Lisa Niver's Blog: We Said Go Travel, page 425

New York City is the Place to Be

If you could name one place in the world that has everything and could do it at any time at the day, what would you say? Duh, New York City! The city is full of freedom, opportunities, and inspiration from every street corner. You could easily just wake up one morning with nothing to do and just go outside walking the side walks for any kind of adventure. The best part is, it never has to end, it’s the city that never sleeps. It is like an endless playground on Earth.

The possibilities are endless, when it comes to art culture. New York City has the Metropolitan Museum of Art (which is the largest museum in the United States), Museum of Modern Art, New Museum of Contemporary Art, and other museums on race, culture, and photography. Of course, there is always Broadway, which has some of the most fantastic performing artist in the world. However, if you don’t want to pay anything there is beautiful street art filled in New York City.

There is historical places like 9/11 Memorial, which reminds you to be extremely grateful, and the Statue of Liberty has tours of the breathtaking statue. If your more of a nature person there is Central Park which has Central Park Zoo, carriage horses, rock climbing, ice skating, and boating. Or if you love stocks you could go to Wall Street which is home to the New York Stock Exchange.

New York City has also filmed some major movies like American Psycho, Almost Famous, The Devil Wears Prada, and Ghostbusters. You could go to same places they filmed and reenact your favorite scenes. Or you could be an extra in an upcoming movie. Good Morning America is filmed in Times Square which also has the big billboards up in the air and the New Year’s Eve ball drop.

Fashion capitol in the United States, they have New York Fashion Week and Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week. Both fashion weeks is in February and September for about a week to show international fashion collects from designers around the world. You get to see more beautiful art and different cultural.

The food will make you open your eyes and experience new cultures and tastes. They have everything from fancy five star restaurants to causal on the go food trucks, whatever you chose it will please your taste buds. In New York City you could eat out every day for your entire lifetime and still not be able to eat at all of the restaurants. You have the freedom to choice anything you desire.

Of course the people in New York City, are outspoken, independent, and divergent. There is over eight million people, so of course they are all different and exotic. You never know who you can see or meet in New York City, it is home to many celebrities and maybe your soul mate. There is nothing impossible about New York City, this place will make you learn life lessons and to be more open-minded with people and their opinions.

About the Author: Jesseca Orcutt is a small town girl in Texas that recently graduated high school early. I desperately want to travel the world for 10 or 20 years, however long it takes.

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Chilling in the Yarra, Australia

You’ve seen photos of those monkeys in Japan, fur frosted with icicles, warming themselves in the hot springs. That’s what I’m reminded of on a sweltering day in the Yarra River at Warrandyte, a suburb on the outskirts of Melbourne. Groups, couples, families, people with dogs: they’ve all wandered down the path from the main street to soak themselves cool in the river water. Heads are bobbing, some are sitting waist-deep drinking a beer, others lounging in the shallows. Yes, there are kids in life jackets splashing each other, and someone might throw a ball upstream for a dog, but the overall vibe is serenity.

The first thing you notice, the water’s not cold like it is in the ocean; it’s deliciously cool and refreshing and clean. Mid-stream, the current is brisk, and it’s invigorating to push back against the river’s force. Ducks whisk by smartly, avoiding collisions with rocks and bathers. Except where there’s pebbled access, the banks are thick with rambling growth of both native and introduced species. Massive willows droop to the water’s surface, forming vast muddy caverns where the ducks congregate. Looking up, we see the cloudless sky fringed with the familiar patchy tops of Manna gums. In some places, there are cliffs to climb above pools that are deep enough to dive into safely.

As we bask and talk, a small flock of sulphur-crested cockatoos fly in. They land on a dead branch over still water, their usual perch, dipping their beaks in to drink. A far-off thunder crack unsettles and disperses them, screeching alarm, into the adjacent State Park. Slightly downstream, an older couple arrives on electric bikes. Fully-clothed, they ease themselves into a quiet reach to sit side-by-side, holding hands, just gazing companionably. In all the hectic hullabaloo of daily life, this is what people are doing.

The heat has forced us to stop and rest, be calm, go back to what we used to do as kids. In the middle of the river overshadowed with trees, we don’t know what the time is; the angle of the sun is not calculable, so we can only guess. What are we missing out on? What is going on in the world right now that we should know about, or be doing?

A five minute drive from the township takes us further down the river to Pound Bend Reserve. It’s another picnic and swimming spot popular with locals. And there’s a 145 metre tunnel created in 1870, the area’s mining heyday, through a narrow section of rock where the river turns back on itself. Taking strong inflatable mats, we push our way against a torrent of water through the tunnel to a deep tranquil pool. After a pause to regain our equilibrium and board our mats, we allow ourselves to be drawn downstream with the river’s easy-going flow.

For most of the five kilometre journey, bush overgrows the banks and there are no markers of civilization. There’s just the river, the sun, the flip of a fish surfacing, a vigilant kookaburra diving from a low Silver Wattle branch, a koala dozing in the heights, the thrum of cicadas. Occasionally, baby rapids create some thrilling moments, maybe even an upset; otherwise, it’s meditative bliss. Time is lost. Eddies of thought calm and settle; I feel my body collapse in a kind of relief.

I’m the guest of the river and I must accept her hospitality. Drifting, musing, observing, passing the occasional comment, we allow the afternoon to take its course in us. I don’t know how long it takes us to complete the river loop back to the tunnel: three hours, more or less, I guess. When we return to the car, I deliberately don’t look at the time; I don’t want to know. Each time I do this, the river trivializes my fear of wasting time. The minor issues that obsess me are exposed as ridiculous. What the river does is inspire me to focus on what lasts: nature and community, and the part I play in it. That’s why I go back – and I should go more frequently – to take the time to chill in the Yarra; I never regret it.

About the Author:  Anne-Marie is a writer living in Melbourne Australia. Aside from travel, she enjoys humour, wild animals, and spending time with family and friends. In her spare time, she is a French teacher.

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Ireland: Meeting the Queen

“You can’t do that, it’s blocked off.” My friend protested.

“I can hop that.” I answered.

“You’ll get in trouble.” He said sternly.

“Watch the door.” I said with a smirk on my face.

If I never got to travel again, I wanted to make the most of it, even if that meant getting myself in a little trouble. He sighed and walked to the door and gave me a thumbs up, knowing there was no way to talk me out of it. I grabbed the bars of the gate and pulled myself up and over it, landing my feet on one of the stone slab steps and hurried up to the highest point of Bunratty Castle, closed off to visitors. I found myself standing next to the green, white, and orange of the Irish Flag, over looking miles of Irish landscape. I felt as if I were the queen of it all.

“Alright come on.” My friend pleaded, and so I climbed back down and over the fence to see the rest of Bunratty and the folk park, where I explored every nook and cranny I could find, telling stories of my past to my new friend. After we had finished up at Bunratty, our bus took us to Coole Park where many great authors of the Irish Literary Revival signed their names into what, was now known as the autograph tree. After pointing out the tree, our guide gave the group a chance to explore on their own if they so wished, though I was the only one that did.

I hurried down the path trying to make the most out of my little time to explore. The neighboring forest caught my eye and I found myself drawn to it. I left the path behind and headed for what seemed like a familiar forest from what I had known, growing up in the mountains of mid-east New York. However, as I pushed past the dead brush, brown and filled with thorns, I found myself standing awe-struck at the sight before me.

Perfect rows of all the same type of tall tree, russet brown bark with naked branches that stuck out like thorns, stories above my head, with only a few leaves to cover the canopy. The base of every tree adorned in the richest Irish ivy green that I had ever seen, flowing out to the forest floor; leaving me standing ankle deep in the skirts of it. I heard nothing but the sound of my own excited breath escaping out of my lips as the corners of them crept up my cheeks, breathing in air as fresh as any air could ever aspire to be. Tears fell from my eyes from the shock of wonder, so moved was I, by the solid ground that I stood on. I laughed out loud and began to run through it all, running through the ivy, jumping over fallen branches and tree bodies, never had I felt so alive as I did in this forest.

I had suffered months of heartache after the loss of one of my best friends who died unexpectedly and tragically. I closed my eyes and thought back to a car drive with her, my arm hanging out of the passenger side window as she drove her Subaru. Smoking too many cigarettes and laughing over men that we had let hurt us in ways that could be called abusive, singing away pain that we wouldn’t admit we still felt, to songs on the radio. It was her I thought of, my arms stretched out wide as my feet sprinted over the forest floor and I hoped that she had felt a similar magic within her lifetime.

I had done something that I said I was going to do, studying abroad. Despite coming from a poverty stricken home, despite others telling me that it was impossible, here I was in Ireland. For too long did I allow others dictate my happiness, but here in this forest I promised myself it would never happen again. Never would I not be thankful for all that I have again, or waste my time on things that cost my happiness. I will never be stopped by the doubts of others for now I know, I had conquered them all.

Such a love for life surged through my body like a lightning bolt, patching up all the cracks in my heart that I had struggled to do so myself. I walked out of the forest glowing, struck by the light of happiness, that I will always carry in the deepest casings of my heart to illuminate me in any unforeseen darkness that I should encounter in the future. I had finally become queen of my own life.

About the Author: Emily Vieira: I am a student studying English education at Hartwick College and currently studying abroad at the University of Ireland at Galway. My mother and I lived in poverty and struggled to make ends meet, we work very hard to get myself to a good school. I worked 3 jobs while going to school in order to get myself to Ireland, I refuse to be a casualty of the circumstances despite how hard the hardship.

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Second Beach, Washington USA: Natural Inspiration

Armed only with what we could carry in our backpacks we walked single file through the lush green, sun-dappled woods, deeply breathing in the intoxicating scents of evergreens and musky earth. We had only been dating for a few months and this was to be our first weekend getaway together…camping on the sands of Second Beach. I was enticed by the lure of romance and adventure but the thought of having no bathroom, especially as such a new couple, was much less appealing. But once surrounded by the soothing sounds of babbling streams and singing birds my earlier trepidation rapidly dissolved. We had been hiking on an easy, well-maintained trail for less than a mile and the faint whisper of crashing surf which I had noticed a few minutes before was now growing along with my anticipation.

As we rounded a curve on the trail my companion slowed and stepped aside to make room for me on the path beside him. Just ahead, the dense frame of trees gave way to a driftwood-strewn beach and a breathtaking masterpiece of sand, sea and sky punctuated by tall vertical islets of battered rock called sea stacks.

This stunning piece of the Pacific west coast is found on the Olympic Peninsula in Washington State, just a few hours from Seattle and it aptly lies between its equally fair sisters, First and Third Beach. The names may be uninspired but don’t let that fool you…the vista that awaits needs no fanfare of a name as its natural beauty speaks for itself.

Cameras in hand we attempted to capture that first alluring glimpse of seascape but we knew that even the best photographer would not be able to portray our excitement as we practically skipped down the rest of the trail. The path ended at an obstacle course of hundreds of large, sun bleached logs which eventually gave way to an expanse of golden sands. It was a perfect mild and sunny late spring day and the beach was alive with activity. Wet suit clad surfers, children frolicking in the sand, lovers arm in arm and tourists snapping pictures at every turn. Still, we had the somewhat smug pleasure of knowing that come dusk most of these busy bees would be gone and we would be left with this little piece of heaven almost entirely to ourselves.

Sure enough as the sun started to sink into the cold, slate gray Pacific Ocean we watched as the day trippers navigated the driftwood, turned to take one final longing look at the horizon and reluctantly disappeared into the darkening veil of trees. As the skies deepened to a canopy of Indigo speckled with a million twinkling lights we lit a fire and became aware of just how secluded we were to be that night…in fact it seemed we were to be entirely alone. Both an exhilarating and a slightly unnerving thought.

It felt as though we had stepped into another world where time stretched like soft caramel and nothing else existed beyond this velvety cocoon of near perfect darkness. Our magical evening was spent cooking over the crackling fire, watching shooting stars while sipping on silky, Italian liquor and dancing freely along the barely moonlit shore. We finally fell into a blissfully exhausted sleep while listening to the breaking surf and inhaling the crisp ocean air. When hours later we awoke at dawn it was to a perfect coastal spring morning. The sun was rising in an azure sky and there were smoky wisps of mist gathered around the craggy sea stacks.

Time passed dreamily that morning as we wandered the deserted beach collecting seashells and watching the multitude of birds search for breakfast. We even took an invigorating dip in an idyllic salt water lagoon and brushed our teeth in a small trickle of a waterfall. By 9am the first day trippers were emerging from the woods to find us sitting by the fire with hot coffee and bagels contemplating just how blessed we had been to have this special place all to ourselves…if only for a short time.

We’ve been back to Second Beach twice since that first mystical night and although we’ve had to share the beach it still remains our very special place. Time seems to slow when we’re there and we leave feeling refreshed and inspired as if we’ve had a week long sabbatical rather than a weekend getaway. In this fast paced world of technology we live and work in time is something we never seem to have enough of. Unplugging and slowing down now and then is vital, so when in our travels we find a place that allows us to do that…well as Shakespeare said “I like this place and could willingly waste my time in it.”

About The Author: Sarah Hughes is a traveler and a writer who recently left her day job as an interior designer to slow travel around the world. Read about Sarah’s travels.

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Jaipur, India Lit Festival

Before we begin, let me make this clear once and for all. I am a bookworm and am literally betrothed to my favorite characters like Harry Potter and Sherlock Holmes and Hercule Poirot. I read books of all genres; anything that comes my way, you see. So am I not excited about the upcoming Jaipur Lit Fest?

Huh, is that even a question?

I am  excited to go to Jaipur this season and finally satiate my cravings to meet some of my favorite authors. Besides, it will be a great place where I can rub shoulders with other co-bookworms (let us see who else in the country can match my bibliomania)! By the way, I reside in Delhi, mind it. So the journey is going to be an oversea one. Well, not exactly an oversea journey, but it seems all the same to me. You see, being a compulsive bookworm, I hardly venture out of my house, except for occasions when I really have to. Even the stray dogs in my neighborhood quiz my presence with raised eyebrows on those seldom moments when I hit the streets.

So, making this trip all the way to Rajasthan will be like a Mars trip for me. Yes, there are weekend tours from Capital of India which I can latch on to. But despite all the convenience and luxury these packages promise to offer, there is this mental block which I will have to conquer.

But, as my parents say, I will even cross the seven seas in pursuit of books. They are not wrong coz I have done some bizarre things to lay hands on certain books. The day the final book of the Harry Potter series was released (Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows), I left my house a little after 4 am so that I can get the book the moment it gets released. (It was to be released at 6 am IST).

Anyway, enough of my ramblings!

For guys like you, a Jaipur trip may not sound all that daunting. The Jaipur Lit Fest 2014 shall be held from 17th January to 21st January. There is enough time to make preparations. After all, this can serve as an excuse for you to plan a family holiday.

The trick is to combine the pleasures of literature and sightseeing. So, I guess I shall do both of them. Even if you are not a big-time bookworm like me, there are attractions like the Amber Fort, Hawa Mahal and City Palace to keep you busy.

About the Author: Manya Singh

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Pennsylvania: Ranch dressing

The stuffed moose over the fireplace looks down on us in cross-eyed bemusement as we enter the main reception of the dude ranch. The smell of saddle soap, barbeque and the great outdoors pervaded throughout and we know we have arrived, if not in the Wild West exactly, certainly outside the city limits

After 3 days in the Big Apple, my husband, teenage sons and I are feeling a little stewed. We have covered New York with the enthusiasm of first-time visitors and have the blisters and cut-price purchases to prove it. We’ve been from Staten Island to Top of the Rock, from Central Park to Harlem. We are all ready for the gentle welcome of the rolling, Pennsylvania countryside which greets us only an hour after the last honk of New York taxi drivers was heard.

A weekend of shooting, fishing, horse-riding, campfires and rodeo, beckon. Health and Safety experts may shudder at the freedom given to guests to ride without helmets, and to fish and shoot bows and arrows without either instruction or supervision, but the old-fashioned amongst us may suggest that this harks back to times when people were trusted to use common sense (although every guest is required to sign a disclaimer certificate to release the ranch of liability in the event of an accident.)

I wonder if we will be hanging our boots by the campfire at night and am somewhat relieved when we are handed the key to a cabin (somewhat basic, but clean and comfortable.) There are even some surprising touches of luxury-an indoor swimming pool, a games room and a gift shop selling the obligatory

Yes, there is sense of pantomime-not least when the ranch manager appears every night at dinner with a “Yee-ha!” and loudly requests a response from all the guests. But, when that is followed by generous amounts of home cooked food served communally at large tables where the talk is of horses ridden, guns fired and fish caught, you soon begin to genuinely feel the cowboy spirit. A loud whoop elicited by a total power cut at dinner one evening epitomises the hardy nature of the ranchers.

Friday night is campfire night-less whiskey and wild stories than toasted marshmallows, hayrides and stories for the young, Saturday nights bring wagons full of bulls and cowboys for a rodeo that lasts until the small hours. On the weekend we are there, there are 31 contenders. There is no doubt that much of it is for show, but equally, one gets the sense that these are timeless traditions.

The guests range from New Yorkers who visit every weekend to tourists from as far as New Zealand, Sweden and Iran. There is no shortage of interesting characters, from the millionaire business man now retired and dabbling in the music industry to the war veteran trundling around in a wheelchair with an American flag attached. The staff members are many and varied but, without exception, positive and helpful; it is a token of the success and vibrancy of the ranch that staff travel from miles around to work there on a voluntary basis.

Dude ranches reinvent the idea of the traditional Wild West and make ranches accessible to city dwellers and the less adventurous traveller, combining cowboy with comfort, rodeo with Rodeo Drive. They provide the opportunity to be as active or as sedentary as you wish, to spend your time roaming the hills on horseback or sitting back and taking in the country air. . They won’t need a lasso to make us city slickers return.

About the Author: Fran Conley is a travel writer and teacher! She lives with her husband, two children and numerous animals in North London, UK.

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France: A Third of a Pond

When we first saw the neglected farmhouse the spring air resounded with the throb of croaking frogs and we discovered to
our delight that it faced a sizable oval pond enclosed by the shimmering arms of giant poplars, wild willows and other
bird-filled trees and below the grassy banks yellow flag iris and the spiky leaves of bulrushes. Various water fowl skimmed
to and fro and I could hear the musical trilling up and down the scales of a family of little grebes. It is one of four in a
hamlet of which only one is visible, the other two are on the other side of the pond hidden by trees.  We are flanked by
rolling fields of bright yellow rape in flower whose perfume is quite overpowering at the moment and the dark green shoots
of wheat against the patches of dark forest that the French so wisely leave between their fields. Oh yes my heart said
– oh yes - this is our home!*

While Geoff and I were wintering in Spain we wrote this list of non-negotiable requirements for our future home in France:

an old dwelling requiring restoration
outhouses
room for expansion
privacy – no close neighbours
close to water – canal, river or large pond
views
established orchard
nearby trees or forest

 

Once the estate agent opened the heavy wooden door we realised that all our requirements but one had been met; it was decidedly uninhabitable though had been occupied for several hundred years (though empty for over a year) and it showed; there was neither bathroom nor any sign of a lavatory – not even an outhouse of any sort; the kitchen had an ancient wood stove and a sink with a cold water tap. Even if we had been able to contemplate moving into three dingy, low-ceilinged, airless and smelly rooms with centuries of grime and dirt encrusted over the plastered walls the need for a lavatory and bathroom remained paramount. But apart from that – it was all we had dreamed about and more importantly the property was only a few kilometers from the port so Geoff could start work and we could live on our boat moored on the nearby canal nearby.

There was a flourishing orchard of old and gnarled cherry, apple, pear and plum trees and a well full of water; two other wells had run dry and been filled in. There were vestiges of a garden back and front with many shrubs and trees in spring flower. We had found the archetypal French farmhouse – at last.

Winter the following year. Evening in early January and a heavy fog has drifted down with a whisper just before sunset enveloping the dark line of forest trees before settling on the fields and the pond.  It is going to be damp and dark to-night whereas last night was clear, moon-bright and very frosty. This morning the pond was frozen over but for the edges, and while we breakfasted on boiled eggs and crusty bread I watched a coot walk gingerly across the top of the ice then it fell into the water with a flapping of wings before it flew rapidly to the side of the pond, feathers fluffed. It’s been sunny all day and quite warm but not a bird in sight though I put some grain out; this evening two robins hopped by on their skinny legs looking as if they had come off a Christmas card while a pair of fussy blackbirds tidied up the still frosted garden leaves beside a black crow that was feeding on the grain.

We have almost settled in yet I still have a feeling of remoteness – as though this tranquil and beautiful old house and surroundings is just a temporary resting place and we will be moving on again. Strange but not surprising considering the moves we have made these past years. Now, looking around I have a sense of peace and contentment and the certainty that we really are here to stay is seeping into my bones.  The Spanish lemon tree in the blue Puisaye pot that stands inside the east-facing French windows has tiny white buds that will open into those heady scented flowers – it thinks its spring like the northerly flying cranes – our builder tells me he saw a flight of cranes heading north. I wish I had seen them.

These short daylight hours have been bathed in winter sun, frosty at night with the pond still frozen, but warming to glorious days. This is my first winter in northern Europe – can this be the pattern? If so I can cope with it and I have no regrets.

About the Author: Valerie Helps

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Extreme Traverse Upland in the Philippines

Three nights, four days exploration on mountainous Northern Philippines: Banaue – Bontoc – Sagada is one of the best ways to spend Thanksgiving Holiday with the backpackers.

Bontoc is a 3rd class municipality and the capital of Mountain Province.

Banaue is a 4th class municipality in the province of Ifugao and widely known as the site of UNESCO World Heritage Site, the Batad and Bangaan Rice Terraces which are irrigated by means of mountain streams and springs that have been tapped and channeled into canals that run downhill through the rice terraces.

Sagada is a 5th class municipality in the province of Mountain Province and famous for its “hanging coffins” – a traditional way of burying people. Not everyone qualified to be buried this way; one had to, among other things, be married and have grandchildren.

22nd of November 2012, the day that we have been waiting for. All are excited for the exploration and extreme adventures. We left Manila via Victory Liner at 8:30 AM and arrived in Solano at 7PM. When we reached Solano, we negotiated with a driver that will take us to Banaue and rent his jeepney for P2000.

It has been 15 minutes since we left Solano and we are on our way to Banaue when Andrew suddenly asked, “Ecel where is your bag?” I thought he was joking so I did not take him seriously. After awhile I realized that my bag was really missing. Whoa, I left my bag at Chowking where we had our dinner! I then request our driver to pull the jeepney because we will go back to Chowking. On our way, several questions came to my mind – what if my bag is no longer in the table where I left it, where should I buy stuff in Banaue early Friday morning? I can’t believe it, I left my bag! Is it because of excitement? Great thing, I was able to get my luggage back! After 3 hours of jeepney travel, we now feel Banaue cold air plus the warmth welcome of LJ, a newfound friend, and her family. Everything was ready when we arrived at Las Vegas Lodge and Restaurant – the room and of course the hot shower.

Bontoc was our first destination, which is along the way going to Sagada where we took pictures on rice terraces view deck. Top load should never be missed when travelling to Northern Philippines hence everyone went on top of the jeepney for a great morning ride. It was 9 in the morning however we can still feel the cold air of the North. What Sagada can offer us? A lot I believe – from foods to museums to must see spots, hanging coffins and of course, caving! We were all excited when we started moving our feet going to Lumiang and Sumaguing Caves. Nervous, might be excitement on what adventure is waiting for us inside the caves. I have not tried caving so I am not sure on what caving activity was like. I only read blogs about Sagada caving and now, I am about to try it. Rappelling, spelunking and see the beauty of the cave by means of fitting myself in a small cave openings, not challenging huh ☺. We spent 5 hours conquering Lumiang and Sumaguing Caves but I must say our extreme adventures inside was all worth it especially taking photos on every amazing angle of rock formations and stalagmites. Yes, first day of adventures – COMPLETED.

As always, backpackers were all excited for our next adventures – next stop Batad! When we are having our breakfast, LJ told us that our Sagada experience is nothing compared to Batad experience. This statement makes everyone of us more eager. Batad must-see includes rice terraces and Tappia Falls. One needs to do trekking to be able to reach the famous rice terraces and majestic Tappia Falls. It took us 7 hours of trekking (back and forth) to feel Batad extra challenge. We got a chance to experience vegetable, corned beef, tuna and cheese Batad pizzas. On our way to the hotel, everyone is screaming, “We deserve a grand dinner!” Happily, wish granted.

Our last day activities were very light. It includes little trekking to experience hot and cold springs and visit to Hiwang village.

Bontoc-Sagada-Banaue extreme adventure was another unforgettable moment in backpackers’ life. I was smiling when Toy and Novel, two new members suddenly asked me, “Ecel did we passed the initiation process of becoming a backpackers?” I immediately replied, “Yes, you guys passed! Congratulations and welcome to backpackers’ world!”

As what Saint Augustine said: “The World is a book, and those who do not travel read only a page.” Keep travelling backpackers – continue being an adventurer, an extreme traveler. Live life to the fullest!!!

Travel. Adventure. Live. Extreme.

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

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Queen of the Mississippi Steamboat

“We’re going a bit too much to the left, hon’,” says Mrs. Hollis. Her wheelchair creaks as it bumps along over the cobblestone.  I tighten my grip – it’s an empty effort to ensure that she doesn’t fall out and roll the rest of the way down the hill, right into the Mississippi River about twenty feet away.

“Don’t worry, ma’am, I’ve got you,” I respond, trying to hide my wheezing. A drop of sweat rolls down my forehead, mocking me as it settles on the tip of my nose.

It’s not the first time that day that I’ve helped an elderly person down a hill. In fact, it’ s one of the main components of my job. Every time the Queen of the Mississippi docks and lets off it’s 152 passengers – depending on the week, they average seventy to eighty years old – it’s my responsibility to help them get from the boat to the bus that will get them to whatever Southern fried destination they’re visiting.

For some reason, the Queen never seems to stop at docking areas with flat surfaces. Hills can be challenging for older folks. Mrs. Hollis won’t be the last person that I help today; she is by the most interesting, however.

“It’s a little embarrassing needing help down this hill,” she says, and I swear I can see her face redden.

“But it’s worth it since I’m getting help from such a handsome man.”

I nod politely and keep going, thanking her for the kind words. It’s the fifth or sixth time this week that she’s commented on how good-looking I am and I can’t help but enjoy the ego boost, no matter how much I disagree.

“Louisiana is so interesting. Have you been to the gardens at that place?” she asks, referring to the latest plantation.

“I have, ma’am, they’re amazing.”

And they really are. A burst of swampy color amid tragic historical accuracy.

We’ve gotten to the bottom of the hill, and the walkway onto the boat is right in front of us. Thankfully, it’s just wide enough to get her wheelchair onto it.  My co-worker stands at the end, watching out for any more passengers that might need help getting on board. He waves us past.

“You’re so nice and helpful and that baby face,” she says, as we slowly make our across the walkway. “You know, I have granddaughter. She lives very comfortably in New York City. And she’s very beautiful.  I think you two would make a great couple.”

“Oh?” I say, as noncommittally as possible.  She’s just a friendly old lady making conversation.

“I’ve been looking for a husband for her.”

“Oh,” I chuckle, thinking it’s a joke.  The woman can’t possibly be serious. I’ve known her for a week, and I’ve never even heard of her granddaughter before this moment.

But Mrs. Hollis is serious. She looks me pointedly in the eye over the top of sunglasses. She wants an answer.

“Well, Ma’am, I don’t think so,” I respond slowly, trying to think of the kindest way to let her down. “I don’t really want to settle down right now.”

She bristles at that, and I try to recover.

“I-I don’t mean that literally,” I stammer. “I just don’t want to stay in one place right now. This is the perfect job for me. As a deckhand, I’m constantly on the move. I can’t imagine anything better. It’d be unfair to anyone I try to settle down with.” I sigh mentally. “Oh, I meant that last part figuratively that time.”

She nods. “I understand, I suppose.”

Her husband shows up in the nick of time – he had opted to stay aboard the boat for their daily adventure and helps her inside. I turn and see my co-worker, now sporting a giant grin. He’s obviously heard the entire thing.

“Not a word,” I say, pointing fake-threateningly. His smile gets bigger.

I realize that I’ve regained my breath, far faster than I did in the first week I did this. I’m in the best shape of my life, and it’s thanks to all these hills that I’ve had to climb up and down.

I’ve been to places I never expected to go: Hannibal, the birthplace of Samuel Clemens; Nashville, home to the best country music scene imaginable; the French Quarter and all its debauchery; even the Mall of America.

I hear a yell and turn to my co-worker. He points to the top of the hill, where a man is starting to hobble down with no help but a cane that looks like it’s about to break in half.

I make my way up to help him. It’s a good deal – he gets the help he needs, and I get some exercise, and if I’m lucky, another great story to share later.

About the Author: Max Kelley is an author currently working on his first novel and sailing the world.

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Nigeria, A journey to a strange civilization

Ayetoro! “The world at peace” became imaginative sojourn when I rose upon my soul what nature had in stock for me. I am neither a mystagogue nor am I taking you into Nagaland.

It was a beautiful day with lots of rightful expectations as I embarked on a journey that lucidly reshaped my destiny.  My overwhelming anxiety awakened forgetfulness in me when I discovered I already forgot my digital camera at home close to my pillow. Sadness started yielding amidst the unending farm of happiness as I reached out to nature. I consoled myself with the thought that my memory stands a better test than mere capturing technology. I boarded a bus at the motor park as I rested my hope on divine help regarding the prevalent crimes on Nigerian roads. If I hadn’t gotten you confused about where I started the most remembered journey of my lifetime.

My name is Seun, a citizen of  Nigeria and an indigene of Ibadan, the capital city of Oyo State. I guess that must have unrifled the confusion about my origin. I took a bus going to ondo/ore from the popular gbagi market. After much fare haggling between myself and the driver, I decided to pay much to my satisfaction.

The bus which was a blue Volkswagen medieval model took off during the hottest time of the day, when the sun is at its peak. The bus started amusing me with the rocketing engine running like a thief being pursued in the market square. At the beginning of the journey, I started having doubts of what lays ahead, was trying to occupy my mind with other beautiful thoughts.” all to no avail” as I continued to wander in my thoughts-being human.

The continuing up beating like the bus is leapfrogging kept harbouring fear in me. Until suddenly a voice cracked out of the inner cubicle of the baked iron rim. Yeeee!!! My spirit awakened from the lost paradise. It was just a snail that crawled out of one of the passenger’s bag that scared the tiny man wearing navy blue shirt on what I could picture as colourless-like trouser. This incident busted out roaring laughter from the already bored passengers. The journey continued.

I started imagining how the ocean awaits my arrival, how beautiful and colourful the sky will be while smiling upon the large body of water. I was engulfed in my wide thoughts that I didn’t realised when we reached Ondo State heading straight to Ore. I didn’t find myself much in the various conversations ruminating in the bus. All I could think of is alighting from the bus to see Mother Nature and her babies.

The journey ended quicker than I thought. I knew within me that have almost reached the most beautiful village in the whole of African continent. I took a bike straight from Ore where my bus stopped to Ilaje local government where rare exploration awaits me.

Alas! The most anticipated journey that makes history was beheld at my sight. “WELCOME TO AYETORO COMMUNITY”. I was in awe with the beauty of nature in diversity. For the first time in my life, I could fill my nostrils smiling against medical principles. I started the easiest long trek on a sandy road as I listened to the sonorous conversation amongst the prettiest birds I could imagine. The village is just another “paradise on earth”. Love is so visible that I could touch it. The community is a Christian dominated area with their houses made of wooden planks upon sand filled lands. The houses were erected on water. Their predominant occupation is agriculture (fishing), which caters for the vital and daily needs of the communes.

Their hospitality could not be measured as they ushered me in showing the Art of God. I cannot mention all but remember the traditional architectural set piece of the three-story royal palace and the recipe of fresh fish that stays in my memory. Electricity supply was so immense that I teleported myself to middle Europe. Their way of life is so organised that I brought out my measuring tape for their culture.

I wished I could see more of the beautiful community. Lest I forget, I couldn’t but tell you about how I toured the unending ocean on speed boat. It was indeed my closest tie to heaven.

“All was beautiful; it will always be beautiful where love is visible. I rest my pen.

About the Author: ADENIJI OLUWASEUN Writer.

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