Lisa Niver's Blog: We Said Go Travel, page 396

Solstice in the UK

It was still damp and chilly in London. Many people would argue that it is always damp and chilly in London. However, I was in need of cheap sleeping bag, no matter what the late spring weather was predicting.

The weekend had crept up on me again and I had forgotten to make plans to do something on my long bucket list before returning to the states. I was studying abroad in London, August to August, and my time was limited. After I left my last afternoon class that Friday, I received a voicemail from Steve. This was interesting in itself because Steve liked to live off the grid. It was very hard to track him down between thi chi classes and drafting a new manuscript.

Steve invited me to Exter, a small city inside the county of Deven for a friend’s summer solstice party. As he put it “they have an alpaca farm, a barn, and there will be lots of food”. At first I was inclined to say no. Not because it didn’t sound fun, but because it sounded like such a hassle. Packing, getting a bus ticket, the long 5 hour bus ride, was it worth it?

I decided that even though I had been living in England for almost a year, I had really been living in London. I had not taken many opportunities to travel to lesser-known parts of the country. By dinner time I had my bag packed, a new sleeping bag, and I was on my way.

Once outside the city limits, the countryside started to look like a cookie sheet with odd shaped squares lined with stones and trees. The hills stretched and rolled, longer and longer until the sun started setting meekly into the distance. The bus stopped at the Exter bus station and it was eerily quiet. The evening mist was descending on the city and there was hardly anyone around. I sighed and smiled when I saw Steve pull up with a friend. “I’m so glad you could make it!”

The car bumped along the road that became narrower and bumpier the farther we got away from city center. We rounded the corner and pulled onto a gravel path leading up to the barn. They had strung lights from every corner of the barn and flags hung over the entrance. The music had already started.

I grabbed a fizzy elderberry drink and headed towards the food. Country fare mostly, cheeses and homemade chutneys, crusty bread, and cured meats. There was so much dancing! Some people were dressed in silly costumes and lighting sparklers. A few party-goers started a bon-fire by the barn and were telling stories, laughing, while reaching for cardigans and sweaters. Most of the people were locals or former locals who were now living in London and elsewhere. It was a homecoming of sorts, people catching up on each other’s lives, reconnecting, reminding each other of past ventures and jokes.

I was a fly on the wall, chatting, but mostly watching the evening unfold. After I had eaten my share, heard many stories, and listened to the folk band weld songs from collections old and new, I retreated to my tent in the field. Even though it was June, the grass was wet with dew and my toes were gladly covered in socks. I slept to the sound of laughing drifting into the valley past the farm.

In the morning, I heard shuffling outside my tent. I peeked out to see the alpacas sauntering into the field for their early morning grassing. I rubbed my eyes, pulled my jumper over my head, and walked into the field. I tried to get close to them, but they were hungry and had no interest in my distractions.

It was then, looking over the fields under the horizon, that I realized I had been invited to see something private, something sacred. Not just a welcoming of summer, but a window into the lives of people who have roots here. Not the transient student population in London, but real people, real friendships, relationships that held depth.

Steve brought me coffee and we watched the alpacas munch on their breakfasts. I thanked him for inviting me; he shrugged as if to say “of course”. Others were still sleeping in their tents as I started to pack my things. I grabbed a rosemary scone from the farm house and stole one more look at the serine view of the barn. On the ride back to London, before I drifted off for a nap, I realized this adventure wasn’t about the bucket list and all the main attractions. This adventure was about seeing a glimpse of the real England I had been searching for.

About the Author: Natalie Cowart received her BA in Creative Writing from the Florida State University. She now teaches and writes in Charlotte, North Carolina.

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Kaleidoscopes in Austin, Texas

Taillights stretch long past the line of sight, blurring like the colors of a twirling kaleidoscope. Traffic is to be expected along the highways and byways of Central Austin, but this is far worse if one is not prepared. This is typical traffic plus all of the travellers converging for the latest international event, adding their own colors to the mix. Seasons in Austin, Texas aren’t marked by weather, as in most places. Instead, they are marked by whatever festival or international event the city is hosting. Spring means South by SouthWest while fall means Austin City Limits and Formula ONE.

I stand planted behind the bar, untouched by the swirl of colors flooding the town, liberally doling out the caffeine of choice to each customer. Even so, I don’t have to miss a thing because Austin comes to me like a rainbow pouring through my door. And Austin does not disappoint. To outsiders, “Keep Austin Weird” might seem like just another marketing scheme for a t-shirt, but for locals it truly is a way of life.

Each day I’m met with a kaleidoscope of culture. Your typical college student in a blue tee shirt and blue gym shorts holds the door open for the CEO, rushing in, red faced, late for his next appointment. The local musician watches from her regular seat and her purple dreads brush the arm of her best friend and drummer as she leans in to chat. At the counter, the student and CEO lineup behind a French woman, with an orange skirt twirling around her ankles, who is meeting with her language student. They find a seat at a table next to a group of friends who have gone green, chosen the life of nomads and are travelling the US. Each person unique yet in this tiny coffee shop the disparity between becomes striking. Austinites are always true to their heart and apparently coffee is their life-blood.

As Austin walks through my door, I’m amazed at the passion I encounter. I may be a barista today, but the world is at my fingertips. Each person comes to me with stars in their eyes and fire in their heart. They inspire me. They believe, they know they are changing the world. As the top growing city in the US for several years running, is it any wonder people can do anything here? It’s the political seat for the largest state in the continental union. This city hosts one of the largest college campuses in the US. The IT industry has chosen this place as a hub of commerce. Artists swarm here to see if it really is the “Live Music Capital of the World.” You can even find church planters and the Christian world expanding, a surprise because unlike its northern counterpart, Dallas, Austin finds itself outside of the Bible belt.

I can do anything because Austin comes to me with opportunities outstretched. They are mine for the taking; today a barista, tomorrow a world changer. It’s a small feat in a land where the streets are paved with inspiration, the yellow brick road to any dream you dare to dream. To wait in the traffic of these overflowing streets is to wait alongside fellow dreamers. In Austin, passion overflows and colors combine to create a city that truly inspires; a city that lives without regrets.

About the author: Chelsie Griffith considers herself a part time gypsy and a full time adventurer. Whether that adventure includes exploring new relationships or pulling out her passport, being a barista at Summermoon Coffee Bar provides the flexibility she needs to continue growing, learning and creating.

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Dreaming of South Korea

I was once told that I could never be where I am now. Now I am being told that I can never go to where I want to be. To breathe air from a different part of this earth and feel foreign soil before my feet, to interact with others who are not quite like myself and who have lived experiences that one could only dream. This is the lure that attracts me, the reasoning behind all my thoughts, my reveries, and this particular ambition. Barriers have restricted the human race for the entirety of our existence, but in return we have requited these obstructions with creations of our own. Trains, planes, automobiles, these are the oeuvres humanity has left for later generations in the attempts of never allowing impediments from slowing the advancement or greatness that we aspire to. How many times have I wished that I could iron away the blunders that destiny has fabricated. However, I’ve come to realize that destiny has made these blunders so that I could unravel the reality of the situation and the amount of perseverance it takes to iron them. I will not allow a language barrier to conquer me and distract me from visiting a land I have always wanted to see, after all I am part of the human race and have been born with the acute stubbornness all have. I will not bow before my barrier, I will not be conquered but conquer, nor allow myself to admit defeat but instead perceive the temptation of defeat as intangible, and project my thoughts as incorrigible.

I have grown many years in a short time, it sometimes scares me to have known the length of what I’ve grown. The thought of visiting this country has contributed to my growth, because I now want to grow more in order for me to be ready to explore the delights ahead and overcome the barriers put in my path, so in turn I will prove myself to myself that I am able to iron creases that even destiny has fabricated. To be able to come across new traditions and speak this language that is strange to my ears but delightful to my lips and realize that it will forever be strange and forever hold beauty, but will no longer be foreign.

Somehow I believe that I have found my true love in things that are foreign to me. Of an alien land whose represents balance and the elements and emits charm through its traditions and culture. In four years I hope to visit South Korea with the ability to speak its citizen’s language, lay on Simhak Mountain in the sea of poppies and look up at a different but same sky. I have been told that I can never go to where to I want to be, however, these words fall upon death ears because this is the place that rouses me, inspires me, and where I will spend my time wisely with no regrets for as long as my destiny has given me.

About the Author: Luisa Rincon grew up in Elizabeth, NJ and was born in Colombia. I hope to visit South Korea in three years after I master the language before I start freshman year in college.

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

 

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Never Regret a Moment Spent on a walk in India

The first thing to hit me is the smell, sewers and sweat all mixed together creating an incredible and overwhelming stench! I turn the corner and smell something else… wow what is that? Freshly made samosas bubbling away and milky chai simmering in a huge saucepan, that stench from before seems to have vanished.

After breakfast I step out onto the street and enter complete chaos. It is hard to focus on a single thing among all this madness! There are men and women walking around with whole shops draped over their shoulders, all of them looking in my direction.

“You like lighter miss?”

“No thank you.”

“Scarf miss, very beautiful scarf.”

“No thank you.”

“Maybe wallets miss, you need wallets, you buy for present for your brother cousin?”

Please no, just get me out of here. I begin to walk away in the wrong direction, although I am not quite sure anymore which way the right direction even is and then “BEEEEPPP!!!” A cow in the middle of the road, stood right in the middle of the road! Vehicles swerve in all directions, at each other, pedestrians, any direction but the cow, the holy cow. This is crazy what is going on?

“Rickshaw miss, you want rickshaw?”

“Yes maybe.” “

“I do very good price, full day, all sights only 1000 rupees.”

“1000 is too much and it’s ok really, I can walk, I am happy walking.”

Within seconds I am surrounded.

“No miss, you must not walk, I do good price only 500.”

Just as I am about to make my excuses and carry on walking a tiny man with the biggest smile I have ever seen appears.

“Miss, my name is Raja, for full day, all best sights, 300 rupees only”

Raja sets off at break neck speed, weaving in and out of traffic like a man possessed but still wearing that great big smile. I try to focus on something else; my eyes are not quite sure where to look! There is a man sat in what appears to be a barber’s chair right there on the side of the road, he is wearing a bright pink bobble hat with clashing yellow cardigan and his chin is covered in foam. I turn to look the other way and five people pass by on one motorcycle, a whole family, Dad, Mum and three children all in school uniform, suddenly they swerve, swerve to avoid a truck that is driving up the road on the wrong side! That was close!

After a few more minutes we come to a stop. “We are here miss,” Raja says. “I wait here for you maybe one hour you come back outside.”

Walking into the temple complex the madness of outside slowly melts away, escapes me, I suddenly feel peaceful and there is silence, complete silence. I reflect on the morning’s events and a strange feeling washes over me, I look up at the temple as if it is summoning me and slowly walk towards it.

After some time I start to make my way outside; I can really feel the midday heat now. I need a drink and I should find Raja, I have been gone much longer than an hour, I didn’t realize, time feels different here almost more important while not feeling quite as important at all. I look around, probably looking quite lost and am surrounded again but this time by a small group of girls, school girls all in matching mint green and crisp white uniform. One girl nudges another towards me.

“Hello, photo please,” she says shyly.

Seems like a strange request but why not, “Ok,” I reply.

The girl points to my camera which we hand over to a lady who must be their teacher, we stand together in a row “click, click, click!” The girls rush over to the camera; I show them the photos on the cameras display. They point, giggle, nudge each other and then skip away holding hands. I walk in search of Raja wondering what the rest of this day will hold……

After many days like this one I discovered that this hectic yet amazing country holds many things. India is a country that is full of highs and lows, ups and downs, it will make you feel happy and make you feel sad, you will love it and you will hate it, you will lose faith and gain faith all in a split second. It is a country that will inspire you and open your mind. India will stay deep within your soul forever and you can be sure that every day no matter how crazy will always be eventful; never boring and you will never regret a moment spent.

About the Author: Kelly Marie Cox  has traveled 28 countries in Europe, Africa, Asia and South America. My passions are travel, food and photography. I am from Bristol, England and am currently working and living in Italy.

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The Gorge in Washington- Heaven on Earth

Have you ever been to a place that made you feel so much peace that you started planning your next trip back before you even returned home? Seeing Dave Matthews Band perform for 3 nights of concerts at “The Gorge” on Labor Day weekend is an excellent place to experience just that. The Gorge is a music amphitheater located in the heartland of beautiful Washington state about 2 hours drive east of Seattle. The actual concert stage at the venue is situated on a cliff overhanging the Columbia River in George, Wa. in a place that could easily be called God’s country. The area is surrounded by not only the gorgeous and pristine Columbia River and canyons but beautiful vineyards, state parks and the famous Wild Horse Monument are also close by.

When making the trip for the first time you might not have any idea what to expect. As you most likely travel from Seattle you will notice the mountains begin to fade away and the terrain begins to turn to desert. The air is crisper. The sky is bluer. The water in the rivers and streams is clearer. The true beauty of this place is difficult to describe in words. Once you arrive you can stay at nearby campgrounds in Vantage, Moses Lake or at the venue or you can stay at a hotel in one of the nearby towns. Both are pleasant and unforgettable experiences. If you are a nature lover you might want to enjoy camping and sleep under the stars. You can equally enjoy the experience if you rent a car and stay in a hotel. This gives you more flexibility to drive around and see the nearby sights during the day. Once you have settled in, it is time to make the trek The Gorge Amphitheater for a once in a lifetime concert experience.

Upon arrival at the venue you will make your way from the immense grass parking area to the entrance of the venue. You will walk past people tail gating and playing DMB songs which really gets you in the mood for the show. Excitement is building at that point as your ticket is scanned and you pass through security. The smell of food from vendors inside the gate awakens your sense of smell and tastes buds. The sounds of music playing from side stages and opening bands on the main stage awaken your ears. The array of people who have congregated at this beautiful place range from babies to teenagers, to adults, to elderly people. Families with three generations sitting together on a blanket on the lawn enjoying the evening together are very typical. This tells you that DMB’s music combined with this beautiful venue is truly a magical place that brings all walks of life together. There really is no other concert venue like this in the United States or quite possibly the world.

As the sun sets on the Columbia River you will be amazed at the beauty and try to take it all in. Pictures are a must but do not do it justice by any means. As you make your way to your seats or to your space you have claimed on the lawn to prepare for the show, you feel the excitement building and you begin to feel a smile creep across your face. The people all around you are friendly and happy and it is infectious. They all know what is about to take place…three hours of musical, emotional and spiritual bliss. Around 8:15pm give or take a few minutes the lights on the stage will go down and you await for Dave and the boys to emerge from behind the scenes and when they do the roar of the crowd is deafening. Joy begins to flow through your veins. The music starts and you lose yourself in it and the lyrics and you sing and dance like there is no place you would rather be on the planet at that very moment. The sound of the crowd singing the lyrics to every song word for word is like a 20,000 person chorus echoing across the canyon. People who have never been to The Gorge or to a Dave Matthews Band concert will no doubt be in complete awe during their first experience and as well as every trip back after. Nearly three hours of giving it their all…the band finishes their encore and says farewell. Three hours truly feels like mere minutes have passed. You are left breathless but elated and ready to come back and do it all again for the next two nights. Can it get here any sooner?

You will be drawn back to this place over and over again for one simple reason. Your mind is at perfect peace when you are there and you will have no regrets whatsoever for making the trip back over and over again. “Celebrate we will, for life is sweet for certain” ~ Dave Matthews Band

About the Author: Stacey Sloughfy is originally from Kentucky and now resides in Indiana. She has an Environmental Science degree from the University of Kentucky and is employed in the science field. In her free time she enjoys travel, writing, concerts, her two cats, and is an aspiring travel writer. She is striving to be a positive influence and has gained a large following on Twitter.

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

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That Time Barcelona, Spain Stole My Heart

As a musical buff, I always tend to find quotes of inspiration from the songs of great musicals. One lyric in particular from the musical ‘Rent’ has always struck a chord with me.

‘Forget regret, or life is yours to miss.’

It’s always seemed like wishful thinking to me, a nice little sentiment, a good philosophy to live by but then forget about after two weeks however standing at the top of the Passion Facade, one of the towers of the majestic Sagrada Familia in Barcelona, Spain- it was something that became a reality to me.

Something happened to me last August- the need to travel hit me. I wanted to go somewhere, to see something new, to try something adventurous for the first time in my life. I’m not an impulsive person; I’m always planning and worrying but never actually doing anything. There was something about Barcelona that just seemed to call out to me. It seemed fun, vibrant, busy- everything my life wasn’t. Hans Christen Anderson described Barcelona as having ‘movement and life’ and that’s what I wanted to experience.

I had no one to go with and I’d never been anywhere on my own so this was it: do or die or maybe something less dramatic like traveling solo. It was still a scary decision for me but I felt like I had to move heaven and earth to go. It was one of those ‘now or never moments you get in your life.

I think the moment I first felt free was when I reached the top of the tower at the Sagrada Familia. Bursting out of the too small lift into the sun and being able to see Barcelona, it felt like coming home. As you make your way down the tower you get to see all of the scribbles people have left on the walls but it doesn’t feel like graffiti, it feels like your friends have left you stories to help you on your way.

You can get a similar feeling of awe from view at the top of Parc Guell. You feel so removed from the city but to be able to look over it, it’s like a feeling of omniscience, as if you can see everything there is to see and know everything there is to know about Barcelona. It’s a wonderful feeling to be able to look down on the beauty of the whole city.

To experience life and vibrancy, one of the best times to go to Barcelona is during the Le Mercè festival, which is when I happened to be there. Four days full of fireworks, music and colour. It is a festival to celebrate the patron Saint of Barcelona and what a celebration it is. From the fire-breathing dragons that roam the streets at night to the amazing street performers, it’s something that just shouldn’t be missed.

La Rambla almost has a notorious reputation for the pick pockets and the stalls selling pets throughout the day but it’s always somewhere you gravitate back to, like it’s the heart of the city. With the beautiful beach and harbour at one end and the scenic Plaça Catalunya at the other, where mounds of pigeons flock and surround the beautiful fountains. You also gravitate towards La Boqueria, the amazing and busy food market full of enticing sights and aromas, it truly is unique to have somewhere so busy but feel like you can take the time to stop and savour everything.

Of course, you cannot forget the amazing magic fountain. I saw it on my last night in Barcelona and I was mesmerized. I could have stayed all night if it had kept going. The colours, the music and the grand scale of the fountain just summarised everything that Barcelona means- colour, tradition, music and vitality.

There will always be things you wished you’d done, both in your travels and in your life but it’s all about changing your perception. This isn’t a time for regret; it’s an opportunity to go back. Barcelona is that place to me. This trip was in no way easy; I hated the idea of eating alone at night, sitting there surrounded by couples and groups of friends. I also dreaded finding my way to the hotel, even though I picked the one in the easiest location I could find but this trip taught me how to not just survive but live and enjoy it. I got by on my own in a country where I didn’t understand everything or everyone and I loved it. I loved that I gave myself a chance to find something new and live life in the moment and Barcelona is truly the place that can inspire you to do that.

About the Author:  My name is Amy and I’m twenty two years old. One of the questions I hate the most is ‘where are you from?’ It doesn’t matter where I’m from, what matters is where I’m going! I’m an avid blogger and all round creative soul, I love making art and music! I’m a fan of American sitcoms and anything cheesy.

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

Amy Smith

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Rhododendrons for Luck in Nepal

The gods must be cranky.

“Sorry for picking the rhododendron, fellas. Truce, please?”

I whispered my apology to the heavens and snuggled into the outcrop of Hinku Cave, a protective nook 3,000 meters and five days into Nepal’s notorious Annapurna Base Camp hike. In typical mountain fashion, the morning sky promised cerulean vistas and caressing breezes. Now, ominous clouds veiled all but mere meters in front of my nose, and I was shivering in my woolly layers.

I pondered my options. Deurali, my night’s accommodation, perched on the next mountain pass. Thanks to my plastic gown, I didn’t fear getting wet. But I was bit apprehensive about tottering on a sheer ravine with my hefty backpack. And traversing a slippery glacier in dense clouds was not on today’s bucket list.

So, short of renting a mountain goat, I was stuck here for now.

I should be dismayed, but despite the sour turn in my pristine trekking weather, I was loving every minute of my Nepalese adventure. The land of smiles offered scenery that hugged my soul and local personalities that warmed my heart with their delicious, welcoming nature. Nepal was an addictive travel destination, one that I wanted to experience to the fullest. However unexpected, this sudden storm allowed me to truly appreciate all of Nepal’s temperaments, and I was soon relaxing into the rain’s melodic embrace.

Crack! The interlude was interrupted as three porters broke through my cloud fortress.

“Namaste. Tapaai laai kasto chha?” Hello. How are you? That was the extent of my Nepali so I added an extra-wattage smile for good measure.

The boys immediately dropped their overloaded dokos and began an enthusiastic banter, “Namaste! Lamo samaya…”

I didn’t understand a word. Instead, I offered another grin and made space on the narrow floor of my shelter. Introductions followed, and Brakesh, Raji and Prem were soon settled in the cave to wait out the storm with me.

While the tempest writhed and wormed her way through the ravine, I pulled chocolate bars from my backpack and accidentally dropped my beautiful rhododendron on the wet earth. After rescuing my delicate souvenir, I joked that the rain gods were punishing me for picking one of their sacred mountain blossoms.

“Yes, rhododendrons bring good luck for hikers. Maybe not for you,” laughed Brakesh in near flawless English.

The boys patted my shoulder and assured me that I was not to blame for the turbulent forces of nature. Then, over sips of raksi, a sake-like booze made from fermented millet, we shared stories of our families, lives, and adventures.

Prem, who at twenty was the trio’s oldest, began portering with his father several years ago. He pressed a photo of his young son into my hand and professed that they will work Annapurna’s trails together one day. It was his wish that they become respected and honored porters among their peers.

Raji carried engineering textbooks in his backpack and hoped to move to Kathmandu, or perhaps Delhi, one day. He yearned for a college education and craved knowledge about a world outside of Nepal.

Brakesh, who loved American pop culture, wanted to know everything about Katy Perry, Obama, and Hollywood’s TomKat gossip. I passed on my dog-eared copy of One Hundred Years of Solitude, and he grasped my hand in sincere gratitude.

As our conversations melted into the evening, I was struck by the affection these boys expressed for their lifestyles along Annapurna’s trails. To an outsider, a porter’s life of labor was sometimes considered unjust or cruel; however, the porter’s bond of brotherhood and respect for the mountain was an enduring legacy.

The rain eventually passed, and we walked together towards Deurali. By the time we arrived, there were no available beds. Instead, I was given a heavy yak-hair blanket and offered space with the porters on the kitchen floor. The boys arranged my hiking boots near the stove’s dying embers and insisted that I sleep closest to the warm hearth.

Restful dreams came quickly.

My new friends rose early and were gone before I woke. As I savored a mug of ginger tea, I relished that life’s turn of events often lead to remarkable encounters. I would probably never see my endearing friends again, but their unique characters had left a lasting impression in my heart and had inspired a return to Nepal someday, perhaps even to this very spot along the Annapurna trail. Like the boys, I felt the mountain calling to me, asking to be understood and explored. It’s an exciting feeling.

As I reached to assemble my gear, I noticed a fresh rhododendron tucked into my laces. A hastily written note promised, “better luck today!”

I laughed and secured the lucky blossom to my pack.

“Dhanyabad, boys.” Thank you.

About the Author: Since fleeing Chicago’s marketing scene and exchanging her high heels for hiking boots, Ashley Cultra has traveled, volunteered, and worked her way around the globe, including a seven month sail through the South Pacific. When she’s not traipsing through mountain vistas, Ashley dreams of publishing her first book and plans her next adventure.

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

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The Green Heart in Italy

The Green Heart

After celebrating our wedding anniversary on a ten-hour flight to Rome, my husband and I are in Spoleto, Italy. Spoleto is located in the region of Umbria, known for its verdant hills and vineyards, and aptly called, the Green Heart of Italy. As anywhere, the east blooms with light in Spoleto. But here, the same sun wields an old master’s brush, suffusing transparent layers on the walled medieval hill town. Each morning when we awaken, one of us shouts out, We’re still in Italy!, as if a miracle keeps occurring in this place halfway around the earth. Our stay is for six and a half weeks, and we have fallen in love with not only the quality of the light, but the people, the food, the language. Often in our apartment we pause at the open windows to hear the melodic intonations of a language more akin to song, a gestalt of tongues, a rise and fall.

We walk narrow, cobblestoned streets mindful, that here, pedestrians do not necessarily have the right-of-way, and small, fuel-efficient cars and Ducati motorcycles zip past with alarming speed. At an outdoor cafe near a canopy of umbrellas, a waiter brings out a boombox and plugs in two loudspeakers. Music bounces off the walls of the buildings on either side screaming the American words, Oh baby. Oh baby, You’re my girl. Oooh-oooh, oooh-oooh. Just then, cathedral bells toll.

A short walk, and we arrive at Spoleto’s majestic fortress, now a museum, situated at the apex of the town with a walking path circling below. In one direction are views of a multitude of buildings with curled clay roofs mottled in gray, bleached pink, and dusty melon. In another direction, the slopes of the Sacred Forest astound with its thousand shades of green, once home to St. Francis. Midway across the aqueduct of zinc-hued columns, possibly on Roman foundations, we stand at an arch which opens to a sky filled with mountains and valley. My hand outlines the rough pitted stone. Surprisingly, the arch itself is etched and painted with graffiti. One sees these messages frequently spray-painted on other historic buildings as common cursing, or sometimes, political statements.

We hear angelic singing wafting up from the duomo, our next stop. Late cathedral-goers head towards the Cattedrale di Santa Maria Assunta. This site is famous for the Festival of the Two Worlds, an annual summer music and opera festival with its ending performance held here. As we rest on the low walls, suddenly a procession begins from the far end of the piazza. A long line of clergy stream towards the duomo. A young woman hurries past them. My husband captures the photo which for us becomes the epitome of modern day superimposed on age-old tradition.

Before we leave this magical town, that some have called a fairytale setting, we will walk up or down every steep street. We will dine with new friends; taste the best food we have ever eaten: traditional truffle-laced noodles, lentil soup, green olives and olive oil, carbonara, and wood-smoked pizza topped with arugula and artichoke hearts, warm apple cake with cream gelato, and more. Everything fresh, everything local.

We will daytrip by train to other hill towns, picnic in places with views startling in their natural beauty surrounded by buildings and streets dating back thousands of years. But at the end of the day the pull of Spoleto calls us back, back to street vendors selling fennel and figs, back to where cranes are as likely to be seen as cathedral spires, back to where we feel most at home.

Life goes on in this ancient city, where the past is never forgotten but adjusts to the present moment. The town is always being rebuilt, nothing torn down to the ground but restored, or patched together. A cathedral with a large clock now serves as an apartment building. The teatro, an amphitheater, for centuries its stage and tiered seating under layers of dirt, is now a popular museum. In the library, a section of glass flooring allows patrons to look down into what once was a Roman well.

We walk back to our apartment, past heavy wooden doors with metal doorknockers covered with a patina. The aroma of simmering tomatoes and rosemary drifts down from an open window. Its flowerbox brims with red and white geraniums. Across from our apartment hydrangea vines weave privacy for a wrought iron balcony.

The cathedral bells signal dusk. Another day well-spent in the Green Heart of Italy where the re-visioning of this town encourages us to re-vision our own possibilities. The sun sets in the west, and Spoleto drinks the light as anywhere, but here, the dwellings and butter-colored walls shimmer golden.

About the Author:  Jo Brachman has previously placed work in the Birmingham Poetry Review, Poetry East, Waccamaw Journal, The Southern Poetry Anthology by Texas Review Press, The San Pedro River Review, and Town Creek Poetry.

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FIRST TIME ON SAFARI IN THE KALAHARI

FIRST TIME ON SAFARI IN THE KALAHARI

Photo courtesy of Kalahari Plains Camp & Uncharted Africa

Botswana safaris often revolve around the Okavango Delta, and it’s no surprise – but it was certainly the first time I ever saw the Kalahari which made me fall in love with this peaceful and welcoming country. Over 90% of Botswana is Kalahari, in fact a lesser known fact is that the Okavango Delta is still the Kalahari – so wherever you are in Botswana, you’ll always be in the Kalahari. Luxury safaris in Botswana will undoubtedly take you into the game rich water channels of the Delta – this is a haven for wildlife where poaching is a distant memory and over crowding non existent. The wildlife flourishes here and days spent walking, riding or driving through this oasis are often life changing. However the desert that forms this huge delta has a magic which cannot be found anywhere else in Africa.

A short flight or longer drive from the Delta you will find the landscape becomes dustier, redder and even bigger than anything you’ve seen before. The dry Kalahari opens up before you dotted only with lonely baobab trees, doum palms and low lying scrub. The vistas are so huge that one imagines this must be what it feels like to walk on the moon. Home to Africa’s oldest traditional tribe, the San Bushmen, the Kalahari has an atmosphere reminiscent of the old Africa and includes Chapman’s baobab, a tree actually used to navigate this vast area by many of those great explorers. The San bushmen are charming and charismatic and welcome guests who come to see their way of life – they can track and forage like no other tribe and these traditional skills can still wow us modern westerners today.

Photo courtesy of Kalahari Plains Camp & Uncharted Africa

Sunsets here change colour dramatically every minute as the flat dusty land throws up all manner of brightly coloured specs into the setting sun. Once the sun has gone down you are then treated to the most magnificent display of stars you’ll see anywhere, and there is a movement in Botswana to have the Kalahari named as Dark Sky Reserve. Game viewing here is totally different to the Delta, here you are on the hunt for rare species such as brown hyena, black maned lion or aardvark. A morning spent with an habituated group of meerkats is nothing less than mesmerising and you’ll never forget the feeling of a hot fat little body perched on your shoulder.

 

The Kalahari is an ever changing phenomena which actually comesto life in the low season (December to March) –the

Photo courtesy of Kalahari Plains Camp & Uncharted Africa

whole desert seems to come to life with wild flowers and grasses growing tall. There is a huge migration of zebra into the area which of coursebrings with it some exciting predator action. Don’t visit Botswana without including a trip to this wonderful area – it is quite unlike anything in Africa.

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Laos: Learning to Fly

In many Asian cultures the age 25 is an unlucky one…and after a series of rather unfortunate events I was starting to believe it.

As an absent-minded English teacher I forgot my wallet, passport included, on a hook in a Thailand squatty potty over one hundred kilometers from my out-of-country destination. After returning for it, and almost not making it to the border on time, I rushed to Huay Xai, Laos where the rest of my teacher crew were ever so patiently waiting for me. We were all about to fulfill a childhood dream by living in a jungle tree house, zip lining from tree to tree while searching for the endangered black-cheeked gibbon.

We start out with an early rise and cram my seven other friends, two Dutch men, our guides, and all of our belongings, including food for the next four days, into a Land Cruiser. We plow through a river, over a steep muddy hill, slipping and sliding all the way to the village just outside of the nature preserve. My legs are squished and sore but not to worry the eggs are just fine. My friend Esme protected them by putting them under her seat as if she were a mother hen wary of any unwanted visitors. We joyfully spring out of the car, buy a dusty coke from the village shop where nudity, as described by my friend, was in full force and start our uphill journey on foot deep into the jungle.

Exhausted but pumped we reach our first stretch of zip lines. When it is my turn I can hardly contain my enthusiasm. No countdown needed, I make the jump and soar into the best view I have ever encountered. Higher than the tallest trees, this flight gives me a rush and time to look left, right and out of sight. I feel like I am in one of those flying dreams I always hope to achieve at night, except this is real and powerful. After my screams of excitement and kicking feet come to a halt I am faced with an overwhelming sense of tranquility and awe. The breeze seems to play with my loose hair and I begin to let go and be one with the gibbons.

After zipping, hiking, singing and making animal noises, my new friends and I are immediately close. We finally zip into our gigantic tree house with plastered grins and pick out our tents. We duck under our termite ridden branches and gather around on stumps for some dinner. Stories are already filling the air of our newfound hobby of monkeying around. Physically tired yet mentally charged we go to sleep under a blanket of stars as the many noises of the rain forest lull us to sleep.

The next couple of days we play like filthy children in our rain forrest as if it were our own back yards. We hike up and up to get to the best chains of zips with dirty faces and scraped knees. However tired or worn out we are, we never stop. There is no time to waste when adventure awaits us. We impatiently run from one zip to the next as if they will erode into the jungle if we don’t make it on time. At the end of our days we take the most extravagantly basic shower in our family tree. Naked and free we get the opportunity to feel like birds bathing in the rain drops from the overhead leaves. Looking out into the canopy covered with butterflies and exotic birds the cold water feels refreshing to our sweating skin. That sense of tranquility is starting to become exquisitely familiar.

After several failed attempts, we decide to take the final chance of seeing the endangered black-cheeked gibbon on our last morning. We awaken in the dark morning to their calls. This time it’s loud and we’re shocked to find they are outside of our tree. Their long arms gracefully move from branch to branch and their heavy bodies swing with the gravity. Together the family of gibbons travel past us and disappear into the distance. It was a brief but magical moment. As they become faint many things become clear to me. Although, this trip had a rocky start I start to realize I am not unlucky at all. Seeing these endangered animals in their natural habitat is out of this world. I have bonded with seven incredible people in a place that one day may no longer be here. I have pushed myself physically and am inspired to change the way I travel positively. I am appreciative for the generous man at the border who extended his work hours to let me through. I am lucky that my passport was returned and not stolen. In a culture where superstitions are prevalent, I learn it is how you spend your time perceiving situations that make all the difference.

About the Author:  Chelsea Menshek is a backpacking, cartwheeling, English teaching, textile enthusiast with a tendency to obtain bacterial infections from street and/or wild animals. Originally from San Diego, California, she left a life in the entertainment industry to pursue her love of travel and the unknown. While learning to enjoy the beauty of awkward moments, she’ll be the second to jump into any situation but be the first to tell you about it.

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

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