Lisa Niver's Blog: We Said Go Travel, page 423

The United States, One Big Family

There has been a plethora of cataclysms over the years in the United States. From the attacks on September 11th in 2001, to Hurricane Sandy just last year. The United States has been able to come in sync as a whole and fight through every disincentive that comes our way. That’s why if I were to choose any place in the world to spend my time, with no regrets, I would choose the United States.

Though yes, we do not always agree as a whole; in any time of need, we always know that even people we have never met who live athwart the country will be there for us. From the fire fighters, police officers, and paramedics for 9/11 to the hundreds of thousands of civilians setting up care shelters for people in schools to bus stations. I know that no matter what this country goes through, that even though not everyone may agree with the regimentation, I know that we can always count on each other to be there. It feels great to know that you have somebody there for you, like a shoulder to lean on. Each state has forty nine shoulders to lean on.

It is so inspiring to me that we are all so coherent. It is inspiring to know that we are strengthened after every disenchant. Not only are we able to recover and get through the hard time, but we are able to rebuild and show we are worth it. After the attacks on September 11th, we had to recover, through the cleanup efforts and the shelters provided for people. After we were able to restore normality, we were able to show we are stronger by building the Freedom Tower.

I want to live in a country that I can be proud of and that I can be happy to live with no regrets. The United States provides that for me. The United States inspires me to not only recover, but to come back better than the first time and show them I am better and stronger than before. Living in the United States not only makes me feel proud of my country, but it makes me feel blessed. I was blessed to be born here in the United States and to be raised in a place where helping others is so important. Living here has taught me so many life lessons that I value such as put others before yourself and to never complain because somewhere across the Land of Liberty, someone could be suffering. It’s right there in the name, the United States, it’s true, we are united, we are a big family who argues sometimes over different views but in the end, all fifty states will always be there for each other. Overall, the United States provides a sense of unity that makes me proud to be an American and it makes me want to spend my time here.

About the Author: My name is Erica Johnson, I am fourteen years old, and I attend Hillsborough High School in Hillsborough, NJ. I am a member of the debate team, the environment club, the baking club, the Youth Humane Society, the Bridges club (helping the elderly), Interact (volunteer work), the Paws for a Cause club, and the American Red Cross club.

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

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1000 Places to Fight: We Said Go Kiss!

Thank you to Mike and Luci of 1000 Places to Fight Before You Die for interviewing us for their incredible travel website, where they earned 2013 “Best Couple Travel Blog!” We loved our intro:

Meet George and Lisa of the couple travel blog: “We Said Go Travel.”  They are hands down, one of the deans of the couple travel blogging world.  In 2013, this dynamic duo penned a hilarious and candid travel memoir titled ”Traveling in Sin.”  The book outlines one of the most epic online hookups of all time.   Their wide-eyed adventures have taken them around the globe including adventures in French Polynesia, New Zealand and Mongolia.

George and Lisa were gracious enough to sit down with the Fighting Couple to answer a few questions.

Lisa and George of We Said Go Travel

We Said Go Kiss, Sun Temple, Konark, India

 

1)Lisa, we hate to start off with this one, but it is the new year…  You are so BEAUTIFUL!  We read the article about your weight transformation.  Give us some pointers for eating and living healthy in the new year.  How do you make healthy choices when you travel? 

She Said: Thank you! George is a big help in making healthy choices. We eat regular meals and we do not snack while traveling. When we are going to spend all day on a bus, we prepare by finding foods to eat on the road so we are not tempting by ice cream and candy. I think the most important thing is to not get too hungry (or tired) because then it is harder to make good choices.

2) If you had to travel with someone else besides your travel partner, who would it be?  (this person can be living, historical or mythical?.)

He Said: My friend, Dr. Jimmy because he makes me laugh, he is fun to be with and I know we would have a good time.

She Said:  Charles Darwin: I read a great book about his experiences, experiments and adventures in the Galapagos when I was young. I have always wanted to go and it would be incredible to travel and study science with him there!

 READ THE FULL INTERVIEW

Traveling in Sin is a TOP TEN Hot New Release! from Lisa Niver Rajna

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Pangasinan, Philippines: Being Adventurous!

One fine day, Record To Report Team brought the topic of exploring Pangasinan – the “land of salt” and where Hundred Islands is located at. Not sure how many headcount, what is the itinerary, where to stay, I do not know if everyone is willing to bring out their adventurous side as most of my teammates told me that it is their first time to do an adventure because they only stayed at home or go to the mall during their free time – these are few of the questions that will be answered on September 22 – 23, 2012 as no one knows how this trip will be – will this be a success or a super success!

After several days of waiting, finally it is September 22. Everyone is excited when the adventure began! As planned, 6 in the morning, everyone must be logged off as we need to be on track with our schedule. We went to bus station bound to Manaoag to visit Our Lady of Manaoag.

First stop – Our Lady of Manaoag. Thank you for the opportunity of seeing the ivory image and precious crown of Our Lady of Manaoag, exploring the museum and see the beauty of the church. Manaoag – checked!

It is time to go to Alaminos. 2 hours of trip and all are excited to see the famous hundred islands. At last, we are at our destination. Everyone went to their respective room assignment, get themselves ready and prepare for dinner and socialization. Bonding moment, open forum discussion, getting to know each other to the next level until 2 in the morning – not bad. It was one of the best open session I had.

Yehey, it is September 23: time to go to the famous hundred islands! What is in there waiting for us at the islands? Hmmmmm.. The boat sailed and we can see the islands from the port. During the trip, our boatman became our guide at the same time our personal photographer. We visited several islands. The picture perfect Record To Report Team is enjoying every spot in every island. Picture, picture! Well, the most unforgettable island, the Marcos Island. Based from the explanation of our guide, we will be heading to an underground cave. Looks exciting! Most of us followed our guide to see the cave without knowing that for us to be able to go to the underground cave; we need to do a cliff dive. OMG – CLIFF DIVING!!!!! It is my first time to do this. Common, shaking legs, common Ecel, you can do this. Whoah, in just a snap of a finger, I felt myself on a cliff dive motion. Yes, I did it! But that is not what made my day fulfilled; it is the fact that Record To Report Team did a cliff dive too. To add on, everyone did a second round of cliff dive. KUDOS to all of us, we did it!!! Of course, the island hopping will not be complete without food trip – grilled pork chop, fish, tomatoes and bunch of rice. I bet everyone enjoyed the food.

This is a triumphant adventure. Everybody was able to bring out the adventurous characteristic in him or her! Thank you so much for being sporty and brave guys. I love it, till our next exploration…

Travel. Adventure. Live. Extreme.

About the Author:  Licelyn Labrador is a sporty chic, who has a passion for exploration and loves sharing my experiences through writing to inspire people.

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

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The Melting Snows of Kilimanjaro, Tanzania

I walked out the gate for the last time, carefully closing it behind me. I walked slowly, unwilling to move fast. Tears were building up in my eyes. Mama V walked along me in silence. I tried not to look back, I tried to move forward but I couldn’t fight it anymore. I stopped and turned around. Beyond the horizon, above the clouds, floated Kilimanjaro’s snowy peak.

The whole time I tried really hard not to think about saying goodbye and leaving. It was denial but I didn’t want to acknowledge that there will be a moment when I will need to say goodbye and walk away. Mama V stood beside me. She reached out and touched my hand, gently squeezing it.

“Will you come back?” asked Mama V.

“I hope so.” I paused. “God willing.”

She nodded. “God willing. I will pray for your return.”

“Thank you. I hope I can come back. I will miss you all too much not to come back.”

“The kids will miss you too. We all will.”

“Thank you.”

“They do really like you. You should remember that.”

All I could do was nod.

Two months ago on my first day volunteering at this orphanage in Tanzania, the children and I collected pebbles. I counted in English, children counted in Swahili. We all learned. The same would happen when I chopped veggies for lunch stews. I said in English, they said in Swahili. They laughed when I said it completely wrong. They were way better at mimicking me than I was at repeating after them. It happened so fast I didn’t even realise what was happening, but very soon I was living for that moment in the morning when I would walk through the gate and be greeted with the children running towards me screaming “Teacher Katie!”. It was the hours spent with kids that mattered the most from there on. Every moment with them was a precious gift. Soon I started to regret how attached I was getting to the children, and to those views of Kilimanjaro on my daily walk and from the orphanage’s yard.

In my second week there, one of the girls grabbed my hand and simply said, come. But where, I protested. Instead of answering she just pulled me by hand. I gave in and followed. We walked to the other side of the small brick building that housed the storage rooms and Mamas’ quarters. As we rounded the corner, she pointed to the horizon. Kilimanjaro, she said. Yes, it is, I said. On the top there is snow, she said. Yes, the white top is the snow. She nodded. We stood there for a moment staring at the horizon. I looked over at her, she looked more serious and in thought than I would ever expect a six year old to look. But then her stare broke, she smiled. Can I have some chalk, she asked. I smiled back, maybe later.

As I stood there with Mama V, looking at the peak, I tried to memorise where the snow lines were. Someone told me the snow was melting, maybe to be gone in our lifetime. For now, it glistened in the late afternoon light. Children’s laughter and squeals echoed from the yard.

I regretted getting attached but looking up at the mountain again, I forgot about that regret. All I remembered was love and hope I found in this corner of the world. The snows of Kilimanjaro will melt, the kids will grow up, the time will move on, but before all those things happen, there is a lot of life still to be lived.

About author: I am Katie Chakhova. I loathe the question “where are you from?”, there is no simple answer. Travel and writing have both been part of my life since childhood, forever linked and integral parts of my life. I am passionate about this amazing world we call home and stories we tell about it.

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

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From Deadlines to Donkey Dung in France

I’m a screenwriter who is 8,000 kilometres from my West Coast Canadian home spending a pleasant afternoon picking up donkey dung in southern France.

I’ve learned donkeys are very neat animals and defecate in one area only until they move on to a new site so collecting the straw-packed, flealess, and odorless droppings is easy. It’s a meditative activity—repetitive, private, quiet—and I’m as content as I’ve ever been, not even bothered by my boots squishing inside and out as I move from one dung pile to the next. I change course occasionally to dump my full bucket onto the growing mound in the corner of the wire-enclosed vegetable garden, all of me soaked. Just like yesterday when the four of us looked out in horror at this very spot and watched the escaping hens disappear among the trees.

The day had started out innocently enough. While Evan repaired the bolt and hinge on the chicken coop door our children, Emily and Alyd, fed the two amiable gray donkeys apples from the orchard. We humans were all wearing a variety of ill-fitting raincoats and rubber boots borrowed from overflowing hooks and shelves lining the wall of the mud room. We were living and working in Southern France on one of 6,000 WWOOFing (“Workers on Organic Farms”) farms around the world, this one near the tiny village of Rennes-le-Chateau of The Da Vinci Code fame. This is our fourth WWOOFing farm and we’re feeling like old hands at this mucking about business. No one is bothered by how they look, not even red-haired Emily who has been known to groan loudly about her family’s embarrassing lack of fashion sense.

Evan calls us over to admire his work, proudly opening and closing the door of the coop several times to celebrate his accomplishment. It looks good for a man whose work days are spent dealing with rebellious teens, upset parents, social workers, and the occasional police officer.

That’s then we notice the hens dashing their way to freedom into the nearby woods. Evan isn’t worried. He insists our farmer host Katherine told him he could let the hens run free while he worked on the coop and all he’d have to do was set out the bucket of kitchen scraps and call the birds and they’d come back to the coop immediately.

This is obviously news to the hens.

The four of us rush off, chasing the birds with our human version of their dash and dart technique. We try to work out strategies, circling the birds as they burst from behind face-scratching branches and promptly separate, heading in opposite directions under bushes. Freckle-faced, nine-year-old Alyd is the only one who can scoot in after them. Two of the birds hop out and, oh my god, it looks like the reddish one is actually bouncing over that huge slippery rock.

“Ouch! Watch it!” Emily yells at Alyd. He had pushed aside a branch as he ran after the old brown hen, letting the branch swing loose behind him and smacking Emily on the side of the head.

“Here, chicky chicky,” I can hear Evan saying in a falsely friendly voice.

“We’re in France for God sakes!” I yell.

Evan snorts then starts calling out: “Ici, chickee, chickee!”

Note: Add to my list of “Things I’ve learned working on organic farms”: hens are fast; they are not cute birds but mean-spirited creatures who can make humans looks stupid; and they don’t herd well.

The only sentient being enjoying himself is Alyd. Considering how often he moans about the weeding and wood carting chores he must do as his share of our volunteer work holidays we have actually found a job he loves: chasing ex-chickens. We finally corner two of the birds and put the poor traumatized creatures into the newly secure coop, returning to confess to Katherine that the rest of her hens are still running loose.

Back at the farmhouse, Katherine, and her 16 year old daughter Layla, start to laugh when they see us: Evan sheepish, me tight-lipped, Emily scowling, and Alyd radiant, all of us wet and scratched, and some of us embarrassed at being shown up by eight female birds who spend their life pecking each other’s butts.

“Oh well, if they have a death wish, so be it,” Katherine says. “They’ll come back to the coop at feeding time tonight.” Sure enough, when Evan returns to the shed at 7 pm there they all are, waiting patiently. He opens the coop door and the hens scurry in, clucking non-stop toward the kitchen-scraps food bucket.

Lesson of the day and of life: You’ve got to speak the language of the land to attain success, right, chickee, chickee?

About the author: Joyce Thierry Llewellyn is a Canadian film and television screenwriter and story editor and Vancouver Film School writing instructor. She has a fluctuating list of things to be wary of. Hens and defrosted aliens are currently flagged as the most dangerous!

 

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

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Joy on the shores of Nova Scotia, Canada

Of all the places that I could spend my time the place that draws me the most is a lake shore in my home province of Nova Scotia, Canada. My husband and I have a small camp there. Our summer months are far too short so we are there as much as possible. Two months of warm waters and ten months of dreaming about them. It is a beautiful little place nestled cozy in nature. There is nothing fancy about it but it is a true treasure.

There is such peace there. Sometimes the water is so still and it is so quiet that I want to hold my breath for fear that exhaling might break some sort of spell that is holding everything in place. Often we invite people over and that is when the camp is buzzing with activity. There are children everywhere. Some are swimming or kayaking while others are just lazing about on inner tubes. There are always a few in the group who prefer to spend their time catching whatever creatures they can find in the water, on the shore or in the woods. The hammock gets hung between two tall trees that offer shade from the heat and is a favorite spot for a nap but is also the perfect size to fit several giggling teenage girls.

One of my most enjoyable memories of time spent at the camp was when me and my two children decided to take the paddle boat out and explore several small islands. Before we headed out we cut plastic bags into flag shapes, colored them with markers and fastened them to sticks. We paddled out to the islands and began to explore. They were only small, some no more that fifteen feet across but each one quickly had a flag planted on it. The children had a great time although getting in and out of the boat on slippery rocks did prove to be a bit tricky. On the way back they took turns fishing off the back of the boat. All that was caught were several small bass but with all the yelling you would swear we had caught sharks.

Many wonderful days have been spent there. I have watched my children grow from year to year in those waters. From the first toe dipping in with curiosity to hearing those words that can make any mother cringe, “watch what I can do mom.” I do not regret one moment spent there. There are always things that need to be done, sometimes it feels as though the “to do list” should be renamed the “It will never get done list” but we can always make time to go to the camp. My children are getting older and I know they will start lives of their own but I also know that these are memories they will hold dear to their hearts for the rest of their lives. I can only hope that they too will find a special place that will bring them the same joy.

About the Author:My name is Tammey Sarty and I was born and raised in Nova Scotia, Canada. I am 36 years old and have a wonderful husband and two amazing children!

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

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Promises of Italy from an RV Camper in the USA.

I made a big promise that I wish I could keep. Keeping this promise is more important to me than anything else. It’s not easy to explain why I told my grandmother I’d take her to Venice, Italy. “Let’s just run away, Mamaw,” I said. For the first time in too long a while, Mamaw’s laugh filled the kitchen. I giggled with her as we both realized how much we really did want to pack our bags. We wanted to leave the pain we both felt behind.

The loss had been too unexpected, too unfair, and too soon. Papa Jim is gone now. For Mamaw Rose, everything good in life was gone with him. Watching my grandmother’s eyes as she told of their travels spent together, I thought my heart would break. So, that’s when I really took it too far with the whole promise-making mess I’d get myself into… “Mamaw, I’m serious about Italy. We’re going. Now, we’ve just got to- you know, figure out how to get there. A bake sale, maybe?” I continued Mamaw’s laughter echo through the emptiness we’d felt. We bounced crazy ideas back and forth for how we could raise enough money to get there, and what we’d see together.

We enjoyed this hypothetical journey as a quick escape of the reality that had abruptly invaded our lives. This is a promise that my Mamaw never thought I meant to keep. In our break from life without Papa (a fantasy world, where anything is possible…) Mamaw Rose and I run away together. We go to Venice, Italy.

We don’t even tell anybody when we leave, in the daydream that I ended up promising my sweet grandmother. “Remember the time Papa took all of us out West?” “How could I ever forget, Mamaw?! Are you serious? That trip is one I’ll always remember…forever.” Mamaw smiled and continued with, “I would venture to say that there aren’t many grandfathers who have taken six women with them, packed in an RV together, and traveled across the country!” “There aren’t, Mamaw.” The memories, places, and travels of June 2001, are unforgettable… They’re…precious.

I spent that month, living in an RV camper with my grandparents, mother, sister, and cousins. We enjoyed visiting The Grand Canyon, Yellowstone, The Alamo, Las Vegas, St. Louis, The Great Teton Mountains, The Painted Desert… and everything else along the way. Papa, drove hundreds of miles away from our Tennessee home! I was blessed to have spent each mile we traveled in that camper because of Papa Jim. Because of his zest for life, his love for traveling, his love for me and for spreading the joys of life to those he loved, I was blessed beyond measure. We traveled with my Papa Jim and all that he taught me during that trip, up until his untimely death, contribute to the passion I feel for traveling and experiencing new things.

For all that my Papa’s life did to make mine dearer to me than it has ever been, I experienced the joy in traveling to destinations I wouldn’t have otherwise been able to see. Mamaw and Papa took their grandchildren and my mother on the trip of a lifetime! Although Mamaw Rose and Papa Jim traveled the world together, there’s one place that I knew wasn’t on their list of ‘places-we’ve-been-already’. Venice, Italy. I’ve been there. Mamaw Rose has not. Papa did not get to see Venice, Italy. My grandmother, though in her seventies, is the spunkiest and strongest traveler, not just to new destinations, but also through the toughest storms of her life. Should I miraculously receive any attention from this crazy attempt at this contest, I would blog and photograph the complete experience. I would have more pictures with my grandmother, and we’d be standing on a bridge together in Italy… where dreams and promises are awakened by the discovery that new destinations create more than we ever thought possible… There are new memories to make in places we haven’t seen, Places that are new and different to us, where time stops and responsibilities are forgotten, And happiness is re-discovered… In a new world that’s different, we find joy in the travels we share.

Even in new life circumstances of loss and challenge, there is still beauty hidden within the strange and new world we haven’t seen yet. The world is different to me now without Papa. It’s unfamiliar and undiscovered like new destinations to the traveler. By creating new memories, seeing new places, sharing new journeys together, we experience the excitement and unexpectedness within the destinations that wait. There is still adventure and the newness is what makes it all so wonderfully worthwhile.

About the Author: Regina Hodge: Photography, blogging, drawing, writing, and creating beautiful art are all hobbies I enjoy! I currently live in Murfreesboro, Tennessee with my husband and our two crazy dogs, Lucy and Halle.

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

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It’s Rubber Time in Indonesia

The bus rolled like a storm-tossed ship, careening through villages and stopping suddenly for people to board with baskets of muttering chickens and hairy coconuts. Then we were off again, lurching round corners and crashing into potholes, making the garland of big plastic peonies bounce in the windshield.

I thought the ride would never end, but finally, into the sixth hour, it did. With a startling pop the ancient bus groaned and wheezed to a halt. When the dust cleared I saw with dismay a long ribbon of empty dirt road stretch into the mountains.

The driver turned and shouted something in Indonesian to the passengers. One by one they got off and ambled onto the road, leaving me with the chickens scuffling dust under the seat. It seemed they were just as restless as I was. At this rate I wouldn’t make it to Tangkahan, a remote eco-resort in the Sumatran jungle, before nightfall.

I had no choice but to resign myself to my fate. Rubber time again. Might as well get used to it.

My Indonesian guide had explained rubber time when I first came to Sumatra as a volunteer to help protect endangered orangutans. When he arrived a couple of hours late with the trekking gear and saw our crew of western volunteers anxiously checking our watches, he just smiled serenely.

“Jam karet,” he explained. “Everything happens in its own time. Why rush?”

You might not know it from the hair-raising traffic, but the stretchy-bendy nature of rubber time is an integral part of Indonesian life. Here, time isn’t linear but elastic. Life goes on at an unhurried pace, and even the simplest things take longer than you’d expect.

At first, it drove me nuts. When I got a job teaching English in Medan, the capital of North Sumatra, students would wander in at any old time during class. If there was a sudden downpour, the entire city came to a standstill, people waiting in dripping doorways to get back on their motorbikes. Sometimes the power would go out for hours and we had nothing to do but sit in the dark.

I noted that my Indonesian friends calmly took these major inconveniences in stride and used them as an opportunity to relax and socialize. To save my sanity, I decided to follow their example. Students late? Understand that in the Indonesian language, verbs have no other tense but the present. Monsoon? Oh, well, let’s just sit at this coffee stall and chat while we wait it out. Blackout? Just another opportunity to see the stars.

Once, on a walk through a grove of rubber trees, I came to understand rubber time a little better. Rubber exports are a major industry in Sumatra, and it could be that the tires you drive to work on originated here. Each tree is carefully scarred to release the white inner sap, and coconut shells are secured to the trunks to collect it slowly, drop by drop. The entire process takes time and patience—two things I didn’t have a lot of before I came here.

Rubber time is also about building harmonious relationships. Almost without exception, every house I’ve seen has a front porch with two chairs and a table where people sit and chat for hours. Often when I walk past my neighbors they call out hello and invite me to join them. It’s a lost art of living I had never experienced in my frenetic, wired world at home in Canada.

Back on the bus, I reminded myself of this golden opportunity to reconnect. Rather than sit and fume with my forehead pressed against the window, I went outside to join the other passengers and practice speaking Indonesian. Together we watched as the bus driver, disheveled and sweaty, tinkered behind the wheel. Finally, he called out to us: the tire was fixed and we were ready to go.

The bus sputtered and roared back to life like an old farm tractor. We all smiled, settling into our seats. Time snapped back into place and we were on our way again. In just a couple more hours (fingers crossed) I would be in my bungalow overlooking the river, lounging in a hammock and listening to the cicadas sing in the jungle. Rubber time at its best.

About the Author:  Wendy Bone is a Canadian writer with a passion for travel. So far she’s hung out with orangutans in the jungle, swum with sea turtles in the Indian Ocean and danced with her friends on the Great Wall of China. She currently lives in Bandung, West Java, where she’s dreaming up her next big adventure.

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

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Thailand: Life in Lamai

From our Latest News:

Hello from Koh Samui, Thailand. Lately we have been enjoying life in Lamai Beach, Koh Samui, Thailand. See photos above and below for the band George has been playing with at Rock Island House Bar and our new friends from this visit. When we were here last Poi was a tiny eight-month old and now she is a wandering, talking drumming toddler! We love her smile in the photo!

We have added over twenty-five videos to our YouTube channel at their house but over forty-five new videos since Jan 1! A giant thanks to our friends, Jessica and Ted, for sharing their fiber optic Wi-Fi, gorgeous home, pool and support! We could not have done it without them!

Jessica also introduced us to all her friends and we enjoyed a block party, Aussie day celebration, Friday night performance with Mimi Moore and afternoon bowling for Chinese New Year. So much of life depends on whom you meet, we are grateful to our friends in Lamai! We are on our way North in Thailand to experience our first visit to Chiang Rai and to get a new visa! But we will be back in Lamai again later this year.

We are grateful to Jessie Voigts of Wandering Educators for hosting our live online Google on Air hangout to announce the winners of our Gratitude Travel Writing Contest. The Inspiration Travel Writing Contest is open, has a first prize of $1,000usd and closes on Valentine’s Day! We look forward to sharing your inspiring stories.

Bowling in Chewang, Koh Samui, Thailand for Chinese New Year

In 2013, we released our e-book, Traveling in Sin. The Paperback version is nearly ready for release! We hope to have it ready in the next few weeks.

We thank 1000 Places to Fight for our wonderful interview: We Said Go Kiss!

We appreciate all of you who read our newsletters, articles, website and BOOK! Thank you to everyone for your support of our journey and all our writing. Connect with us on  Facebook,  Google+, Instagram, LinkedIn, Pinterest,  SlideShare,  Twitter, and YouTube.

THANKS!

Lisa and George (Click here to sign up for this newsletter. )

Traveling in Sin: News from this Memoir’s First week! from Lisa Niver Rajna

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Trainhopping in Seaford, the UK

No, I’m not back in the Philippines yet. And no, I’m no way near Batanes.

This trip was supposed to be “aimless”. One weekend, I was just thinking of train-station-hopping. I just needed an escape! But then on second thought, I might end up disappointed and that would mean wasting some bucks. So I hurriedly searched for a day-trip destination—and Seaford it was!

Three train stations, three hours of travel, and I’m in Seaford, Sussex. The aimless pursuit turned to be an unexpected 7-hour hiking!

It started with the death-defying (3.22km) 43-minute walk along Eastbourne Road; where it felt like any moment I could be run over by speeding cars at blind curves. Google maps was right, it would be about 45 minutes of walking from the train station to reach The Golden Galleon (jumpoff point for the hike); I just didn’t pay much attention to Google maps’ note that at some point, there would be missing pedestrian paths! And true, it was almost suicide to be walking on a narrow highway with no sidewalk or missing pedestrian walkway! It made me wish for some good Samaritan in a car to stop beside me and offer a lift to my destination!

After 45 minutes of a near-death walking experience, I was welcomed by the countryside’s amazing view! And I began hiking, in search for the Seven Sisters Country Park. I’ve met a number of busy groups along the way; made me a little envious for a moment there. And the realization that I am hiking alone made me a little sad.

But then, the feeling of freedom and independence, and the ability to travel alone nameless and faceless, the feeling of being small in such a big world: these all overshadowed the feeling of sadness.

So I continued my hike, on my sneakers! Later that I realized, it never was a good idea to be hiking in sneakers; my feet started to get sore, so I stopped and I let the view give me the comfort that I need. The panoramas were awesome; I got lost in their beauty! This gave me the initial feeling that I’m seeing Batanes (one of my dream destinations in the Philippines), though I’ve never been there! How possible could that be?

After minutes of immersing myself in such breath-taking view, I decided to continue with my hike. I walked on my sore feet until I saw the chalk cliffs!!! And I had to ascend and descend 7 peaks of the rolling hills to get to the end. Honestly, I have no idea what awaits me after the 7th peak! All I have in mind is that a hike would never be complete without reaching the “summit”, or in this case, reaching the end of the trail! So I continued with my journey, even if that means getting injured knees.

It took me more than an hour to get to the end and…tadah! The lighthouse, I saw it—first, from afar! I almost thought my hike was endless! But as I got closer to the lighthouse, I know I’ve reached the end of the trail! Batanes it is!

All the fatigue that I felt from what seemed to be an endless hike was suddenly gone after seeing the view from where the lighthouse is–it was just superb! I could only wish I had easy access to that place; I would love to be there every weekend!

I sat on the grass, near the edge of the cliff, enjoyed the view, and people-watched!

Time flew fast. Five pm. I didn’t know how to get back except by hiking for more than two hours along the same trail; I couldn’t find a public transportation around. I needed to get back or I might run out of daylight.

And I did pass the same trail, only this time I had to take my shoes off as my feet couldn’t stand another 2 hours of torture! But thank God for the grassy trail! It wasn’t that much difficult to be hiking without shoes, though I felt the strain on my knees as I completed my hike back. I really wanted to just slide my way down the hills!

Six hours of hiking, around 17-18 km, I really thought it was endless! But I’m glad I survived the hike back to the jump-off point after two hours despite my sore feet and injured knees!

And then I asked around for any public transportation to take me to the train station (as I don’t want to walk again on that highway!!!) and I did find one! I thank God for public buses; I’m back at the train station!

And you know what’s next.

Got home at almost midnight and passed out for 10 hours, straight!

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