Lisa Niver's Blog: We Said Go Travel, page 394

Honduras-Simply Rich with Beauty and Laughter

Honduras- Simply Rich with Beauty and Laughter

October 31, 2010. My family and I climb onto the giant-sized steps of the bus. Dusk is descending onto the dimly-lit street. We know that we will not return to the United States for seven days. The week ahead of us is packed with fun and adventure.

Brisas Del Volcan is perhaps one of the most beautiful places in the world. A spectacular volcano brims the skyline. The rolling hills are filled with coffee bean fields and plantain tree orchards. Everything is green and alive with nature and beauty. Sometimes I wish I could just stand at the very top of the tallest hill in Honduras and marvel at the beauty below me. Even in late fall months, it is still humid.

The strange thing about Honduras is that it is the 6th most dangerous place for Americans to visit. I am proud to say that I have visited there. My family and I went on a mission trip through an organization called Agros in 2010. Agros finds struggling villages in third world countries and buys the land from the landowner. The money they use to do this is funded by American families that are willing to jump on board. My family was one of those families. The people living in the village are then taught by Agros how to farm crops like coffee and plantains. They farm the land and sell their goods. Some of this money goes to pay off their loan from Agros. After ten years, the people have paid off their loan, learned how to farm their land, and established a consistent way to make a living.

Every day during our visit, we would wake up and eat a delicious breakfast at our hotel. It was one of the most beautiful hotels I have ever stayed at. Wild turkeys roamed the premises. My family and I always joked about the turkeys because they would wake us up at 4:00 am with their loud squawking. Each hotel “room” was a separate little hut. There was no soap in the bathrooms or glass on the windows, but I loved the hotel. It was like a breath of fresh air from what normal hotels are like. It didn’t have to be white and ironed crisp to be beautiful and fun.

After our breakfast, we all piled in our rented, dingy vehicles and drove the hour-long ride to the village. The streets were unpaved and dusty. We would have to slow down sometimes for the occasional cow or goat crossing the street. Yes, cow or goat! We would wave and smile to small children standing outside of their huts.

When we reached the village, we would all pile out of the car and say our hellos to the village children. All of them were beautiful- tanned skin, brown hair, and brown eyes. They were all so nice. One day, we made salsa and corn tortillas with the women. We took the ground up corn in our hands and beat it into patties. We placed the patties onto a griddle to cook them. After this, we cup up fragrant limes and other delicious-smelling ingredients and mixed them in a bowl. We scooped the salsa onto the corn tortillas and ate it. It was bursting with flavor. That was the best salsa I have ever had in my life.

I view my life and certain things around me as “simply rich”. Honduras is so “simply rich” with its rolling hills, beautiful landscape, and adventure in the air. I want to just spend all of my time there, making salsa and corn tortillas, playing with the village children, and picking coffee beans until my fingers go numb. Being in Honduras makes me love life. I love the joy and laughter of it all. Honduras leaves me with no regrets, because the breathtaking landscape takes your focus before you can worry about anything in life.

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The Life and Lure of Mother Prague, Czech Republic

For many people a day, as an entity, exists in the pattern of a cycle. The coming of the day is marked by the rising of the sun, the warming of the earth, the undertaking of toil during the sunlight hours. Slowly, with the passing of time, we halt our efforts of labor to match the weaning light. We retreat to an abode, a home, a shelter, where we are given time to unwind before a slumber. For we who rise with the sun must succumb to the moon.

And so it goes on as steady as the wind and as constant as the oceans movement. In time, I awake. My rising does not always match that of the suns’, for I am a creature of the night. See I have found a place in this world that defies the cyclical habits of a “normal” day. It is not a place of the Mediterranean, where the people need a pausa or siesta in the middle of the day just to be able to prolong the night. It is not a place of North America, where cities come to life and dance in the contained form of Friday after five o’clock to midday Sunday. Nor is it a place such as India, where the sheer mass of the population implies that life will always exist, no matter the time of day – along roads, under passageways, in rickshaws, out in fields, besides the bays, throughout the hills of the Himalayas, in slums, or in trendy Bombay night clubs.

Ne, this is a place where magic exists around every corner. Where streets are laden with cobblestones that carry the stories of those who came before and pave the way for those to come. These streets are both broad and narrow, winding among beautiful buildings, each unique with facades that leave you in awe. Look up, take it all in. For these are not just aesthetic edifices – they are entities, structures, castles, shops and homes, each telling a story of the great empires from the days of yore. Sometimes the empire is literal. Spanning from the Celtic Bois, to the defining legend of Libuse, to the rule of the Bohemians, to the Luxembourg’s and the great king Charles IV, to the Hapsburgs. Other times the empire is metaphorical. It is the modern rule of intellect where the minds of Kafka, Capek, Havel and Einstein are still found in various cafes and restaurants that line these enchanting streets.

It is a city in which each day goes about revealing its glorious splendor. The appeal never weans, nor is the opulence defined in a mere set of hours. Rise and take a walk. Ascend to Letna, to sit in the beer garden or at one of the various lookout spots, and witness over a hundred spires reaching toward the heavens. Stay out all night. Let time pass being lost in conversation in an underground pub where the haze of smoke mixes with the heavily-herbed shot of Becherovka you just consumed; the combination becomes your vehicle for thought. Dance in a huge pit. Above lost-souls look out over banisters down to the clump of bodies awkwardly stepping, moving, thumping, hugging, jumping, grinding to tunes of their youth. Tunes not just heard but seen on a series of eight large screens – music videos accompanying the audio. And now the youth dances, without context, just to dance. Look at your watch. It is four in the morning. Leave now. Traverse down Narodni, along the Vlatava, to the Charles Bridge. Open the bottle of Gambrinus you happen to have in your bag, take a seat along the ledge and gaze at that castle. As you swallow a swig of the lager the hops soothe your tired being. You are slow, lost in and out of thought. Slow as the sun rising –– in all its glory rays illuminate the patches of gold built into the fortification, sneaking in-between the spires, bringing a new kind of life to the streets that make up this Golden City, the Mother Prague.

This place, this Mother, you will forever be indebted to. For she always gives you what you need even when you are not sure exactly what you are looking for. Like any good mother she knows you better than you know yourself. She is stunning, to say the least, and her beauty stands the test of time. She is a threshold, thus she is a wanderlust’s true home. I may wander down unknown roads or engage in newfangled adventures, but I will always return to the dear Mother and her claws that comfort me and never let me go.

About the Author: Lauren considers herself a citizen of the world. She is on her fifth year living abroad, currently working and residing in Australia. Her first love is people, second is traveling and third is beer. Writing is in a category of its own for it keeps her sane. She feels incredibly blessed to be where she is today and knows one day she will return to the only place she has ever felt truly herself, Prague.

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Bodh Gaya,serenity and awakening in India

Every time I visit and spend time in Bodh Gaya,certain serenity soothes my mind and provides me time for radical reflection.When you visit Bodh Gaya,you should know that,more is there to mentally feel than to see from eyes.Accommodation and traveling depends on how deep your pocket is,but when you prefer average accommodation like me,mosquitos might test your tolerance at night so,keeps your repellents and sprays ready in order to avoid as much of anger and naysaying in such a holy land.

Bodh Gaya,the cradle of Buddhism,is situated in the Indian state of Bihar.We Buddhists visit Bodh Gaya every time with the heartfelt aim of awakening our moral senses and for gathering good karma to thrive with peace and nobility in the uncertain years yet to come.Bodh Gaya is physically not so big and not very tidy and most crowded in winter.It’s a place where I greatly realize about contentment,admiration,power of faith and religion,importance of simplicity and morality,etc. It’s a place exhibiting stark contrast between rich and poor.At one side,you would see Buddhist tourists from various parts of the globe in fancy clothing carrying fancy gadgets but,on other side not very far,you could witness the widespread poverty of the local Indians living near garbage filled swamps in plastic covered shacks,countless beggars and,semi naked kids playing and running barefooted on rough grounds.But it’s a great relief that through the past years,I have observed growth in condition of the local Indians due to the influx of tourists.

Mahabodhi temple is the heart and soul of Bodh Gaya.According to Buddhist texts,Mahabodhi Temple is considered as the center of earth and,it’s the place where you would see the very Bodhi Tree under which,Lord Buddha attained supreme enlightenment of wisdom and compassion.I’ve visited Bodh Gaya thrice in my life(my duration of stay if three visits combined is around a month) but I have never got used to the sight of Mahabodhi Temple.I immediately feel calm looking at the marvelous temple building surrounded by various smaller stone stupas. Monks in red,grey and orange robes and,different tongues and faces paying the same homage to the one who brought to Earth the religion based on analytic skepticism.The common scenes in Mahabodhi Temple are devotees meditating,prostrating,saying prayers,circling around the temple,offering heartfelt gifts(flowers,fruits,money,rice,robes etc.) to the statue of Lord Buddha inside temple etc.It is said in texts that some statues carved on the stupas and on the wall of temple literally spoke in the past and one of the statues, the Tara statue, was seen shedding real tears just before some years.The ambience of temple constantly emanates peace and utmost faith.Once when I was circling around the temple,there seated on the marble floor, I saw something very unique. Along the Tibetan and Sri Lankan monks,I saw a muscular bald westerner in round sun glasses and in a very exotic dressing style with various tattoos on his big arms.He was calmly going through Tibetan Buddhist texts there.That encounter really tattooed in me a practical example of not judging a book by its cover.

The food and basic requirements are not a problem in market.You can either savor Tibetan dishes or Indian spicy food in numerous restaurants present there.The market commonly displays souvenir articles,works of local craftsmen-carvings on wood and stones,rosaries,Tibetan accessories etc.

Nearby Bodh Gaya,there are a lot of holy places where Lord Buddha left his imprints through his exemplary benevolent acts.When I visit these holy places,I’m always lost and thrilled thinking that,it’s possible that at the very places where I stand,sit or walk right now,Lord Buddha might also have once stand,sit or walk.I greatly wonder about the magnificence of these holy places now silent and empty in the times of Lord Buddha.Then there is Nalanda University nearby also,the first recorded renowned university of the world in history where once the greatest Buddhist scholars lived,studied Buddhism and created histories.Now,we Buddhists study the texts authored by these Nalanda scholars but Nalanda itself is just a ruined monument now where we can skeptically analyze about, how meaninglessly evil human minds can become without morality.

To me,Bodh Gaya is an evidence of power of religion in bonding diverse cultures and it’s a place of realization and serenity.It holds great merry memories of togetherness of my big family and it’s a blessed land which boosts my admiration for Buddhism immensely.There are many people in Bodh Gaya whom might create great disgust and anger in you through their pathetic ways of extracting money from you like ridiculous lies and exaggerated pricings.When you encounter such vendors or people,reason with them gently and try to sharpen your tolerance skill(advantage of being in holy land).Somehow sympathetically,many of these poor greedy people have families to raise so,the extra buck u paid them might help them in upbringing their young ones more easily.

About the Author:I am Tenzin Palbar,a 19 years old Tibetan boy. I love my family and friends,Nature,Buddhism,Music,Sports,Writing and Photography.I currently live in Dharamsala,India.

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A Chilled Chianti in Italy

A Chilled Chianti

Above the valley, I drink in the multi-layered rolling hills, vineyards with a sampling of fall color, cypress trees edging the horizon, and a serpentine dirt road that descends toward my rustic farmhouse. Surrounded by this Tuscan beauty, I’m challenged to keep my eyes and my vehicle on the road as I navigate downward. The hills of Castellina in Chianti greet me with a welcoming “Buon giorno”.

Later, walking into town takes my breath away-literally and in the scenic sense. I labor sharply uphill amidst the grapevines on an ancient trail. Immersed in the vineyards and view, my rest stops double as photo shoots as I try to capture every detail of this bucolic valley. The 600-meter, uphill trek is stretch for my lungs; I push myself onward as I admire the panoramic views.

Pizza and Chianti are next on the agenda. I stroll into my favorite pizzeria restaurant-a casual place of 12 or so tables, friendly staff and brick pizza oven. The chef selects from his palette of toppings as he designs my pizza and I am enthralled to watch this simple, beautiful work of art come to life. After I have devoured the entire pizza, the manager stops by with complimentary slices of prosciutto and frosty glass of limoncello. A perfect final course. Perhaps this is one of the rewards of solo dining but more likely it is simply a reflection of Tuscan hospitality. The table is mine for the evening and I am tempted to linger for a bit more Chianti and atmosphere, however the sun is setting and my inner photographer is restless.

Castellina sunsets involve so much more than words can express. The valley and the setting sun engulf me in their glory, in their spectacular blending of orange, fuchsia and yellow. Embraced by the softness and serenity of the evening, I know why I keep returning. The lights twinkle throughout the hillsides and the grapevines seem to engulf me. My farmhouse beckons as I savor the views and stroll downward, reluctant for the evening to reach its inevitable finale.

Morning greets me with wispy segments of clouds sandwiched between the layers of the valley. Their ethereal beauty triggers another photo session as I attempt to record their essence through my lens, to capture it. With each shot, I remind myself to also enjoy the view sans camera to store in my personal memory bank-mental images to recall at some future time to calm and please me. The clouds linger and shift in a slight breeze. Camera in hand, I anticipate my morning in the village and begin the upward trek.

Strolling the deserted main street, I window shop and reminisce; the gloves and scarf I once purchased from a ladies’ clothing shop whose owner hails from Chicago, savory cheesy puffs procured from the co-op grocery and the ‘must-have’ purple glasses my friend discovered at the optician’s. Further along is the photography shop-its owner insisted on inscribing each photo I had selected and translated for me as he wrote in his native Italian. I returned later, with friends, and was greeted with air kisses, wine, and biscotti. In the neighboring leather shop, I have discussed US and Italian politics. Also, I learned that US tourists might be tempted by purple handbags but Italians know that purple is reserved solely for the Pope.

Back on the main street, a delivery truck angles across the width of the passageway-its fresh side of beef causes a stir when hefted into the butcher shop. Shops and restaurants beckon as their proprietors begin the daily ritual of unfolding chairs and unfurling umbrellas. Above my head, shutters are cranked open to welcome the fresh morning air. The delivery truck hastens away-this street becomes ‘pedestrian only’ within the hour. Dogs are walked, residents stop for coffee and children head to school. The village slowly stirs to life.

At the end of town, the scant mist lingers over the valley despite the faint breeze. I wander its rim and consider my options. I could plan something-a drive to neighboring Greve or San Gimignano for shopping, sightseeing, wine, and lunch. But, with so many local options, I don’t need an agenda or a plan. I will let the day unfold at random. As I wander through town, I might indulge in a gelato and then a glass of wine. Perhaps chat with a shopkeeper or a fellow tourist. Then visit the co-operative grocer for some wine and snacks. When I tire, if I tire, I can settle into my idyllic valley with book, beverage and a lounge chair. And of course, my camera and my internal memory card.

About the Author:I am a devoted world traveler and this is my first attempt publication. Just sharing my memories of Castellina has been a joy.

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Nothing Ever Happens in the Cook Islands

Heaven is a place where nothing ever happens. It’s hard to imagine that nothing at all could be so exciting, could be so much fun.—David Byrne and Jerry Harrison

We were on our honeymoon on the tiny South Seas island of Aitutaki. Cue white-sand beach, palm trees leaning toward the water; fronds rustling in the breeze. Pan across bathtub-warm ocean water in shades of indigo and turquoise. There was hardly a soul around. The soundtrack was a relaxing acoustic guitar with soft flute strains. We entered our studio suite not far from the beach and like a movie cliché the needle skittered across the record and the music screeched to a halt. There were two twin beds in our room! Not your ideal honeymoon setup! But, since we were only staying a few nights on Aitutaki, we figured we could make it work, knowing that we had a fancier room waiting for us back on the main Cook Island of Rarotonga.

During an intense warm afternoon thunderstorm that trapped us in our room, we made up a game. We each sat on one bed and tossed a balled up pair of my husband’s white tube socks back-and-forth across the little room to each other. We made up rules about whether the walls, ceiling or floor were out-of-bounds and how to score points. We ended up playing this game every day. It was fun in its simplicity. Simplicity was definitely the theme on this remote island. The island being less than seven square miles was easy to walk around. At one point, we tackled a “climb” to the highest point of the island. The almost laughably short hike to this point called Maunga pu, could have been anti-climactic, except for the postcard-perfect 360-degree views of the island and the motus or small reef islands that circled its blue lagoons.

In the nineties, no one seemed to have heard of the Cook Islands. When asked where were going on our honeymoon, we’d explain, “They’re near Tahiti and used to be part of New Zealand. The islands are in a similar position to Hawaii but on the other side of the Equator. As far as tourist development they’re like Hawaii of fifty years earlier.” Even now, it’s not a well-known destination among Americans.

On one of our walks around Aitutaki we came across two rustic soccer goals on a field of semi-wild grass. One goal was not far from the water, so shots in that direction were backlit and framed in gray-blue stripes. We found an old, dingy white ball and started kicking it to each other. Within minutes, as if they emerged from behind banana plants and coconut trees, we were joined by a few barefoot local children. They joined in with big smiles and eager questions. “Where are you from? What do you think of our island? Can we play again tomorrow?” Soon more children came and we had a full-on pick-up game going. It was a pure, joyful game with lots of laughter.

In the middle of the night, the feral chickens that had been faintly comical and picturesque during the day were maddeningly active. Even with earplugs and a pillow on my head, I could hear them scratching and clucking outside our room. Periodically a “Cockadoodle doo!” pierced the humid night air—a terrible way to learn that roosters do not only crow at dawn. Good thing we had plenty of time for lazy afternoon naps on the warm sand to make up for nights of tossing and turning in our twin beds.

When we returned to the main island of Rarotonga, we were surprised to find it bustling and hurried. Everything being relative, this remote place with no traffic lights now felt like the big city in comparison with super laid-back Aitutaki.

Even though it has been nearly twenty years since we were there, I remember well how time felt on Aitutaki: simple and unhurried. You couldn’t even rush into the water if you wanted to. Nearly every square inch of sand in the shallow water was covered with nudibranch mines. You had to tiptoe through the nudibranchs unless you wanted a squishy sea slug beneath your toes.

While it may not have been the ideal honeymoon, with 24-hour party chickens, twin beds, and limited fine dining, I have no regrets about honeymooning in the Cook Islands. It is easy to have a good time and enjoy each other’s company in air-conditioning and high-thread-count sheets. A truer test of a relationship is laughing together when things don’t go smoothly and with little more diversion than each other’s conversation. After returning home, I made a blue ceramic sea star, an Etua Moana, that sits on our bathroom counter. It reminds me to appreciate the beautiful simplicity in life.

About the Author: Marcie Chan has been to all fifty states and has backpacked around the world. She enjoys singing, dancing, reading, writing, and making pottery, though not simultaneously.

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Where Dreams Are Made in the USA

I consider myself a city person. It’s perhaps the beautiful skylines and countless things to do that attracts me to these areas with huge, dominant buildings. London, Rio de Janeiro, Barcelona, Macau, Tokyo, and Paris are just a few of the international city destinations that I hope to be able to cross off my bucket list in the section of “Places I Absolutely, No Question, Need to Visit”. And while I hope to be able to spend equal amounts of time in all of these locations, there’s one destination a bit closer to home that I wish to stay in a bit longer. That place? Los Angeles, California. This may seem surprising to some, as it is very uncommon to hear, “I really need a vacation, I should go to Los Angeles!” The more likely travel location for the average overworked American would probably be somewhere with white sands, big seas, and colorful margaritas. In my case, however, I feel as though I have a special connection with this famous (and infamous) town where dreams are born (and often times “reconsidered”).

I’m from Seattle, Washington, a well-known city in the United States. Seattle, and the state of Washington as a whole for that matter, has a popular reputation for its rain. While the rain does impact the state during the majority of the year, summers here are absolutely gorgeous, and are usually rain-free. Los Angeles, on the other hand, has perhaps an opposite reputation, in that it’s almost always nice weather year-round. I’m not an enormous fan of the rain, so in my ideal future, I would spend much of my year in Los Angeles, while enjoying a bit of the summer months back in my hometown. I’m currently a college student who interests include all things media. I have a fascination with the art of movies, television, and popular culture, which is why Los Angeles is more than perfect for someone with my tastes. I have such a passion for wanting to see all of the things I see on screen in person, and in order to accomplish that, I have to spend much of my time in this city. All of the cameras and lights entice me and really drive me to work my hardest to be able to call that my daily surroundings.

It has always been one of my missions in life to spend time doing what I love to do, and one of the unsaid requirements in being able to do those things is being located in a place that interests me. I’ve been to L.A. twice in my life, and during those two times, I knew that there would be more for me to do every single time I would come back to the city. Los Angeles may not be the conventional getaway location for most Americans, but this city is somewhere that I feel I belong. It’s as though it is calling me to go there, and one day, I will gladly answer that call. The times in my life that I have spent traveling have just begun, and I am absolutely ready to go on those journeys.

-Jonathan Keyes

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An early Christmas present from Budapest, Hungary

What was I thinking? Leaving my nice warm home with a lovely fireplace and a happily decorated Christmas tree to spend 2 weeks on a cold river going from Budapest to Cologne? It sounded so great in theory, but the flights were rough and upon arrival, Budapest was what you would imagine a former “eastern block” city to look like – cold and grey. The river boat we were traveling on was lovely, it was just like a floating hotel and well appointed, but I just wanted to crawl into bed and let myself feel better about leaving home at Christmas. After a long dinner, the time finally came and we were able to go back our cabin. In short order I was in my pj’s and about to crawl beneath the covers and fall blissfully asleep.

Then I felt the boat move. Awwww crap! I totally forgot! They said we were moving to be docked closer to the town center. Now comes the greatest dilemma I face as a tired, grouchy, regretful traveler: picture or no picture. After having and argument in my head over to go or not to go I realized that this will be my only chance to get a picture of Budapest at night. So I grudgingly get out of bed. I bundle up in my warm pants, my heaviest sweater, my down coat, my mittens and my righteous indignation to go outside to get the picture. I got to the top deck and trudged warily into the freezing cold wind until I got to the front of the boat. We go around a curve in the river and the Parliament building appears before me. It is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen.

This stunning example of neo-gothic architecture lit up spectacularly against a jet black sky. It was so stunningly beautiful that it brought tears to my eyes. In that moment, that one moment, I knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be, doing exactly what I was supposed to be doing. I realized what an extraordinary gift I have been given, the city of Budapest laid majestically before me. And suddenly all of it was worth it, the bad travel day and the not being home for Christmas just to be awake for this experience. It was as if someone had turned on the lights inside of me to remind me what a privilege it is to be able to travel. Suddenly my heart was full of joy at what lie ahead of me, what a gift to be able to see Christmas through the eyes of a different culture. I was giddy at the thought of feeling and seeing the excitement of the Christmas markets. My mouth started salivating at the thought of tasting real German sauerkraut and beer.

With each picture I took the more I felt the gratitude well up inside me. Gratitude that there are magical and wondrous places in the world to visit, that there are different people and cultures to learn and experience and most of all that I was standing on the deck of a river boat watching this city open up before me and knowing there was more to come. Sleep that night came quickly and held the promise of a new adventure tomorrow and I couldn’t wait to find what inspiration waited around the next curve in the river. Thank you Budapest for a wonderful early Christmas present, the gift of inspiration.

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Brazil: Heaven on earth

To Brazil! Brazil was one of the most beautiful places I have ever visited and would love to go back and time soon. From the powdery, white-sand beaches, to the gorgeous mountains, to the spectacular Christ the Redeemer statue, Brazil is truly amazing. Besides that Brazil is the is the host of the FIFA World Cup 2014 and Rio de Janeiro is the host city of the Olympic Games of 2016. This all together makes Brazil outstanding! While in Brazil, specifically Rio de Janeiro, we did many great things! First off, the reason we went in the first place was to see the Pope! Millions upon millions of people from all over the world came together on one beach to see the Pope! Sure it was crowded, but it was well-worth it. Seeing all the different counties unite as one, coming together for the same purpose was just amazing.

The next day, we visited one of the most outstanding statues I have ever seen. This statue of Jesus Christ called “Christ the Redeemer” is 98 feet tall, not including a 26 foot pedestal, and its arms reach 92 feet wide. The bus ride up Corcovado Mountain (the statue is at the peak of the 2,300 foot mountain) was so awesome. I saw rainbows, different plants and animals, and even while we were going up all of us on the bus starting singing different songs. The cool thing was since we were all from different countries it sounded so cool. One person could be singing something in Italian, while the person next to them could be singing in Japanese. All these cultures together having a good time was so cool for me to see. Once we reached the peak, I could clearly see why people were so amazed at it. This statue was so huge! I had to look straight up just to see it because it was so tall! Finally, heading back to the beach I got to meet so many cool people from all over the world.

I traded American flag pins for example in exchange for a Peruvian flag. One of the best parts about this trip was collecting all the different items from the different countries. My favorite thing I got was a shell necklace from a Mexican guy and the coolest part about it was after he gave it to me, he told me he made it himself by hand. He had to collect all the shells and attach them to the string himself and he said it was a lot of work but he was happy to give it to me as a gift to remember him by. Overall, the best thing about Brazil was how kind and sincere everyone was to me. The food, the scenery, the culture, the atmosphere was so incredible and this was one of the best experiences I think I will ever have. If you ever are wondering where you are thinking about traveling for a safe, fun time definitely choose Brazil and you will not regret it one bit.

About the Author: Hi I am Joshua Dea from Rockville, Maryland. I also enjoy playing basketball. Brazil was truly a magical experience and I hope I can go back soon!

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History: The Great Teacher in the USA

Nauvoo, Illinois. By no means does this town make the list of top ten places in the world to visit. Goodness, it probably wouldn’t even make the top hundred plus. Nevertheless, it was there, in a town of less than 1, 200 persons, that I enjoyed the most uplifting, rewarding, memorable vacation with my family.

Granted, rewind to the 1840s when the location seemed destined for greatness as the population and growth rivaled that of Chicago. However, as the town’s denizens, most of them Mormons, trekked west to Utah the place virtually fell off the map. Now most visit the site for history, culture, and to remember the people who once lived there.

That is all fine and dandy, but my family traveled to Nauvoo for a very different reason: to participate in a 120-member family cast of the annual Nauvoo Pageant. Actually, our days were so busy of singing, dancing, rehearsing, and talking, we didn’t even find time to visit many of Nauvoo’s historical sites. For two weeks, mornings began as early as 8am, and nights concluded as late as midnight. Everything was high energy, no matter lack of sleep, no matter physical exhaustion, no matter heat or mosquitoes. Pursuits of relaxation and pleasure were not the purpose of this vacation. Rather, our family trip was to tell a story.

Come late afternoon we donned bloomers and bonnets or britches and boots to help visitors feel as though they’d stepped into 1840 Nauvoo. Early evening was always a fanfare at the Frontier County Fair. There my sisters fiddled and fluted traditional folksongs and polkas, while I taught visitors the Highland Fling and round dances. Scores of other participants assisted in activities from hoops to stilts to quilting to arm wrestling to rag rugs. It was a Nauvoo heyday experience. Nauvoo streets may not have as much traffic now, but at the Pageant’s Fair visitors would think the Mormon pioneers never left.

But did the night end there? Was our vacation only about recreating an 1840 county fair? No. Emphatically no. Our true purpose in being in Nauvoo was yet to come. The reason years later I still consider this the greatest family trip ever. The reason my youngest sister, then two-years old, still remembers the trip. The reason my family repeated the trip a year later, and has been trying to get back since. The reason: our physical participation and performance in the Nauvoo Pageant.

In many regards the Pageant is nothing more than a historical play. There are real and fictional characters, there is a plotline, and there is a theme. Yet by playing a part in the performance, everything we had been doing transitioned from stories to reality. We were telling the life of people in Nauvoo. The wonder of a swamp to city conversion, the beauty of a temple erected from poverty, and the grief with which they left it all behind. There were faces for individuals I’d long read about; there was a voice to years old journal entries; there was music to accompany both joyful and sorrowful times of Nauvoo. And I was now a piece of the story.

Really, the play was much more than entertainment. It was about showing the audience this is who the Mormons were and what they believed. Not to mention that this remains who they are and what they believe. We were not asking people to be converted one way or another; we were simply sharing our beliefs then leaving each individual to choose. In this I found true satisfaction as I could engage in something personally precious without forcing anything on anyone.

Our two week venture to Nauvoo was undoubtedly exhausting yet exhilarating. What a joy to pay homage to a people who sacrificed all for what they believed. Every day as I learned more about those persons I learned more about myself—messages I hope never to forget. History can teach us so very much in a myriad of ways, and I’m grateful for each and every lesson gleaned.

About the Author: Aviann Germany’s first love is her growing family and the time she is able to spend with them. However, in between reading Curious George to her daughter, quilting a baby blanket for her son, and keeping a house orderly for her husband, she still finds time to write.

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New Year’s Eve in Rome, Italy

Walking in Rome on a night in December, the first thing you notice is the lights. White, gold, and blue- they are strung across every street, and bathe everything in an otherworldly glow. Huge gold and silver orbs hang down on invisible strings. Outside the churches, there are life-sized nativity scenes made of wood and stone. There are vendors selling spiced cider, mulled wine and chestnuts on every corner.

In contrast to Rome in the summer, with its sweaty, stale days, Rome in the winter is a city in which you can walk for hours without great discomfort. It is a city in which you can get lost, and should expect to. In the winter, the stifling summer crowds are absent. Most of the tourists are Europeans on their holiday breaks; you hear a variety of languages as you wander through the streets.

Rome at night is always breathtakingly beautiful, but it is even more so during the winter. The dirt and trash that are endemic to every city seem to fade after dusk. All Rome’s imperfections are covered. On the first few nights after I arrived, rain soaked the city. It blurred the Christmas lights into a soft wash of color as I explored the area near my apartment. The city smelled damp, like water and smoke, the noise bombs the Italians love to set off. The stores were all like galleries, the items for sale as exquisite as sculptures. I passed a jewelry store where the necklaces and bracelets were displayed floating in fishbowls; they swayed like sea creatures every time the door opened.

The apartment we stayed in was above a bar, between the Vatican and the Castle Sant’Angelo. By Christmas Eve, the rain had stopped, and it was warm enough that I could open the windows. I heard the Pope speaking in Latin, his voice amplified over loudspeakers, and the drunken revelers singing below me. The reveling got longer and more boisterous every night as the year drew to a close. By New Year’s Eve, I was ready to join in.

The bombs and fireworks started going off early in the day, more and more as night approached. My brother and I headed out of our apartment at about ten. Vendors selling beer and champagne crowded the streets, and we passed a bottle of Peroni back and forth as we walked on the cobblestones, following the crowds to find the best place to ring in the New Year.

Groups roamed the streets like roving gangs, shouting incomprehensible cheers. People threw their champagne and beer bottles against the ground; we had to dodge explosions of glass as we walked. The huge noise bombs were going off everywhere, setting off car and store alarms. I was jittery and on edge. I knew I wasn’t actually in danger, but I felt as if I was.

My brother and I walked toward the Spanish steps, and as we made our way down the street we passed glittering, expensive stores, Dior, Gucci, Louis Vuitton and Prada, their alarms going off, reflections of fireworks bursting in their windows. As it got closer to midnight the crowd grew larger and larger. Rockets were going off everywhere, sending colored showers of sparks up above our heads. The chanting increased as the countdown to midnight began; the ground shook with the stomping of feet.

Then, in the seconds before midnight, a hush fell. The crowd seemed to be holding its breath. Then, as all the clocks in the city began to strike, the mob erupted. Corks were popped and champagne spurted into the air, raining down sticky-sweet on us, so much that it coated our glasses and blurred our vision. In the sky, fireworks of every color were sent up from every part of the city, and everything was as bright as if it was the middle of the day. Loud music was coming from somewhere, and everywhere people were celebrating: couples kissing, families embracing. One man grabbed his daughter and swung her around and around above us. As I watched the scene around me, time slowed down, and the moment took on the shimmer of a movie. It seemed unreal. Although there are many other places I want to travel, and many other things I want to experience, I promised myself then that I would come back to the Eternal City one day.

About the Author: Adriane Hanson is a writer and artist from Richmond, Virginia.

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