at the chemical behemoth in the neighboring town. To most it is an insignificant place, but to me, it is where I learned that I can live without regrets and that I do not have to be a CEO or own a luxury car to feel accomplished. Mannheim glows with a unique sense of freedom and contentment which I can call back to my mind when I feel pressured to sacrifice my time to something in which I do not believe. Mannheim changed my life.

Time may be the one thing that no one can take from you, but it is also the most precious commodity that we hold as individuals, with the most potential to be used for greatness, and it is the easiest thing to let fall from our attention. Just out of college, I had a good job, a savings account, a 401-k, and a business degree. Exactly what I had always been told would send me on my way to a happy and fulfilled life. About a year into my good job, I watched the Denver skyline approach from my seat on the express bus and I realized that this would be my future. There were no new classes to take, no curriculum to follow, no rules to abide by, and I wondered how I had come to be in possession of a cubicle and my own set of black mesh office supplies. I must have chosen these things, but they did not seem like me.

I had a panic attack. I realized in an instant that I was wasting my short life away. I had chosen to study international business, because if I was going to have to succumb to the humdrum of the office gray padded walls, I at least wanted to sit in a cube located outside of the U.S. It was at this moment that I took my time back and sent an email.

I emailed a second-cousin in Mannheim, Germany, one who I had never met, and I begged him for a position in his small company and he conceded, although hesitantly. I packed up some clothes, I booked a ticket, and in a month, I started over. It was the best decision of my life.

Creative energy seeps from the walls in Mannheim, as does graffiti. Students bring a free and alternative feel to the city. With the highest Turkish population by percentage of any city in Germany, multiculturalism and youth create a passion that never sleeps. People are relaxed and conversations never center on career and winning, but on growth and expression. The Jungbusch Nachtwandel midnight art festival and bonfire is held for a week once a year in winter along with other events. The streets brim with people of all ages as music and singing ring into the streets from hidden apartments. Every door in the neighborhood is open as people wander through private houses, apartments, galleries and abandoned buildings that have been hiding art installations through the winter months.

In the summer, an almost constant crowd of people host barbeques along the extensive river shorelines and on docks overlooking the water. Families play, freeing themselves to the warm summer sun in all fashions imaginable. These habits and others create a community among the distinctly separate groups that live in Mannheim. I made friends from all over the world and I made it a point to visit them and learn about their lives at home. I realized that traveling, learning about people and writing about their true amazing lives is what I need to do with my time.

Most of my friends from Mannheim have moved on. I have also moved on but my mind returns to Mannheim when my heart feels heavy and I find myself searching for the perfect balance for each moment.

About the Author: Stephanie Caraway moved to Germany after graduating from university and has not stopped moving since. She is in a constant state of either planning her next adventure or on a spur of the moment trip. She is currently working on an “Ugly City” photography project, documenting the beauty in everyday industrial places and working people that tourists may overlook.

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Nights In? Not in Hong Kong!

Nights In? Not in Hong Kong!

I have never been a massive fan of the ‘nice night in’. Like many things, I think the idea of an evening on the sofa with the TV on is a lot nicer than the actual reality of it. Sure, when you’re exhausted or stressed or fed up of the rubbish weather, a Friday night snuggled up in your onesie might sound appealing. I get that. But by the time it gets to 9pm you’ve remembered just how bad TV really is, you’re stuffed from all the comfort food you’ve treated yourself to and you’re probably perving on all the fun things everyone else on Facebook is doing. I would much rather power through, celebrate the end of the working week and start the weekend with a bit of fire in my belly (or a few too many gins).

The problem is I am not a massive fan of extortionate taxi fares either. Or of the three buses I have to catch to my best friend’s flat. I hate the ‘to drink or drive’ debate. Neither am I particularly fond of almost everyone I know being half of a romantic couple and wanting ‘quality time’ together instead of great craic with everyone, single people included, in the pub. And then, without me even realising it at the time, moving to Hong Kong in 2011 was the answer to all of these problems.

Suddenly, the notion of ‘staying in’ was taken clean off the table. Just like that, answering the obligatory ‘what are you up to this weekend?’ question became a case of sifting through options, trying to piece all the choices together without missing something, or someone, important out. Hong Kong’s energy, like its fried rice, is addictive. People live and breathe the ‘work hard, play hard’ mantra and, regardless of how tired you are or how busy your week has been, your down time is always exciting. Picking which rooftop bar to visit on a Saturday night, which happy hour to make the most of, which beach to recover on the next day … these become the burning dilemmas of the weekend. And, best of all, getting anywhere and everywhere is simple, fast and all part of the HK experience.

I lived six stops and less than twenty minutes away from Central Hong Kong on the MTR. The station was approximately four minutes from my apartment and the journey cost me next to nothing. Even better, the trains were fully air conditioned and clean- my hair would stay looking straight at least until I got to the first bar. That’s one option. Another would be to just hail a very cheap taxi from right outside my front door. Squeezed against the thighs of my friends, laughing and singing to the Canto pop on the radio, pre-empting the drama of the night to come; we would curve past stunning Victoria Harbour and rip-roar into the centre, coming head on into the throng of Chinese, English, Irish, American, expats, locals, all of them. Our friends would be among them somewhere, clinking glasses in one of the bars on Lang Kwai Fong.

We’d worked all week, taught lesson after lesson, caught train after train, ran to make spinning classes and gym sessions and yoga clubs. We’d skyped far away family and emailed long lost friends. Now it was Saturday, the week was behind us and our Sunday stretched ahead like miles and miles of untouched beach, waiting to be dug up in our weekend footprints. The price we all paid, of course, was having only one full day off a week. Yet, somehow, this one blissful day seemed to last forever. Rather than vegging out on the sofa, hungover and dreading going back to work the next day as I would do at home, Sundays were spent hiking in the country parks, cycling in Sha Tin, catching a ferry to one of the outlying islands or simply sleeping on a sunny beach. Hong Kong’s transport system means all of these are quick, easy, cheap and hassle-free options. Spending your precious Sunday in your shoe-box sized flat, however many cocktails you’ve sunk the night before, is out of the question.

Now, I don’t want this to be an alcohol friendly argument. It is quite possible to live in Hong Kong without indulging in its crazy nightlife and free-drinks-for-girls ethos. In fact, I have a friend who became completely tea-total and still wouldn’t live anywhere else. My point is, in Hong Kong, there is always something amazing to do. And, rather than have to plan it for months in advance and struggle to afford the expensive train-tickets, people actually do it. Every day. Long hours at work are sandwiched between junk boat parties, going out for dim sum, having coffees on the Avenue of Stars and getting the tram to the Peak when you want some fresher air. Even my yoga classes were exhilarating. There is nothing like being in the downward dog position and seeing that incredible skyline to make you feel alive!

When you do succumb to that ‘nice night in’ it is because you genuinely miss your sofa. You look forward to cooking in your kitchen for once, and you enjoy every second of doing nothing after having such a packed schedule. It is not because you can’t brave the miserable weather or summon up the energy to meet your friends on the other side of town. Hong Kongers live life in the fast lane…full throttle and with an incredible view.

 

Hannah Thompson-Yates

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Let the Games Begin in Greece

Our ship was scheduled to dock at the seaside town of Katakalon, situated off the Ionian Coast, at 9am. Referred to as the “gateway to Olympia” the town often gets overlooked as most visitors use it as a passage to ancient Olympia – the birthplace of the Olympic Games.

It was the fifth stop on our Mediterranean cruise and each time our feet touched land we looked forth to each new place with renewed expectation.

It was an early start for us, since the ship was scheduled to leave the port of Katakalon at 1pm to set sail for Croatia, so we only had a few hours to soak up as much Greek culture as possible.

Once we disembarked, we waited for our bus which would take us to Olympia. I noticed seagulls flying low overhead; took a deep breath of the crisp morning air and just felt an absolute sense of bliss.

Katakalon appeared to be a peaceful little town which consisted of just one main road, a waterfront laced with cafes and stores and a few beautiful beaches. It was really early and it seemed as if the town was still waking up; shop keepers were opening their doors, sweeping the front porches and carrying tables and chairs outside, seagulls were pecking lazily at the sand and the pristine beaches were deserted.

I thought that we would get to spend some time in Katakalon, at least to enjoy a cup of tea at a café, but we boarded the bus almost immediately and began the 40 minute journey to Olympia. As we got deeper into the journey, we passed some scenic views of the Greek countryside, complete with rolling cornfields and acres of olive trees.

We arrived at Olympia and the bus dropped us off at archeological site at the foot of Kronos Hill.

The surrounding area was very quiet, apart from the excited tourists; the only other sign of life was a lonely looking hotel across the road. We had a short walk to the Olympia Archeological site and purchased tickets from the ticket office for the site and the museum. Our excitement began to soar– we were going to the place where the Olympic Games began!

As soon as we entered the site we were immediately transported back in time to 776 BC. We were surrounded by dusty pathways, strewn with remains and ruins. Massive pillars lined the pathways, welcoming us, as we walked into this magnificent piece of History.

We were given a map of the area, which contained numbered and clear explanations of each site as well as the brief history behind it, so we didn’t even need a tour guide.

It was quite a large area and it took us the better part of the morning to navigate our way around everything. It was a wonderful experience to witness these structures first hand. I used my imagination to envision what they would have looked like in their glory days – magnificent structures, athletes milling around and excitable cheers erupting from the crowds.

The Ancient Greeks had given the world a great gift.

Some key sites included the Temple of Zeus, which once contained the 12-meter-high gold and ivory seated statue of the Greek God, the gymnasium where athletes trained, the hippodrome; which was used for horse and chariot races, the stadium where the games were held and the Temple of Hera – this is the site where the Olympic flame of the modern games is still lit (using a parabolic mirror and the sun) and then transported to the host country.

We came up with a clever way for us to remember every structure in our photos, (since everything lay in ruins and looked similar) we would pose in front of the site and do an action that was relevant to that location, e.g. for the church, one of us would stand with our hands together in prayer position, or for the race track we would do a standing running man.

Almost an hour had passed and we made our way to the archeological museum of Olympia, which was behind the archaeological site. The museum housed most of the ancient artifacts, sculptures and figurines found on the Olympic grounds during excavations. We spent about half an hour in the museum and walked back to the bus stop to get back to the ship.

On the return bus trip, I still had goosebumps from what we had witnessed, a piece of History, something so humble and unpretentious that had made such a massive impact on the world, and still continues to influence present day western civilization.

I smiled to myself and thought that this is what gets me excited about travelling – the bug had bitten and I would happily be infected for the rest of my life.

About the Author:  Tejal is a Manangement Consultant, who loves to travel the world. She enjoys practicing yoga, watching football, experiencing new places and cultures, writing and spending time with friends and family.

Thank you for reading and commenting. Please enter our next Travel Writing competition and tell your story.

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Hot in the Texas Summertime

Deep South Texas in the summertime is hot. The humidity is high and the constant Southeast wind is dry and full of dust. The ground cracks and the grass turns brown. Even the native plants droop and shrivel in the extraordinary heat. People hide inside with their air conditioners on full blast.

During one long hot summer, all I wanted was to escape to a cold Hill Country river. I dreamed of the water like cool green glass welling up deep from the earth and the banks thick with trees, dappling the light. That year a hard drought had taken hold of Central Texas. The dryland farmers had lost hope in their dusty farms, the cities were under sever water restrictions, and even my beloved Central Texas rivers were barely flowing. I was discouraged; my dream to float in spring-fed currents seemed to be evaporating in the dry waterless summer.

My boyfriend Sean and I planned to head to the Hill Country anyway hoping to find some relief from the heat. Days before we were to leave, my dad gave us an article that he had clipped from a local Texas paper. The headline read ‘South Llano river still flowing” with a picture of a green river and a smiling family playing in the water.

With article in hand, we gathered our swimsuits, our tent, our sandals. We took our dog to stay at his dad’s and packed the cooler with sandwiches and beer. And then we left the dry Rio Grande Valley behind in search of flowing waters.

The nearest town to South Llano River is Junction, Texas, a place of geographical distinction. It sits right on the boundary of the Edwards Plateau and the Trans-Pecos region of West Texas. It is neither East nor West, but the beginning and end of both.

We arrived in the evening and paid our camping fees in the little park headquarters building. The building used to be the house of Walter F. Buck, Jr. The park was his family’s land and when he died, he left it to the state in an agreement that it be protected and left wild.

It was mid-week at the end of August so we had our pick of the campsites. We set up our tent by moonlight and walked down a little trail to Buck’s Pond. We could smell the water as we looked at the stars and read plaques about wild turkeys. We fell asleep listening for owls.

The next morning was deliciously cool. We drank coffee and watched summer tanagers land on our tent and picnic table. I took a shower while Sean went down to park headquarters to rent tubes and buy ice.

“Toobing” is a quintessential part of Hill Country summer life. Every summer loads of people gather inflatable tubes, coolers, and river shoes and escape from cities to spend a few hours floating on a cool river. The float on South Llano begins by a low water bridge crossing where there is a deep calm swimming hole and families gather for barbeques. We soon passed the families and the river opened up wide. The tree-lined banks and the blue cloudless sky enveloped us as we floated. It seemed to be just us two with the herons and the turtles and calm flowing water.

We ate lunch on a little beach covered with flat sun-bleached limestone rocks and dozed beneath shady pecan trees in the midday stillness. Eventually, we climbed back in the tubes and floated on. The river grew fast and shallow and then wider and deeper and intensely green. Slowly, we arrived at the take out point, another limestone beach. Reluctant to leave the river, we stood beside it quiet and still until the sky grew dusky with twilight. I thought of Mr. Buck and his wish to see this land protected. Eventually, we trudged to the path that would take us back to the beginning.

We ate dinner outside beneath the stars and listened to the animals in the brush. We fell asleep contented, at peace with the world. The next few days, we floated the river again and again. Finally, we had to pack up the camp and drive home. The morning we left was sunny and clear and the river shone brightly between the pecan and juniper trees. The air felt full of water.

About the Author: Charlotte Hardwicke is a native Texan. She lives with her boyfriend and their blue heeler in Charlottesville, Virginia.

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Botswana: The Best Luxury Tented Camp in Africa

The Best Luxury Tented Camp in Africa

Botswana safaris come in many shapes and sizes, and more often than not guests go to the lush Okavango Delta which is fantastic for game, but only covers a very small amount of Botswana. Most of Botswana is made up by the Kalahari Desert and the vast salt pans, the Makgadikgadi. It is such a shame for guests to only see the lush Delta when the real magic undoubtedly happens in the Desert. San Camp in the Makgadikgadi Pans blew The Luxury Safari Company’s MD Rose Hipwood away when she stayed there recently. It is quite simply the best camp in Botswana and wins on every count. Open from April to October this white Moroccan style camp is impossibly luxurious.

San Camp is made up of white tents spread far and wide through the salt pans. The walk to the furthest tent is about ten minutes and you couldn’t wish for a more private setting. The tents are huge and furnished with Persian rugs and campaign four poster beds. There is a large en suite with dark wood paneled shower and an antique loo fit for an Elizabethan queen. It simply is luxurious. The vast pans stretch before you only dotted with scrub grass and doum palms behind camp. This must feel like walking on the moon and you are overwhelmed by the enormity of the whole thing.

The Makgadikgadi Pans were the birthplace of early man and whilst walking on these salt pans one can often find early man tools and weapons, all of which are collected and put in the San Camp museum which is certainly the most interesting museum in Africa. The San bushmen also live here, they are the oldest living tribe in Africa and their tracking and botanical knowledge is incredible, a wonderful way to spend an afternoon.

Star gazing here includes the milky way and the silence and peace of the night here is magical – you can sleep out on the pans, there is no dangerous game and no dew so your night’s sleep is as deep as one could have anywhere. The highlight here is meeting one of four habituated meerkat families that live in the areas around San Camp – these adorable creatures play and forage around you, and often climb politely onto your head so to get a better view of the surrounding bush. Watching them is fascinating as they bare many human characteristics and are absolutely charming with it.

Quad biking across the pans is also fantastic and speeding along with a sarong around your head to avoid the dust is both exciting and refreshing. Here you can also visit Chapman’s baobab which was used as a navigation point for the first explorers covering Botswana – it has many engravings which are historic and is a wonderful specimen of the famous baobab tree.

San Camp’s staff are gracious, efficient and very friendly, you feel immediately at home. Nothing is too much trouble and they produce the most delicious food from their kitchen. It beats any London restaurant we’ve been to.

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Dreaming in Barcelona, Spain

The constant going of time has a petrifying effect. It worries me so much I end up diving even more into the dark swallow of inaction where I imagine there are undying puddles of steaming tar that bind me to the nothingness even more.

Then, the cells in my body shout out all at once, do!

The body shoots off the couch, launches into the air landing hard on the floor, knees bent. And in one kinetic motion, I’ve shaken it all out of me.

It’s funny how the passing of time makes us so slow and bored while the coming on of depression alerts us to be quick to the step. It’s all about everyone’s internal panic button.

I continue with the actions because it seems to be working. I write, I work, I workout, I get up and run. I ride the subway.

This is my stop. I tuck my moleskine away. The old 4-train glides to a halt, and I walk a few steps until I see it. It all happens so fast. I look towards the heavy wooden doors leading out to Lexington Avenue, and I can feel the cold wind rush up and tighten my cheeks. It’s persuasive, the wind. Riding in the subway even in the city winters can get hot with all those layers and people on you.

I’ve already caught a glimpse of the room. The magical feeling I felt since the last time I was looking up at the constellations hasn’t worn off. It’s already a done deal, I have to pay a visit. The grand clock standing tall calls my attention. My answer is simple — I walk just a few steps, it seems, but actually I look back from where I came, and I’ve walked the whole corridor. People rushing by me in their own trance.

Turquoise, ahh. I look up to see the aqueous color and feel at ease. My internal writing voice is quieted. Earlier, in the subway, I was full of thoughts that had to hit paper right then and there, but in this room, my thoughts are stealthy. It’s almost like I don’t have any at all.

The room demands my attention and takes any wandering ideas of boredom up to the ceiling in helium filled birthday balloons floating up and resting there right under the majestic curve of blue. They don’t pop — they just rest there.

Here, I don’t have to worry about the going by of time because every moment is chock-full of awareness. Even with the clock staring down at me from its high old position, every moment is as infinite as the pixels of blue above.

Dark. Now, I look up. I’m not where I thought I was. The mosaic is of an ocean, not a sky. The constellations are, in fact, the white foam of cresting waves painted on top of the blue. I feel the warm grainy sand on my stomach, and I plop my cheek right back onto the sweet Barcelona gravel. Close my eyes. Drift back into dreams. This time, it’s not Grand Central, New York. Beams of steel above me, overbearing sounds of harsh clamoring, and cold concrete beneath my feet.

Gare du Nord Train Station, Paris.

Like before, my wandering thoughts vanish.

The endlessness of one fleeting moment hits and I feel alive all over again.

About the Author: Suhail Mandani graduated from The University of Florida, where he studied Anthropology and English and conducted social experiments in entrepreneurship to help solve problems for students around campus. Three weeks after graduating, he moved to New York City on a whim in the hopes of finding a job and soaking up inspiration to write. He currently works on the client leadership team at a growing startup and writes any chance he gets, mostly in coffee shops, on the subway and in Manhattan’s Bryant Park.

Thank you for reading and commenting. Please enter our next Travel Writing competition and tell your story.

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Something Unexpected in the Philippines

Searching frantically for scraps of food, like ants trapped inside a lunchbox, it was that all too familiar look of confusion mixed with a hopeful desperation that brought us together. We were the only Americans in the international terminal of the Manila, the Philippines Airport, five minutes into a four-hour layover on Christmas Eve. There was the actress from Los Angeles, the lifeguard from Orange County, and the manager of a very grown-up toy store who was traveling all the way back to Boise. And of course myself, a writer-slash-waiter bound for San Francisco.

Our frenzied search for something to eat before the second leg of our journey across the pacific had led us to a small glass door at the end of a long corridor. Cautiously we gathered around the entrance, like elk inspecting an open field before deciding whether to enter. A sign on the door read, “Welcome food and smokes.” Peering into the mysterious fog it not-so-suddenly became clear, the only food available in this desolate airport was served in a deli that doubled as a smoker’s lounge.

Sunburned and malnourished, like refugees washed ashore, we hesitated in anticipation of what awaited us on the other side. The air was thick with the stench of tobacco and loose meat, but without speaking a word, we all took a deep breath and slipped through the mist, placing what little money we had left on a dirty counter before retrieving our day-old sandwiches. It was one of those situations so often experienced when traveling abroad, when something is so unexpected it can hardly even be comprehended. Something that, depending on your current psychological state, will either make you laugh until you cry, or cry until you laugh. Lucky for the four of us, it was hysterical.

After a quick stop by the duty-free for a bottle of rum, we found a vacant corner to settle in and reminisce about all of the strange and frustrating situations we had found ourselves in over the past couple of months. Both the actress and the manager had arrived with friends they had since disowned, the lifeguard had to replace his entire wardrobe when his bag—which held both his money and his passport—was stolen from a bus stop in the middle of the night, and I recounted my Indian journey of self-discovery-slash-dysentery, including two trips to the ER and one very eventful ambulance ride through a mountain road that looked a lot more like a bike trail.

But despite the discomfort and sometimes outright humiliation, every story ended with a quiet pause; a moment of reflection and appreciation for an experience that, good or bad, would never happen back home. Back in the states, I will never have to find a ride from a perfect stranger when my bus breaks down in the middle of the night and nobody comes to fix it. I will never have to navigate a menu with a series of hand signals and facial expressions or get a piece of cake when I order a bottle of water. I won’t get lost and discover something that has to be seen to be believed or form an instant friendship with a group of people at an airport on Christmas Eve.

By the time we finally got to the gate, we were the final four to board the flight, which seemed a fitting gesture. The plane was nearly empty, allowing each of us enough room to stretch out across a handful of seats, and just as I began to settle into my makeshift bed, the captain came on the overhead speaker and said, “It’s just after midnight and we want to wish you all a merry Christmas. But don’t worry, we’ll get you back home in time to do it all over again.” Drifting slowly into the best sleep I’ve ever had on an international flight, I thought, I am happy to be going home, but I would definitely do it all over again.

About the Author: My name is Evan Fowler and I’m a freelance writer, blogger, and obsessive-compulsive world traveler.

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The Contemplative Life in Kentucky

It’s the winter of 2009 and I find myself eager to take a holiday, to abandon my work and leave the cell phone and computer behind, but mostly to have a Christmas (since the death of my parents) that doesn’t involve my being an orphan at someone else’s table.

It’s always a difficult decision, how and where to spend this time. I always feel that wherever I am, I might ought to be somewhere else. If/when I am with one sister—I feel badly that I am not with the other. If with friends, I feel humbled and loved, but also out of place and burdensome.

In truth I just need a place to be so that this year I don’t have to be somewhere else that isn’t home.

So I decide to drive the 70 miles to Trappist, Kentucky to spend a weekend at the Abbey of Gethsemane where Trappist monks have lived, prayed, and worked for over 150 years.

Hospitality is important in the living monastic tradition. As outlined in Saint Benedict’s Rule for Monasteries, the guest represents Christ and has a claim on the welcome and care of the community. The Abbey of Gethsemani has received guests from the first days of its foundation in 1848. People from all over the world are welcomed to come and stay.

Because it’s a silent retreat I can bear being their guest, not having to explain my orphan status or being asked about why I am alone during the holidays.

I look forward to the humble and sparse room that I’ll be staying in, the scheduled meal times, and having been raised in the faith of this sacred place; I take comfort in the masses with their familiar and reassuring rituals.

But what I don’t expect, and what turns out to be the long lasting effect of this place for me, is the west side of the property, totaling about 1200 acres on the side of the road opposite the church, that is available for extended walks and hikes. There are miles of trails through the knobs on this side of the road. It is said that even the monks have been known to get lost in this vast landscape.

The first order of business of my weekend retreat, I strike off on my own for a hike and I encounter more than just nature. As the sun sets, along a trail I’ve chosen to follow, in the footsteps of others, I begin to find things along the way that people have left behind: small statues, religious icons, propped next to a tree or hanging from a tree, there are these little “Easter eggs” every where– even large pieces of art just appear seemingly out of no where as I walk this path. Little pieces of grace along the way, pieces of art, pieces of people’s spiritual hearts, these guide me along the way.

After a while I come upon what I can only describe as a makeshift prayer shack. The most humble of all churches I’ve ever entered. As I step inside to investigate, I can see that this is a holy place where people have lined the walls with their handwritten prayers. I read these prayers and feel my heart changed somehow. I feel connected to these lost people. I feel not alone. I feel these people speaking to me, with their hearts, using the silence to reach me, their words time travelling. And somehow I understand each and every one of these profound and hallowed written/spoken prayers in a deep and inexplicable way.

I leave with a feeling of solace. I leave not feeling alone. I leave feeling I’ve had some of the most profound conversations one has ever had, without even speaking a word.

About the Author: Gail Lowery currently resides in Kentucky. She once had a mother, a father, and a beloved little dog named Becca. She loves to hike and has spent many weekends doing so at Raven’s Run nature sanctuary—time she definitely doesn’t regret.

Thank you for reading and commenting. Please enter our next Travel Writing competition and tell your story.

 

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May News on WSGT

From our May News at WSGT:

WRITING CONTEST: I am continuing to publish three entries from our Inspiration Travel Writing Contest everyday. Our fourth Travel Writing Contest ended on February 14, 2014 with 505 people from 55 countries involved.

There will be more entries published through  May 15. Read all the stories published so far: Click here. If you participated in the contest and did not receive an email from me, please email me. All of the articles are now ready for publication and everyone should have their links and dates! Thank you for your participation and patience! The winners will be announced at the end of May. An exact date will be in the next newsletter. I hope to do another Google hangout for the live announcement.

PUERTO RICO: Thank you to Richard Bangs, Laura Hubber, Didrik Johnck, White Nile Media, Orbitz and the Puerto Rican Tourism Board for including me to filming in Puerto Rico. Read the articles and see photos on our Tagboard! or search the tag: #RBQuests. The first of ten videos is available to watch: It is called “The Best Scuba Diving on the Planet?” More videos coming SOON!

Thank you to Terry Gardner who wrote in the Chicago Tribune about We Said Go Travel. 

Watch Lisa at the PlayBoy Mansion for Easter Sunday: I pet a camel, fed a squirrel monkey and hugged an alligator!

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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