Lisa Niver's Blog: We Said Go Travel, page 445

Antarctica: At Earth’s End

My most awe-inspiring trip was an unlikely voyage. I went to a place of ice and snow, yet I hate winter. I crossed the roughest sea passage in the world, yet I am someone who gets seasick as soon as a boat starts rolling. Perhaps the destination was made more special because of the hardships I endured to reach it. But I have yet to meet someone who has not been awestruck by the beauty and wilderness of Antarctica.

The year was 2005, and although I am sure there were other passenger ships exploring the same area at the same time, we did not see them during our four days cruising along the Antarctic Peninsula. Because of this isolation, I felt like a true explorer, seeing lands and wildlife that few people get to see, snapping pictures with my first digital camera, and sharing my excitement with other like-minded travellers.

“Gooood morning” chimed the cheerful voice of our expedition leader over the PA system. “It’s 6:45 and we are now entering the Lemaire Channel”. Quickly I jumped out of bed, threw on some clothes, grabbed my camera, and bounded up several flights of stairs to the top deck. From my perch, I admired steep cliffs and glaciers as the ship glided through the mirror-calm channel. By breakfast time, the waters were choked full of ice and icebergs the size of cathedrals towered in the distance. I am not normally a morning person, but who would want to sleep through such landscapes?

Antarctica feels like a last frontier because, aside from a few research stations, it contains no man-made structures. You roam freely for hours on snowy and rocky islands inhabited by penguins, seals, and seabirds, without seeing signs of civilization. There are no electrical poles, no fences, no boardwalks, and no placards warning you to “stay behind the rope”. Your footsteps are the first to break the fresh layer of snow. You can walk in any direction you want.

The only rule is that you must keep a distance and not touch the wildlife. When you are surrounded by hundreds of curious penguins however, it is just about impossible to remain five metres away from all of them simultaneously! They are clumsy and funny to watch on land, but torpedo-fast underwater.

The landscapes of Antarctica are stunning in any weather, but when the sun comes out, they are glorious. The blue sky contrasts with snow of the purest white and grey rocky hills. The air is cool and clean. You can take off layers of clothing, but make sure you’re wearing both sunglasses and sunscreen, as an ozone hole forms over Antarctica during the austral summer.

Watching the penguins’ antics was the highlight for me, but we did and saw so much during our four days. We climbed a hill under fat wet snowflakes and slid down on our bum. We visited a Ukrainian Research Station. We hiked up the cinder cone of a collapsed volcano. We had a barbecue on deck. We saw petrified tree trunks and fossil ferns, proving that the continent of Antarctica lay in the tropics 30 millions years ago.

When we were not exploring islands on foot, we were motoring around in the zodiacs, coming within arm’s reach of leopard seals napping on ice floes, and glistening turquoise icebergs. One day we saw a humpback whale breach right next to our zodiac.

I feel privileged and grateful for having had these incredible and unique experiences while they are still possible.

On November 24, 2007, I learned that our ship M/S Explorer had sunk during an Antarctica voyage. All passengers escaped unharmed but the ship was lost forever. I cried that day. And although it may seem silly to cry for a boat, I am sure my shipmates would have understood.

About the Author: Marie-France Roy is an aspiring travel writer living in Toronto, and specializing in budget and independent travel for women. She has travelled to over 50 countries, mostly solo. Visit Marie-France’s new blog  and Like It on Facebook .

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Crossing the Laos/Vietnam Border with a Crocodile

When I saw the bag on the seat opposite me moving on its own accord, I did a double take. When I looked again, it was perfectly still. I rubbed my face and presumed that it was sleep deprivation that was making me delusional.

I was at the bus station in Savannakhet (Laos) sitting on a dilapidated coach, bound to Hue (Vietnam) and just relieved that I had two seats to stretch out my ungainly, almost two-metre frame, to sleep away the next seven hours of travel time.

A bag moving on its own accord wasn’t going to occupy my thoughts and prevent me from getting the rest I needed.

This bus was chosen because after a few weeks in Thailand and Laos – spent travelling in taxis or on air-conditioned tourist buses with fellow backpackers, speaking English, acting English and doing nothing more parochial than drinking the local beer – I craved something more authentic. I had been advised by my travel guidebook that local buses were a great way of experiencing the ‘real’ Southeast Asia.

It was with this in mind; I set off, on my own, for the bus station, in search of my great adventure. The coach was certainly authentically Iocal; there was nothing touristy like legroom or clean windows to look out of.

When the bus got going, I then realised that it was also lacking in that thing that made the tourist buses more comfortable. Suspension.

Sleep, predictably, now proved more difficult than I thought it would be. Along with the lack of comfort, a mixture of Boney M playing on the TV at ear-splitting volume, two teenage girls listening to different pop music on their mobile phones at loud volume – and singing along even louder – all polluted my ‘blocks all noise’ ear plugs. I made the best of what I could do in this situation, as there was no other farang to talk to, and read some more from my guidebook. It told me:

‘Tourist buses really isolate travellers from the rest of Southeast Asia, as few local people travel this way.’

With this thought rattling round my cerebrum, I began feeling really smug with myself. I was making an effort to blend in with the locals and I would surely be rewarded for my efforts.

There was then a shrill scream from a woman at the front that rose high above all the sounds on the bus, shattering any lingering notions of tranquillity or ideas of assimilation.

A man started to crawl on his hands and knees underneath the seats towards the front of the coach, as many passengers shouted and pointed frenziedly. People jumped up off their chairs and ran from the front of the coach to the back. The driver swivelled round – whilst continuing to drive very fast – to get a full view of what was happening. I stopped everything and stared at what developed before me.

The crawling man had now risen to his feet to a round of applause and audible sighs. He was grabbing hold of something I couldn’t quite see and lifting it up like a trophy. He walked to the back of the bus to the seat opposite me. He passed whatever he had in his hands to the woman sat there, who had remained passive throughout.

It was a baby crocodile.

She looked the crocodile in the eye, gave him a quick once over, followed by a gentle stroke, and then placed it calmly back in the bag I had seen moving a few hours ago.

My guidebook was right; local transport had given me a more adventurous and authentic experience. It provided me with both a narrow escape from a nasty nip and, more importantly, from a holiday without any local flavour.

I sat back in wonder for the rest of the journey. Firstly for the bravery of the man who captured the crocodile but mainly for knowing that my fellow passengers get to experience bizarre happenings like this on a regular basis. What a wonderful life they must have when even a routine border crossing turns into an adventure.

About the Author: Robert Davies-I am 36 years old and from England. I am currently living in Bangkok having moved here with my girlfriend. One of my many passions is travelling and I have had many adventures such as this one. My other hobbies include reading, cinema and sports. Find me on Facebook.

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Carpe Datem! Seize the Date!

I almost never met George, my travel partner and now husband. When he first emailed me, I liked his photo and his profile. But I had been on dozens of first dates with not one second date and needed a rest from online dating and unfulfilled high expectations. I sat in my chair, stared at the computer and did not write back. I wanted to but at that moment, the opportunity sailed away.

If I could have read Behrendt and Ruotola’s book, It’s Just a F***ing Date, to hear the essential truth that “almost every date you go on is not going to work out or turn into a lasting and meaningful relationship,” that might have helped me. I was hoping to go on my “last” first date ever.

Behrendt and Ruotola’s focus on “Principle #1 Like Yourself and Know You’re Worthy” is crucial and is part of how I connected with George. As they say it, “Get a Life so you won’t have to pretend to have one.” One of George’s early comments was about how we would at least be friends as not many shared our wanderlust. By honestly sharing my passions in my profile, he was able to learn about me before we ever met and that was why he contacted me a second time.

Many women are quick to share their requirements or “dealbreakers,” things that make a man not an option. While standards about “the kind of relationship you want to be in and the way you want to be treated,” are crucial, dealbreakers are often allowing the one you want to get away. Height, hair color and other superficial characteristics are not what I wanted to build my future on; I wanted a man who was caring, honest and funny. After George and I first met, two different friends commented about their own “dealbreakers” and thought George and I would not work out. Fortunately I focused on my standards and did not let my soul mate stroll away.

“Dating is like going on Space Mountain for the first time. Once you commit to doing it and strap yourself in, you have no idea what’s going to happen.” Being with George has been like a rollercoaster ride from quitting my job, spending a year sabbatical in Asia to getting engaged underwater, I am always excited to see what will happen next.

Behrendt and Ruotola recommend: “Your Gwyneth Paltrow photo must be current within the last 2-3 years, must be close to your current weight and must somewhat resemble you.” While I agree with this, I did not do it. I honestly thought I looked like the photo I posted. George was enamored of my years of exotic international travel and was not thrown by the weight I had gained. During our early years together, I lost over sixty poundsand am much happier at a lower weight and higher activity level.

 

My philosophy matched the authors that “Every date is an opportunity to practice going on a date so that when you meet the right person, you won’t blow it by being a terrible date.” I tried out different outfits and restaurants to see what I liked so that with every date I felt more comfortable showing up as my authentic self. George and I had a five-hour first date and before it ended, he had already asked me out for another date! It was my best first date ever.

Finding someone to love forever is worth the valiant effort it may take. I tried many venues to meet my match, and my verdict is that it does not matter how you meet, it only matters that you show up and reveal yourself so that you can enjoy a long happy life with your one true love. Seize the date; the next chapter of your life is waiting!

Carpe Datem! Seize the Date! first appeared in the Huffington Post.

About the Author: Lisa Niver Rajna went on her last first date seven years ago and is now co-author of Traveling in Sin and co-founder of We Said Go Travel with her husband, George. They have been on the road since July 2012 and hope you take the risk to make your dreams come true.

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Vipassana: 10 days of silence, journey of a lifetime!

Vipassana: 10 Days of Silence, Journey of a Lifetime!

Morning wakeup call at 4 A.M., last meal of the day at 5 P.M., complete ‘Noble Silence’ (No talking, No gesturing, No writing, No reading, No NOTHING!), jail-like rooms to stay in, 10 hours of meditation a day in a hall full of 100 complete strangers, make that 100 silent strangers! Not exactly a picture that would scream ‘Gratitude’… Awe? Yes! But Gratitude?

Strangely, YES!

Feeling a bit like Julia Roberts from ‘Eat, Pray, Love’ – The Movie (or Elizabeth Gilbert from the book, if you please) I made it to DhammaThali, the Jaipur Vipassana Center, full of excitement for the journey ahead.

It didn’t take long for the excitement to fizzle out as it collided with the harsh reality of my ‘room’. ‘Servant’s Quarter’, as my hubby aptly declared – ‘Are you sure you want to stay here for 10 days?’

‘No!’ screamed every part of my being, but my dogged stubbornness or my stubborn doggedness (ask hubby for more details!) held me in good stead and I heard myself answer a rather subdued ‘Yes!’

Hubby’s eyebrows shot up, but he wisely refrained from wisecracks.

So the deal was sealed! He left. I panicked. Then steeled myself for the inevitable. Broom in hand, I swept the webs and swatted the spiders- no Buddha could convince me to co-exist in harmony with them! Room and bathroom cleaned and ‘dettol- ed’ I settled down with a prayer on my lips- After all, I could go through anything for 10 days… It wasn’t that big a deal, was it?

I couldn’t have been more wrong!

Vipassana (pronounced Vee-pash-yana) means to see things as they really are – not as they appear to be. Ever since we open our eyes, after birth, we look outside. In doing so, we forget to how to look inside. Vipassana allows us to look inwards and to eliminate the 3 causes of unhappiness: craving, aversion and ignorance.

So far so good, but was it really just a day gone by? It seemed like forever!

Einstein had it bang on when he wrote about the relativity of time – it flies when you are having fun and crawls when you are not!

Here, time didn’t just crawl, it simply stopped!

Moments, minutes, hours, days – nothing could be counted as they were in the world outside. This timelessness was unreal, or maybe, too real…

There was so much awareness of each moment that it lasted for an eternity.

The journey had just begun… Every day was a challenge, with my emotions vacillating between euphoria and escape and everything in between! I hung on, but barely so…

It was hands down, by far, the hardest, most intense 10 days of my life! I never realized that it was so tough to live with our own self without the myriad distractions that we amuse ourselves with! But it was only when I stripped down my soul to its very basics that my innermost thoughts, fears, desire, hopes, wants came tumbling out… It was as if I was seeing the world with new eyes, it was as if I saw myself for the first time!

About the Author: Archana Saboo is a businesswoman, a freelance writer, a painter and an avid traveller. She lives in the ‘Pink City’ of India, Jaipur. She can be reached at https://www.facebook.com/archana.saboo

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Indonesia: Within a breath of the Komodos

As the sun was about to say goodbye, we dropped anchor at a small bay at Komodo Island in Indonesia. As I sat at the front of the boat, the sense of enormity of the landscape in its entirety started to set in. The sun was now distributing its parting gift to mankind, an array of colours in the sky. The bright green of the surrounding hills and the blue of the sea gently fell asleep. The sun left after tenderly pulling a giant dark blanket over them. A bunch of flying foxes, which locals call ‘Batman’, left the hills.

Three small canoes were approaching us, a lone rower in each of them. Each of them put a knot around our boat and stabilized their canoes. One offered us beer, another pulled out small wooden statues of Komodo Dragons while the other asked us if we want to buy some fish. When we smiled and declined, they just hung around holding on to our boat. Their clothes were stained and tattered. I asked them their names: Ashi, Edi and Tesh. They climbed on to our boat and sat down in front of me. They kept looking at me quietly. I tried to have a conversation in my broken Bahasa Indonesia. Lobo, my wife, came over and sat next to me.

In the dim lights, all I could see was their lean frames with white eyes. They came from the small village on Komodo Island. They had a habit of speaking in unison reiterating each other. “I am twenty, he is thirty three,” said two of them. Simultaneously, the other guy said, “I am thirty three, these two are in their twenties.” “I am already married and I have a daughter,” said Edi and Tesh together while Ashi stopped at, “I am already married.” We got them thinking by asking what they would like their daughters to become when they grew up. Now they were speaking separately. Edi said, “Teacher, or perhaps doctor.” Tesh repeated and Ashi nodded in agreement. Then Tesh said, “No, no, she should become a police woman.” Everyone agreed again. “There is a lot of corruption,” said Ashi. “Police keep harassing us, our daughters can punch them and change them,” said Edi. We all agreed amid laughter. Edi then suggested, “Why stop at police woman, why not become the President of Indonesia? Even more punch.” More laughter followed.

At times we just sat quietly, looking at one another. Tesh said with an air of authority, pointing his finger at us and then throwing it down, “I liked talking to you two.” He said that in a rough way that seemed completely earnest. I loved that moment; complete strangers connected by the fragile thread of my broken Bahasa Indonesia and a much more intricate and complicated mesh of threads making strangers want to know about each other.

As they prepared to sail away, Edi asked, “Do you have some medicines? My daughter has fever for the last two days.” I gave him some medicines with directions but asked him to definitely consult a doctor if things don’t improve. Edi agreed to do so but the three spoke together again, “Our village has no doctor. We only have a mosque.”

After dinner, we went up to the roof of the boat. Our boat turned off its lights and the noisy generators. In the vast darkness that followed, the starlight was still providing silhouette to the hills. What were the Komodo Dragons doing over there?

In this moonless night, distant galaxies were visible as glittering mist. The sky was a dark bowl punctured by several small holes through which the universe was pouring in. The sea below was rippling gently. We could hear small fish breaking the surface every now and then. And then we noticed the magic of the reflections of two bright stars flirting with each other. In the rippling water, their reflections kissed and then jumped away. These stars, separated by billions of light years for billions of years, got to embrace and play with each other every night in these waters. As we watched this miracle, we recounted how our own lives had criss-crossed. Both of us had been born at small towns in China and India respectively. How did we overcome geography, our birth into different religions, our years of upbringing in different cultures, our food habits, and belief systems to come to accept one another as soul mates?

That night, the conditions at Komodo Island were as such. We felt as one with the stars, the sky, the hills, the sea, what lied lay deep within the sea, the fish, the Batman, our boat’s captain, Edi, Tesh, and Ashi. We kissed.

About the Author: Shivaji Das comes from the north-eastern province of Assam in India, presently working as a management consultant in Singapore. Shivaji’s writings have been published in various magazines such as Time, Venture Mag, Hack Writers.

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Finding Christmas on Treasure Island, Florida

This Christmas felt different from the other four Bill and I have spent together. 2007 was white and freezing at -31 degrees C (-24 F) in Calgary, Alberta! 2008 was wet and cool in Seattle, Washington. Then it turned sunny and just right at the Suwannee River Music Park in Florida in 2009. It was back in Seattle in 2010. In 2011, it was particularly hard to find the spirit. Bill had a close wake-up call. He had a heart attack on the eighth of December.

So we tried to find it in another place, away from the RV. We went to the Sand Pebble Resort of Vacation Internationale, Bill’s time share, in Treasure Island, Florida. Our 1-BR unit was spacious enough for 2 couples and had a view of the Gulf of Mexico from the balcony. We felt then that no one could call us homeless anymore! At the ground floor there is a hot tub, a heated pool, pool table, and bar. Every afternoon everybody gathered for an activity: bingo, ice cream socials, count the shells, etc. But it is the quiet beach at the back that was our favorite hideaway.

But, like the other years, we got busy looking for stocking stuffers for our Christmas Eve opening of gifts. Bill and I happily lost each other at the Mustang Florida Flea Market for an hour to hunt for the little treasures. Not satisfied with our haul, we went to the Tyrone Square Mall to complete our finds. Each stash was carefully guarded and closed tight so no curious intruder can take a peek. The cheapskate that I am, I spent no more than of $25; hopefully, Bill did not spend too much more!

The following day we went for a long drive north along the Gulf Blvd that connects the 10 barrier islands and 13 beaches, collectively known as the Tampa Bay Beaches. It was never-ending miles of beach homes, condo-resorts, and palm trees. The best of them all is to the north in Clearwater, Florida, just before reaching the Honeymoon Island State Park: Clearwater Beach, famous for white powdery sand (Boracay in my home country, the Philippines, is pink powdery). It was a beach haven much bigger than the Keys, adjacent to a large metropolitan area, and a place where we could conceivably settle.

Then the next day we discovered legendary Ybor City in Greater Tampa, Florida which was once the ‘Cigar Capital of the World’ after Don Vicente Martinez-Ybor moved his cigar factory from Key West to Tampa in the early 1900s. Other cigar-makers followed, building their own factories. Immigrants from Spain, Cuba and Sicily came to work in them; Romanian merchants opened stores; German lithographers brought the latest technology to print the cigar labels. Today it is a lively entertainment and arts district, complete with demonstrations of hand-rolling cigars.

On Christmas Eve, Bill and I attended a joyous mass at St. John Vianney in St. Pete’s Beach, Florida with a little pageant of kids as angels, shepherds, and the Three Kings around the Nativity Scene at the altar. Then we came home to our Noche Buena (Filipinos’ Christmas Eve meal) of maple/honey glazed ham, Dubliner cheese, fancy crackers, and my very first Christmas Stollen. At the stroke of 12, Bill got his new polar bear jammies, pristine white hankies, and a heart warmer for cold hands! He definitely spent more! I got new diamond earrings (to replace the ones I had lost), new fit-over dark glasses (to replace the one I also had lost) plus a little purse! Talks with my kids on the phone capped our Christmas Eve.

After a light left-over breakfast, off we went to complete our drive to the south end of Gulf Blvd for a couple more beaches and a feat of engineering, the Sunshine Skyway Bridge! Back at the condo, a light lunch preceded our one last time at the hot tub and Skype sessions with Bill’s kids. And to cap it all, we went to see Mission Impossible on the big screen and dined at Joey’s Famous Pizza Kitchen in downtown St. Petersburg, Florida to spare me from cooking (or Bill from having to eat my cooking)!

Christmas this year was surely different, away from the RV, away from family, away from camping friends, just by our lonesome selves. We found it everywhere in the beaches, the hot tub, the local history, the shopping, the midnight mass, the Noche Buena, the movie, the pizza…because we found Christmas most in us. We are a couple who met late in life, but early in dreams. The Christmas spirit, after all, is the special kinship He has made possible. We will find it in Treasure Island, anywhere, and everywhere, together.

About the Author: Carol Esguerra Colborn

After stints as CEO of Philippine pioneers in information technology, Carol migrated to the US to take care of grandkids, become a business counselor in SCORE, and serve as adjunct professor in three schools of higher learning in Seattle. She married Bill in 2008; they started and recently completed a 4-year cruise of North America in an RV which is written about in a blog. Carol has a BS in Math, an MBA, and a DPA and from the University of the Philippines.

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New York City: All Out Of Proportion

All Out Of Proportion

By Barry Divola

I fell in love with New York long before I got there. It was 1979 and I was sitting in a cinema in Sydney, Australia, where I live. The lights went down and luminous black-and-white images of Manhattan flickered across the screen while Gershwin played in the background and a man with a nervy, nasal voice said “Chapter One. He adored New York City. He idolised it all out of proportion.”

I was a goner and it was all Woody Allen’s fault.

I got there for the first time in 1983 at the tail-end of my first overseas trip. I stayed with my great-uncle Charlie, who had emigrated from the Aeolian Islands north of Sicily after the end of the First World War and opened a deli on Bleecker Street in Greenwich Village. He was long retired and in his nineties by the time I got to visit, living in his tiny apartment above his former store with his girlfriend Molly, a crazy Irish woman in her eighties who had long red hair and a handful of teeth left in her mouth. I felt like I’d landed on another planet.

I was only there for a few days and they were very protective of me and my cousin, who I was travelling with. On the last morning, the two of us told them we were going out by ourselves for the day. When we returned from wandering the streets for hours, it was after sunset. They were about to call the police.

“You don’t walk in this city by yourselves at this time of night,” Molly scolded, verging on tears. “It’s not safe.”

She was probably right. It was 1983, after all, and we were young, wide-eyed idiots who had absolutely no street smarts.

Since the early ’90s I’ve returned to New York almost every year. It’s not just my favourite city; it’s one of my favourite things. I usually go in September and October, in the northern autumn, when the leaves are changing colour and the people are coming back to life following the notoriously sweltering New York summer.

I love being there by myself. Of course, you’re never really by yourself in New York, but you can be alone and not lonely there. I love the fact that it’s a series of walkable neighbourhoods rather than a car-dependent sprawl like LA. When I go to New York, I walk more, I eat more, I drink more, I buy more and I dream more. It’s an endless well of inspiration. I’m yet to exhaust the place. I always return to Sydney re-invigorated and thinking about the next trip.

“Why are you going there again?” my father asked me about ten years ago. “There are other cities in the world, you know. Haven’t you done New York yet?”

And the answer is no. I haven’t. I feel like I will never “do” it. It’s not just that the city is in a constant state of change. A lot of it actually stays the same, but I experience it afresh each time. Every single time the view of that skyline fills the windscreen of the taxi from JFK, I involuntarily smile. It has never got old and I hope it never will.

I’ve fallen into patterns. I always spend a day criss-crossing the streets between Alphabet City and 2nd Avenue in the East Village, stopping in at the community gardens and my favourite stores and cafes and bars. I always get the L train to Williamsburg on the weekend to hang with the hipsters and browse the flea markets. I always spend an afternoon in the Strand bookstore, emerging hours later with my bank balance a little lighter, weighed down with two bags heavy with new discoveries. I always visit Bill, who for the last couple of decades has been the caretaker at the Earth Room, a loft in Soho that is home to an art installation that is basically an apartment filled with dirt. Bill is as calm and unchangeable as the 127,000 kilograms of rich, dark soil he oversees and we’ve become something like friends as I check in each year.

And every year, usually towards the end of my trip, I make a point of having dinner at August, a restaurant that sits on Bleecker Street in the same spot where my great-uncle once had his store, below the apartment where I first stayed with him 30 years ago. I raise a glass to Charlie’s memory and I toast the city I love.

Just like Woody, I idolise it all out of proportion. I always will.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Barry Divola is a freelance journalist and author from Australia. He mainly writes about music, popular culture, food and travel. He has never lived in New York, but has travelled there 17 times in the last 22 years.

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India: Rediscovering Belief in Banaras

The sea of saffron edged along slowly on hundreds of bare feet on the rain-drenched path. Mud caked the heels, splattered the ankles. Occasionally, a cry of “Har Har Mahadev” erupted from one trembling throat and got carried over to others like a wave, until it rose in a crescendo. And fell. To the muffled whisper of shuffling feet on wet earth. In the soft early morning sun, rain drops glistened on brown bodies.

“You go to the temple regularly, no?” Mother asked her customary question. “Yes Maa, I do,” I gave my practiced answer. It had been a while, a few years, since I had stepped inside a place of worship with religious intent. When I did, it was to admire the architecture or to observe people at pray. I hadn’t traversed the distance to atheism yet, but my belief was definitely dwindling.

The sea of saffron reached a white domed structure, paused. “Har Har Mahadev” rang once again, this time with arms outstretched skywards. “Finally,” I thought with relief. Somewhere in the sea of saffron, a bright blue speck that was I was having a tough time trudging along with the Lord Shiva devotees. Brown body against brown body. Muddy feet against muddy feet. I had halted several times to wash off the mud, dung, slime from my pedicured feet with bottled water. My bottle was confiscated at the entry gate by the uniformed policewoman. So were my chewing gums.

“I want to go to Banaras. Will you come with me?” Mother had meekly asked. On any other occasion, I would have replied a curt no. But this was Banaras. Varanasi. Kashi. The oldest city in India, and one of the oldest in the world. This was Banaras of the hundred ghaats along the holy river Ganges. The Banaras that thousands of tourists from all over the world throng to every year. “Sure” I replied. Mother was pleased.

The sea of saffron moved again, past the white domed structure. “Wait, isn’t this the temple?” I wondered. Confused, I looked up at the white dome, the minarets and up at the crescent perched on the dome. It was a mosque! A mosque so close to a temple! That was a rare sight in this secular democracy, torn apart so many times by communal differences. Few paces past the white mosque, the golden dome and the golden spire of the Kashi Vishwanath Temple came into view, shining blinding bright. The temple and the mosque, the mosque and the temple, together, sharing the same wall. I smiled.

The 4 o’clock alarm went off before I had even shut my eyes. I lay in bed and recalled the happenings of the previous day. The uneventful train ride from Delhi. The Varanasi Junction railway station flooded with saffron-clad Shiva devotees, who had travelled from all over India on pilgrimage. The half hour-long panicked wandering through lanes after narrow lanes of Old Banaras in order to find the hotel I had booked over the Internet. The first glimpse of river Ganges flowing majestically below the hotel. The smile the little boy passed me, his eyes twinkling, as he playfully dived into the river. The enthralling Ganga aarti in the evening, where seven young priests performed a practiced recital of making offerings to the holy river.

The snoozing alarm went off again. I got up, bathed, dressed in bright blue and stepped out into a dazzling sunrise over the Ganges. Humbled, captivated, I sighed. And commenced my walk to the Kashi Vishwanath Temple.

The sea of saffron disintegrated inside the temple courtyard. A priest hurried over to us and offered to take us through the rituals. We sat cross-legged on the damp marble floor of one of the halls adjoining the main shrine. The priest placed a large plate in front of us, with flowers, leaves, this and that. The rituals began. I folded my palms together, closed my eyes, and dozed off. I had been aiming to catch up on my sleep. Instead, I drifted off into a subconscious state of being, of trance, of meditation.

What got me into that state? The sound of hymns being chanted all around, the heady aura of the place, or the genuine devotion of the people around me. How long was I in that state? Five minutes or one hour. What did I feel in that state? Unbidden affection for my land, pride in my people, renewed belief in myself. And perhaps, even in a higher being.

The sea of saffron integrated outside the temple gate once again. The speck of bright blue that was I walked along with it, happy. “Thanks Maa,” I whispered and smiled to Mother.

About the Author: Born and brought up in a multi-cultural setting in north-east India, Satarupa Paul is currently a ‘journalist by chance, backpacker by choice, gastronome by device.’ She has lived and worked in several cities in India and her work has been published in many newspapers and magazines. You can follow her food, photography and travel journey on Facebook or on Twitter (@satarupapaul).

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Rome, Delicious Home

In the heart of Trastevere, I heard a heavy Roman accent bounce off the bright colorful walls of the near-empty Via dei Salumi. I could now clearly distinguish the circular sound of the plastic ventilator as it moved the summer warmth inside the cozy apartment that had once belonged to June, my dear grandmother. After an intense Canadian winter, the comforting morning sun breaking through the tall windows inspired me to put on a light dress, and head down two floors, in the perpendicular cobble-stoned Via dei Vascellari.

In Piazza dei Ponziani, I stepped into Terra Satis, a tiny modern bar tucked beneath an arch of red ancient bricks, and recognized the faces above the hands that six months back – and certainly way before then – also indelicately shuffled white little porcelain cups and plates. People standing elbow-to-elbow in their dark suits and in front of the transparent counter, drank down their shots of espresso, lungo, or macchiato, even faster than they had appeared, ordered without needing to exchange a word. I, no longer an habitué, was forced to speak my breakfast order instead:

“Cornetto semplice e cappuccio con tanta schiuma per favore.”

(Croissant and cappuccino in a glass with lots of foam please.)

To make it a little softer, I dipped my dry cornetto in my voluptuous cappuccino: pastry isn’t exactly Rome’s finest skill. When I was done scrubbing the sugar, I paid my 2.10€ bill, and slipped in between a few narrow streets to cross the imposing Garibaldi Bridge. From there, I could admire the boat-shaped Tiber Island or Isola Tiberina, originally a seat of the temple of Asclepius (Greek God of medicine and healing) and now a renowned hospital.

At the bridge’s end, I opted for Via dei Giubbonari to access the busy market of Campo de’ Fiori. I was already very hot and thirsty, yet positive that by the time I reached the flowerpot stands near the statue of Giordano Bruno, one of Rome’s loyal springs would let me freshen up again. Then I would walk further onto Piazza Navona.

At this hour, the square (actually oval) was crowded with Bangladeshi men throwing fluorescent disks in the air; Michael Jackson finger puppets boogying behind Bernini’s Four River Fountain, as well as artists and tourists from everywhere. I continued my tour in the direction of Largo Argentina, to hop on tram n°8, and return to my starting point.

Back in my charming Via dei Salumi, I caught sight of Francesco, the owner of my favorite restaurant Da Enzo al 29, standing next to the usual reunion of loyal Trasteverini (people from Trastevere).

“Giulia!” he cried out.

We hugged, and a few minutes later, I was seated at a small turquoise and white square table to fulfill my irresistible passion for Francesco’s Carpaccio di Verdure. Each bite of thinly sliced zucchini and parmesan cheese – sprinkled with drops of olive oil and lemon, softened the sour taste of the surrounding economic crisis, and made me grateful to the extent I wondered how I had ever found the courage to abandon such deliciousness.

About the Author: With her multicultural French, American and Italian origins, Julie has always been a dedicated traveler. Since she discovered the sharing of her stories enabled her to travel some more, she also became a passionate writer – who now mainly strives to travel so she can write, and write so she can travel more.

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Hardiwar, India: Discovery of the Self

Growing up, all of us want to believe we are special … special in our personality …special in our choices, special in the way we shape our lives… Bestowed with a well-educated independent upbringing, a fairly successful career, I am now the Urban Indian stereotype- the caring wife, the ‘Nurturer’ in a nuclear family; complete with a loving husband and a beautiful child.

Not in want of having to earn a livelihood, I settle for a 9 to 5 stress free job which gives me enough time to stress about micromanaging my family. Occasionally, when I find respite from work, I sit in my balcony with a cup of tea watching the dusk, trying to catch up on my reading. The book is either too boring or too introspective to continue and thoughts do tend to trail away ……’Why’ and ‘What if’ questions seem to have a will of their own, edging out contentment in solitary moments.

What was I trying to assess? My life so far; My life ahead or simply Myself? So many questions which need answers….. As a well-deserved break after one particularly long job stint; leaving my husband and daughter at home to handle each other for the first time, I decide to travel with my sister and brother-in-law on a trip to Uttarakhand. Nomad at heart, blessed with physical stamina, traveling comes easy to me. Uttarakhand is famed for its enviable list of holy places, notably those along the banks of the GANGA, the holiest of Hindu rivers.

Via Dehradun, the capital of Uttarakhand, we travel by road to HARIDWAR, where geographically the Ganga enters the plains (metaphorically touches the mortal realm) after cascading down the towering Himalayas. They say millions come to the banks of the Ganga to find their true calling. What solace can this place offer to my comfortable soul which wants to be restless? After the customary visit to “Places of Interest” in the scorching 46 degrees of North Indian summer, we arrive at the ghats… from a few hundred meters away, we hear the GANGA gushing and gurgling… My soul searching questions temporarily forgotten, I search for an outlet to buy mineral water. Tourists are buzzing around. After stopping at a roadside stall to buy a toy for my daughter, we slowly meander towards the Ghats elbowing out throngs of pilgrims. I busily click photographs with my mother and sister to upload onto my social network, the GANGA is gushing away in the backdrop… My mother tells us to finish our ablutions. We couldn’t agree more. In the scorching heat, a dip in the water would be comforting. We push through the crowds to step into the river and take the perfunctory three dips. The water is freezing. It is the glacial melt from the GANGOTRI, the source of the mighty Ganga. The dusk is approaching, my sister and brother-in-law are trying to enquire about the evening Aarti for the Ganga. I settle down quietly next to my mother on the steps.

The GANGA is gushing away along the ghats… Though I want to write that it suddenly hit me, I know that is far from the truth. This feeling has been creeping in from when I left home. Like the Ganga it has been flowing (inward out or outward in? ), till it reached the physical manifest… the setting sun… the twilight… the river …the chants… the crowds… the vermillion and saffron …the lamps afloat on leaves–I feel serenity envelope my soul… Is my journey complete? Do I want to stay here forever, away from work, responsibilities and emotional bondage, break the stereotype, find my singular space in this Universe? NO, I want to go back. I want to see the immeasurable joy on my daughter’s face as she receives her toy, experience the warmth of my husband’s affection, relax in my balcony with a good measure of an evening aperitif, sharing the physical and metaphysical experiences of this trip with my life partner… ONLY then will this journey be complete!

Yes, I am Special, Special to my loved ones and Unique to the context of MY life. I realize the life I live is what I weave for myself through love, care, joys and heartbreaks. I realize that the forces of the universe have complied; not conspired to tune my body to my mind to my soul; because I desire them to. I realize that all questions need not have answers; neither do all answers need to be questioned. They say millions come to the banks of the Ganga to find their true calling. I too find mine. I go home. I am content AND I am restless… the yin yang of my soul. The GANGA…She gushes in me…

About the Author: The author, Rajini Itham is a Practicing Architect, Design Educator and Freelance Writer.

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