Lisa Niver's Blog: We Said Go Travel, page 450

Czech Republic: The Bone Church

I can’t help but look back on my travels throughout Europe this year and think about my trip to Kutna Hora, Czech Republic, where I saw “The Bone Church.” I can’t get this trip out of my mind. Though I am visually haunted by it, it’s more of a bewilderment or awe. Ever since I have heard about this place through the grapevine, I’ve kind of been obsessed. Where can you visit a church where the interior is entirely made up of over 40,000 real human remains? Surely this must be a hoax as who would want to desecrate the human form by using it as a decoration? But the reason is deeper than that. The site of the church was revered as Holy ground as the abbot, Henry, sprinkled sacred soil from Golgotha in the 1200’s. As a result, it was a prime burial destination for many in the Czech Republic. Centuries later, when the Black Plague left its toll, there was an overwhelming amount of bodies to be buried in the cemetery surrounding the church. But the actual construction and placement of bones in the church didn’t happen until 1870. Decorating with human remains was a morbid yet practical way to furnish the inside of the church.

It is a simply stunning place to visit. For some, it is a challenge to even cross the threshold. Being inside the church which is surprisingly small is worth the trip to the small town. One can’t deny the feelings of awe and shock as you look overhead to see an entire chandelier created out of almost every bone in the human body. Rows of skulls surround the center of the church and piled high are remains that serve no other purpose than to be a place of rest for those long deceased. There is even a family crest made out of bones from a family that once owned the church. Outside, you can wander the graveyard of the well maintained cemetery, every now and then finding a rogue and rusted cross leaning up against the cemetery gates.

Why has this trip inspired me and made me grateful? We don’t like to think of what will happen to our physical bodies when we pass away. “The Bone Church” or Sedlec Ossuary has now become a hidden travel destination for those who need to quite literally “see it to believe it.” I am grateful for this place because it is a macabre and in some ways humorous reminder that we are all human, we die, and our bodies go on without us. It is a chilling token of mortality that many try to get out of their heads, but we must confront ourselves with at some point. It has been a great experience for me and one that is unique to my travels in Europe.

This will be one trip that you won’t forget and it will be sure to haunt your memory for years to come. Would you visit the “The Bone Church?”

About the Author: Brittany Ruth began her blog, TheRococoRoamer.blogspot.com to keep friends and family in touch while she moved overseas to Germany as a newlywed. Quickly she discovered that she really enjoyed blogging and began to incorporate posts about her love for antique and flea market traveling all around Europe. She also writes about the occasional DIY project and DIY inspiration. She has a passion for travel and plans to visit as many countries in Europe as she can. She loves to help others plan their trips and discover new places. She is also working full-time while in Germany and attending grad school.

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Our Russian Sojourn

Some time in the last decade, I had come across a calendar with beautiful pictures of churches. The one that caught my eye was a Russian church….with multi-coloured onion shaped domes -it looked straight out of ‘Arabian Nights.’Such a charming church, so dfferent…

I had never seen the like of it before. I yearned to see it but knew a trip to Russia would never materialize.

But God had something else in mind. Before the year-end, out of the blue came a posting order for my husband.We were to shift to Moscow for a year. I was elated and quickly allayed my husbands qualms about going to Moscow because of the severe winters.

On the designated day we reached the Russian capital in the morning. As we were hovering over the sky I looked down to see a city shrouded in green.The houses were all hidden amidst dense foliage. As we drove towards the city I rolled down my window to get an unobstructed view as the city unfolded before my eyes. It was summer and Moscow seemed

to be basking in the glorious sunlight. Amidst the unending green we saw a sparkling stream, gurgling merrily on its way. Innumerable parks, all blazing with colours, dotted this vast city. We finally reached the hotel where we were to stay till we got possession of our apartment.

The second day we head out to see the famed Red Square, where the embalmed body of Lenin is kept for public display..On reaching the Square,the first thing that greeted my eyes was the church of my dreams….St.Basil’s Cathedral…as it is known in Moscow.I was overcome with emotions and tears of gratitude welled up my eyes.On the second day itself God had granted my wish .I cannot describe in words the beauty of this church….which looked more spectacular than in the picture. It was an overwhelming experience. and I thanked God from the core of my heart.

Every street and road in Moscow had some church or the other, all of them exquisitely beautiful. Every weekend we ,along with our chauffeur, who also doubled as our guide, visited some church.No matter how small the church, there was one thing in common….the interiors were very ornate, with carvings in gold colour, huge chandeliers and innumerable candles vying for the best spot at the altar. Besides these churches, we visited the Kremlin situated on the banks of the Moscova river.From the outside it looks like a massive fort guarding the seat of the Russian government, the Royal Palace and churches..While cruising down the Moscova river, the bobbing sail boats with their colourful sails added serenity to the whole panorama.

I found the women in Moscow very pretty and smartly- dressed. The local populace spoke nothing but Russian, so out of sheer necessity I had to learn some regular words. Of the few I had picked up, I still remember a handful like the word “kharoshey” (beautiful),”niyat”(no),” “dah” (yes),”musa”(husband) and ofcourse the well-known “spasiba”( thank you)

Soon autumn announced its arrival with severe chill. The maple trees near our apartment had all started decking up in leaves of red and gold. They looked gorgeous in their new avatar. Before we realised, fall had given way to winter .There was a complete transformation – the trees had shed their leaves, and looked like bare-bodied sentinels guarding the apartments.

One morning we woke up to see the whole city blanketed in snow. Outside my window everything looked sparkling white as though they had been dusted with icing sugar. Since this was my first experience with snow I was exhilerated.It had become so cold that stepping out of the house from the warm confines of central heating was quite daunting.

But the overpowering urge to see Moscow in her snow – clad splendour got the better of us. Of course we had to protect ourselves with several layers of warm clothing. I was enjoying the crisp air of the chilly winter, taking in the sights, sound and smell of this season. All the

water bodies had frozen and people used them as pathways. Somewhere water pipes had burst and the water gushing out had instantly frozen into that weird looking shape. Seemed it just needed a magic wand to bring it back to running condition. It was now January , the temperature had plummeted to 28 degrees below zero and venturing out was sheer torture.The snow had hardened into ice and walking on the slippery surface needed some maneuvering, which we hadn’t mastered yet. So slipping and falling became a regular thing.

Before winter ended it was time for us to return home. I bid farewell to the city I had come to love and make my home for the past one year.

About the Author: Onku Ghosh: Schooling from St. Xavier’s School Bokaro Steel City and graduated with English Honours from Bethune College, Kolkata. Have been a homemaker, bringing up my only daughter who is now doing well in her field of work. Am interested in gardening,painting, cooking and writing poems.

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A Montenegrin Surprise

In front of me rested a floating line of yachts, sailboats, and catamarans.

After a quick walk from the bus station to the heart of the Old Town, I explored within the town walls before making it to the waterfront, and, if needing to gauge my location based only on what floated in the marina that sunny, early October afternoon, I would have guessed some out of the way place along the Côte d’Azur…but I was nowhere near the French Riviera.

I knew little about Montenegro in general, and Kotor specifically, when, a few weeks before arriving, I was advised by a native Montenegrin to include it in my first tour of the Balkans. The Adriatic coast, mountains, secluded bay; it took little convincing to add Kotor to my agenda, and apparently others received the same advice. Along with yachts, sailboats and catamarans, two cruise ships were in the harbor: one, a large commercial cruise liner and the other, The World; the uber-expensive, private residence/yacht/cruise ship hybrid.

“All these people must be here for a reason,” I thought aloud, then, turning and looking up above the town, I learned why.

The Old Town sits at the base of the mountain of St. John. The peak, initially fortified in the mid-6th century, eventually became St. John Castle and is now a tourist attraction, for outdoorsy types who like a good hike, and the average tourist.

Starting near the center of the town’s back wall, I began hiking up the more than 1350 step switchback trail. Every stopping point on the path offered needed rest and spectacular vantage points for avid vacation photographers, each view better than the last. Hiking all the way to the top deserves a reward and the mountain didn’t disappoint. The Bay of Kotor panorama from the castle on the peak is well worth the effort.

It’s from here the reality of why people have inhabited this location for more than one thousand years set in. With mountains behind the fort and surrounding the bay, this was a strategic defensive location in a time when attack meant fighting with swords, or bows and arrows. The natural barriers created safety and at the same time allowed citizens to live in an awe inspiring location. Because of these natural surroundings that sense of awe lingers today, two centuries after the last significant battle, even with hundreds of tourists flooding the Old Town streets and trail to the peak daily.

This brings me back to my visit. For a few weeks my plan had been to, upon reaching the coast, find somewhere I liked and spend a couple of weeks. That said, after my first afternoon in Kotor (and first ascent of the mountain), I knew my stay would be longer than the initial three night booking. I’d just spent a few weeks traveling first through Serbia, then Bosnia and Herzegovina, and while they are extremely interesting countries, the constant reminders of what happened after the breakdown of Yugoslavia make for intense travel. The need for a full recharge of my travel batteries was eclipsed on the Things to Do list only by the need to catch up on some reading and do some serious writing. The concentration of those post-conflict cities, one after another, had stymied the creative process. My right brain needed a kick start!

Not knowing this when I arrived, the Bay of Kotor has a lot going for it and was just what I was looking for. The bays south end, where Kotor is located, combines a location abounding natural beauty, the ancient walled Old Town, and laid-back Balkan attitude to make a top travel destination along the Adriatic Sea’s eastern coastline. But for me it was more than just a vacation hot spot.

Finding Kotor to be a cookie cutter example of what I needed was a welcome surprise. Various vantage points on the mountain above became my desktop, the sights below my muse, and warm fall afternoons my workdays. I guess that’s why I climbed portions of the mountain at least six times during my two-plus week stay. So perfectly fitting my needs was Kotor, it fueled me for weeks after. Writing, reading, traveling. All with ease and harmony.

Thank you Kotor, Montenegro. I like surprises!

About the Author: Jacob Curtiss is a traveler and travel writer. He has recently finished a nearly year long backpacking trip through Europe. You can see more of Jacob’s work on his blog or check out the Unmapped Travels Facebook page.

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George is a Chalkboard Champion!

George Rajna: The Chalkboard Champion Who Promotes Multi-Cultural Awareness

Many hardworking educators give unselfishly to causes near and dear to their hearts, and chalkboard champion George Kenneth Rajna is a fine example of this. George is an elementary school teacher, bilingual speech and language pathologist, Peace Corps volunteer, musician, and travel writer who has traveled to over one hundred countries across six continents around the world. He has worked tireless throughout his professional career to promote multi-cultural awareness.

George was born in Santa Monica, California. He graduated from the American University in Washington, DC, with an MBA in International Marketing. He has also attended California State University, Northridge, where he earned his master’s degree in science with an emphasis in communicative disorders.

From 1995 to 1999, George was employed as an elementary schoolteacher in both the Inglewood and Los Angeles Unified School Districts. George has also donated his teaching talents as a Peace Corps Volunteer in rural Paraguay, where he supported a government educational reform program used by teachers to engage students with didactic materials, hands-on activities, and multi-modal instruction. During his Peace Corps experience, George promoted programs improving dental hygiene in the local community, and he also facilitated workshops for teachers to assist them in creating and utilizing instructional materials for their classrooms.

After his return from Paraguay, George accepted a position as a speech and language pathologist in the Lennox School District in Lennox, California. He was employed there for six years, working with students who suffered from varying degrees of autism and children who exhibited articulation, language, and fluency delays. During his tenure in Lennox, George also mentored new clinicians on how to effectively treat children with speech and language disorders.

George met his future wife, science teacher Lisa Niver, online in 2007, and the following year the couple went on sabbatical together, travelling all over Southeast Asia. Their 2013 book Traveling in Sin describes their unique experiences on this trip, and how their sabbatical fostered the growth of their relationship. Together, George and Lisa founded an award-winning web site, We Said Go Travel, a global community of over one hundred writers who have publicly shared meaningful stories related to travel and world culture. George has also published travel articles in the Huffington Post, Jewish Journal, theHimalayan Times, Technorati, and The Clymb. In addition, George and Lisa are sought-after public speakers.



Here is a link to George and Lisa Rajna’s web site: We Said Go Travel.

Here is a link to George and Lisa Rajna’s book: Traveling in Sin.

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Argentina: “Dale Vida al Mundo Entregando Amor”

I’m still not sure where we went. We were miles outside the city now, and the roads were shrinking into oblivion. Wherever it was, it was a far cry from the bustling city lights and neon dreams that is Buenos Aires. On that bus, watching the sunset and horizon turn to mud in the distance, I began to understand what it meant for a place to be called Third World.

The buzz of Castellano voices and loud thuds from beaten tires on the bumpy road filled my brain, and I almost forgot how little I knew of the language. I almost forgot I hadn’t even been in Argentina a full week. I almost forgot, but not quite.

Our group of around fifty had split off from the hundreds of others to journey to our designated province, and our newly formed community practically buzzed in anticipation. But looking around, I didn’t see a skilled architect, a practical engineer, or anyone with particular physical strength. I just saw people. Usually, it takes more than people to build a house, much less a neighborhood.

Upon arrival, the older members of the group cautioned us to stay together on our walk to the schoolhouse, our temporary home for the weekend, because the neighborhood was especially volatile at night. The women were sent to the center of the pack as we tread through the mudded roads towards our safe house. Dinner and Maté couldn’t come fast enough for most, having been deprived of the tea for about two hours, which was practically a record for the entire Porteño civilization.

It’s amazing how little language is needed to connect with and understand another person. We are so much more than the words we know to say and the method of how to do so chosen by birth. Maybe it was the game of Ninja the group decided to play, maybe it was my awesome skills that won, maybe it was the way empanadas were passed from eight pairs of hands till they reached their owner, or maybe it was the way danced the hours away to the resident guitarist of the group. I’m not sure what it was, but we were friends after that. Turns out, we were going to need to be. Hours later, I felt the cold ground press roughly against my shoulder blades, despite the thin sleeping mats, but fell asleep faster than I can remember.

“Abre tu corazón, la vida se hizo para sembrar amor.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, daring them to open.

“Escucha bien escucha bien que la vida es muy Linda.”

Melody flooded the schoolhouse.

“Que nadie sabe cuando el señor nos lleva

Disfruta a tu madre a tu padre a tus amigos”

I forced my heavy lids open and smiled. We beat the sun out of bed that day and lapped him in the process. Meeting the family was a shock I wasn’t ready for, in that there were three families living in a small hut fit for only a few. Meeting the family was a shock in that they held more joy than I could hope to fathom even though they had nothing.

My heart ripped for Maxi and Ari, who had lost their parents and were each other’s only people. Ari had lived less than a decade, but held unparalleled levels of tenacity and strength. It was superhuman. Building the foundation of the house, he put every single ounce of energy possible for every thrust of the shovel into the rigid ground. I didn’t know it possible to be in awe of someone half your age.

Two days of manual labor flew by, because that was of no real consequence. Those memories do not linger. Those of dancing and twirling on break time with Maxi and the girls while they asked me to speak English for them and laughed uncontrollably when I complied; those linger. Memories of games and mud fights and races echo off the corners of my mind. Memories of gratitude and tears when the house was completed and was ready to become a home remain imprinted somewhere within me, incapable of being forgotten.

Memories of my inability to fight tears as we had to leave, which I knew for me would be for a lifetime, linger even though I wish they wouldn’t. I have never been more in awe of the beauty of a place or the beauty of a family. Joy was found in the mud, in the nothing. Joy was found in the living, and those they were living it with. To these people, perseverance was intrinsic and hard work a daily necessity. They broke me. I hope I am new.

About the Author: Julia Neeson is currently an undergraduate student at Texas A&M University majoring in General Business with Minors in English Rhetoric and Art. Interests include travel and dreaming of such, music that inspires, used bookstores, and laughing till I can feel my non-existent six pack.

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New Zealand: New Zen

New Zealand New Zen

The inspiration to travel was first beckoned by New Zealand. There isn’t a single one point that was the calling, but rather the entire entity of the spirit. Perhaps it was the incredibly intrinsic Maori culture hosting a melting pot of peoples across the world. After finally making the trip of my life from Honolulu, Hawaii to Auckland I realized it was the whole of it; the heart of the lost land, displays of prehistoric ferns about as if fern gully fairies would buzz out from the steam of volcanic activity and the dinosaurs of land before time would be seen grazing along with sheep in vineyards lightly dusted with the first snow of winter. Everyone was incredibly open and warm despite the chilling weather, a hearth of generosity gushing. Gluten Free Friendly nearly everywhere we traveled, both north and south Island. New Zealand has it all, City life, rich ancient history still very much alive and thriving among the modern aged adornments of pleasures we seek like lush hotels and shopping. Everything was vibrating on a higher level, clean crisp air, rumbling earth. In those moments traveling the open road in our rented camper van complete with kitchen and bath these musing came to mind and slowly dripped like a brew of roasted coffee beans.

Dare to seek those places yet known within the open spaces of existence. The tumbling out of skeletons within, unleashed run wild with natural mystic flow allowing the deep well of inspiration to froth at the surface. Dance the dance of earthen play, cultures tangled and frayed, maybe, but atlas points the compass rose a direction surely not yet known. Taste bitter the pain of pleasures unfolded like petals of the sweetest roses prick releasing unbridled passion for the wanderers lusting. Chocolate, powder, prismatic ices, sink under epidermis dipping the bass line undulating waves of breath hot with mastering the art of life.

Cosmic connections continue currents casting cold calculated contouring.

Apricot Sky

Dragons Flying High

Puff & Tongue Out

Melted Mirror Glass

Trees of Shadows Cast

South Island given visions

All is one

The revolving sun

We lay our memories down

Hanging breathes

Forgotten pasts

Alive again at last

drum drum

I see you and I know

You have a story to tell,

Your eyes beg to spill

The tales of what have brought you to this place

Are the crinkles in your hair from the wind that blew through trees

Far beyond eyes of the moon

There still hardened

Earth mashed from tramping on your soles

Dare I say the lead of your day was a fool in love with you.

Fishing lures and golden gals

Dampened halls of lore, spitting fires

High top flowers below a silken sky…

A pyre of lush and lusts turned ash

Breath you never drew

Sipping sitting skipping stones

We are the ones you once knew.

Blonde grass binding sheep

Emerald green rivers flow

Jade stones with ruby to find

Red red wine and the creamy cheese

Earths wooly friends

Company by the fire sharing chocolate

Mental notes creating a song to sing for the rest of time

My love gave of roses taking on the thorn, just to see a smile

Most warm

New Zealand New Zen my dreams are filled with you!

Pioneers of city streets & goblet dreams

Masks of fortune

Told o coming markets gold

Lucky luster’s

Breaking ice

Carrying the fire old.

About the Author: Lace R. Coop. At the age of 21, the Travel Bug bit me. The winds of change and breeze of the abandoned wild blew through my young blonde locks inspiring me to sell everything, quit my job, leave the Midwestern town I grew up in and wander the great wide open! You never know if you never truly try, so why not LIVE to the fullest and fill your cup with the bubbling zest of TRAVEL! Flying on the wings of thrill. Hoop Dancer, Writer, Graphic Artist, Foodie, Wino, Luster of Life. LETS GO! Visit my blog.

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A Gift from Nicaragua

Last year, around this time I wrote an article about an experience I had when I traveled to Granada, Nicaragua in 2011. I remember the positive and negative feedback that I received from some of the readers. I wrote the article to inspired individuals to observe the similarities that some Americans have with some Nicaraguans. I thought that if I wrote the article and proved that there is poverty in America, and that are similarities, readers would have a different perspective about both countries. I am very grateful that I had the opportunity to visit Nicaragua because the trip changed my views about poverty, and now I am always giving back no matter what affect it may or may not have on an individuals.

My naïve thoughts of why some of the locals and Americans were not doing anything to change their lifestyles, or how I thought that they have given up on life caused me to stop giving out donations. Now, reflecting on this journey, and thinking about the two Nicaraguans that I met, I now realized that they were doing something to improve their lives, and I should help in any way that I can.

The images of the little Nicaraguan boy who watch me eat my dinner at local restaurant in Granada, and then later fought over my leftovers with a group children will always stay with me…

One night a group of friends and I went to a restaurant where a group of Nicaraguan children were performing and selling goods to the tourists. One of the younger boys kept staring at me while I was eating. I told him to come over to my table. The little boy quickly came to the table, but as I placed the plate in front of him, all of the children gathered around us and began reaching for his food. A fight broke out between the little boy and another boy. My heart was pounding because I had never seen children fight over food in this way. There were cries, yells, and screams, and punches that filled the surrounding area. I got up to sit at another table with my friends. The little boy decided to come to the table where I was sitting, after he had finished fighting.  I asked him “¿Porque estabas peleando? Why were you fighting?

He said, “Ellos llevaron mi comida entonces yo peleé con ellos porque yo no tengo comida. Por favor dame más comida. They took my food so I had to fight them because I don’t have food to eat. Please give me more food.

The lady who sat on the stairs affected me the most, and because she did not speak and only stared kept me wondering about what she was thinking…

The lady had stained clothes and dirt splotches on her body. The expression on her face drew pity from me. I immediately reached into my pockets to give her money. I still remember like yesterday the expression on her face: Her eyes stared into space, and they never moved even after I had emptied my pockets.

Though I can not go back in time and change my words, or even empty out my pockets to every homeless purpose that I met; however, I can think more wisely about my life and what I want to get out of it, and hopefully it will inspire others to do the same.

 About the Author: My name is Andrea Scott and I am 23 years old. I am a Saint Louis native, and I work at an Immersion School in the city of Saint Louis. I have a BA in Journalism and Spanish. I am bilingual in English and Spanish, and I have studied in several parts of Central America. I love to read, travel, and write.

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Wishing for Advice on Traveling?

Taylor from US City Traveler asked us and 33 other travel bloggers:

What’s the one thing you wish you’d known before you started traveling?

Enjoy the article for great advice from many travelers from all over the planet.

CHECK OUT THE EASY DOES IT SECTION for our answers!

6. George: “How easy it was to travel independently.” Lisa: “Before I started traveling, I was always worried about bringing the right things and my bags were very heavy and filled with many unnecessary items. Now I know you can buy nearly anything you need along the way and as George taught me “It always works out!“

George & Lisa Rajna, WeSaidGoTravel, @WeSaidGoTravel

READ THE 33 ANSWERS: CLICK HERE

Do you have more questions? Let us know what do you want to know!

Where are we now? San Juan Del Sur, Nicaragua

There is still time to enter our Gratitude Travel Writing Contest: Contest closes Nov 28. Free Entry. $1,000usd in Cash Prizes!

More about us? Read our memoir, Traveling in Sin, to learn about our first year sabbatical! It is available from Amazon!

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

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Scotland: New Year on Conic Hill

New Year on Conic Hill

New Year’s Eve in a Scottish new town, and it was strangely subdued – the lull before the storm of celebrations. Then as midnight approached, tall, dark-stroke-red and (allegedly) handsome men (for these are the necessary credentials of the first-footer) crept out onto the streets armed with whiskey, a tumbler, shortbread, and a piece of coal. All along the street, the first-footers huddled up against doors like stray cats waiting to escape the cold.

As I stood in the hallway, I heard the muffled rumble of low voices outside, then laughter, the ‘glug, glug’ of whiskey being poured, and the clink of glasses. Neighbours caught up with a year of news, visiting family members sometimes decades. As the celebrations sprang into action, our household slipped off to bed; we had other plans.

Snatching a few hours of sleep, we were up again come six. While the town dropped off into an exhausted slumber, we stumbled bleary-eyed to our car and headed northwest. The streets were deserted except for a lone figure weaving a drunken path.

We curved round the shadowy base of the Campsies, black humpbacks in an inky sea of sky. Finally we arrived at the shores of Loch Lomond. It was almost seven, and Scotland still slept.

Silently, we ducked into dark woods. I breathed in the sweet smell of peat and pine. This is where I wanted to be. Ahead the ice-covered path rose up, a guiding strip of pale neon in the darkness.

“I’m glad we’re not in America,” my son whispered as we slid through the trees.

“Why America?” I whispered back.

“If there was a bear right in front of us, we wouldn’t see it!”

The sky changed from black to ink-blue to powder-grey. Dark silhouettes slowly took on texture and colour. We reached the gate that would take us up Conic Hill. Soon we were climbing steeply upwards. Down below us, orange lights scattered across the valley like marigolds on the Ganges.

Light was seeping through the sky now like a pale dye spreading through fabric. We were close to the summit. It was a hands and knees job as we scrambled ever upwards; nothing between our feet and Loch Lomond and the tens of islands strewn across it.

Then we were on top. Giddily, I texted: ‘Happy New Year from Conic Hill’. You would think I’d just conquered Everest – and so I had in my mind.

We followed a wide runway of green grass down off the hill. Ahead, the ridge and the Loch islands cut a straight line to the hill on the other side – the Highland boundary fault line. I felt I could take off with a hop and skip across the islands, over Greenock, the Isle of Bute and the world beyond. I felt anything was possible. The world was mine.

But instead we dropped down to the shore of Lomond. Father and son skimmed stones over the ice. The dull thud-thud-thud of the bouncing stones echoed around the loch and the snow-marbled mountains.

It was an hour, and a million light years, from the grey concrete town.

About the Author: Helen Moat spent her childhood squished between siblings in her Dad’s Morris Minor, travelling the length and breadth of Ireland. She’s still wandering. She blogs at: http://moathouse-moathouseblogspotcom.blogspot.co.uk/

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Writing: a 21st Century Requirement? Enter Now in our Gratitude Travel Writing Contest

Lisa and George are coconuts about writing!

Is Writing a 21st century Requirement? Enter our Gratitude Travel Writing Contest until Nov 28.

My favorite part of publishing travels stories on We Said Go Travel is getting to cybermeet people from all over our planet. I love stories about honeymooning in Murree, Pakistan or a first solo travel in South East Asia, when an author tells about a place they love or that transformed them I am always interested.

Often people ask me how to write better. My recommendation is to read Write Out Loud, a book designed to help high school students write their essays for college.  As Carol Barash states, “When you master your stories, you master your life. And when you change your stories, you change your life.” Her simple steps to improve your writing by sharing “the three D’s: details, dialogue, and description” will help you. In the 21st century, everyone has to tell their own story and be their own best marketer. “’No matter your age, it is now required that you can share stories that reveal your character, and what the world looks like from your perspective.” Participating in any profession or social media network necessitates you to tell your tale and in an engaging manner.

I completely agree with Barash that  “When you put yourself and your experience into an issue, you instantly raise the stakes and people need to take you seriously. They may not agree with you, but they are likely to respect your passion, commitment, and willingness to be vulnerable in the service of others.” Once you find a way to tell your stories you may be surprised at the doors that open for you. Practicing makes it easier.

There are “massive open online courses (MOOCs) and other online training programs. There are core competencies in many fields that you can now study—for free or nearly free—from the top professors at the top universities. Take a look at everything that is offered on Coursera and Udacity.” You can create your own free blog or publish on someone else’s but everyone has a story to share.

Wondering what you need to do? Using the Moments Method, you will learn to focus on key issues: “Does the essay explore specific events, or does it remain general? Does the essay draw the reader in right from the start? Does the essay leave the reader with a feeling that maybe he or she has met you before or wants to meet you in person and learn more about you?” After working on the exercises, I am certain you will be a better writer.

“Neuroscience research shows that when people listen to a story there are three immediate responses: their brains trigger memories of similar stories; they feel empathy; and they have a desire to take action.” I hope you will consider sharing a story of transformation with our growing global community; we cannot wait to learn more about you. Remember, “stick to the actions, dialogue, and details to show your reader what you realized, thought, or felt.” Some of the best tales about what happened nearby or in your own backyard. “Reveal the depth of your character, your intellectual curiosity, the impact you had on your local community, and the impact the community has had on you.”

Ready to Share Your Story?
Enter our Gratitude Travel Writing Contest until Nov 28.
Free Entry, $1,000usd Cash Prizes!

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