Lisa Niver's Blog: We Said Go Travel, page 463

Afghanistan: Times of Lull in the “War On Terror”

When you hear the words “War on Terror”, “Operation Enduring Freedom” and “Op Herrick”, what do you think about?  Typically people tend to hear these words and immediately think about all of the negative things that could be going on with their friends, family and loved ones.  Are they in a dangerous situation? What are the base and living conditions like?  After being over in Afghanistan for the better part of five years, I have had the opportunity to visit a few of the main bases in the country and can tell you, though your family members are far from home and missing home, should they travel through these main hubs it’s not hard to find something that is familiar and welcome by all.

If one finds themselves lucky enough to be stationed at one of Afghanistan’s main NATO bases, they will quickly realize that there are opportunities for rest and relaxation.  In Helmand Province, Afghanistan one can find Camp Leatherneck and Camp Bastion.  The two bases are connected and are more like mini cities than military bases.  It is not unheard of for people to get too complacent and forget all about the war if they are at one of these “safer” locations.  If you were to wake up tomorrow in either of these particular places, you could pretty much have your heart’s desires with regards to culinary choices.  If for instance, you found yourself tired of the typical “chow hall” food and needed something fast, you could swing by this family friendly joint.

 

Not in the mood for Pizza Hut pizza?  That is completely fine; at Camp Bastion you can have your choice from any of the three pizzerias that are available.  “The Blue” pizzeria and Ciano’s Italian restaurant both offer thin crust pizzas made the way you like them.  Ciano’s also has a wide variety of other delicious choices from Nutella filled crêpes and pasta to lamb chops and whole rotisserie chickens by reservation.  None of these choices are striking your fancy?  We’ll move on then.  Perhaps you recognize this other familiar eatery.

While back home in the states, it is almost an embarrassing feeling to stand in line at a fast food restaurant; over here it is a regular occurrence for many.  If you still are a little uneasy about eating fast food or are just trying to watch that figure, there are still other options available to you.  Bastion is also home to various coffee shops, at least five exchanges, a fish and chips stand, an all you can eat “contractor” style buffet and “The Blue” steakhouse and bakery.

While my current location is Camp Leatherneck/Bastion, I have also had the opportunity to spend a year at Kandahar Airfield.  Kandahar is famous for its “Boardwalk”, a restful, city block sized area complete with a T.G.I. Friday’s, Kebab House Grill, Nathan’s hot dogs, a Green Bean coffee shop and a full sized hockey rink.  When your troops and soldiers are not hard at work, chances are they can be found at the gym or the boardwalk finding enjoyment in their off time.

All of these options truly are a great morale booster for the troops and civilian contractors alike.  Those individuals out at outlying FOBS (Forward Operating Bases) have coined special terms to refer to these places, “Camp Cupcake.”  While many view the amenities as a great way to unwind when you are transitioning in or out of theatre, there are those that argue that places like this should be banned.  I will leave you with your own opinions on the matter.  I have spoken with the troops who are deploying or re-deploying through these hubs however, and the majority of them view this as a little piece of heaven in a country that has been blown to hell.  Much appreciation surrounds the “safer” areas of Afghanistan because for a moment, even a brief second, they are able to take your mind off of the stresses associated with a long period from friends and family.  For the men and women of the armed forces and those that support them, places like this are indeed a shining light in the distance.

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Vilnius, Lithuania: White Nights

We had only this: a course pack, a name, and a story. We scattered ourselves across the steps of the neo-classical Vilnius Cathedral, forty men and women in backpacks and light jackets from varying pockets of the world. Montreal. New York. Saudia Arabia. Japan. We stole surreptitious glances at one another, trying to pair names with faces, faces with nationality. Was the woman with the red hair Bridget of the cowboy story? Was the tall man with the thick black hair Pablo of the Spanish one? As we gazed across the wide cobblestone expanse of Cathedral square to distant castle tips and belfries, rollicking hills and medieval architecture, one thought pulsed repeatedly through our minds. Where were we?

We had come to Vilnius for the same reason. The two-week Summer Literary Seminars was a program designed to bring writers from disparate cultures and societies together. To immerse them in a culture so foreign, an environment so far from the grind of everyday life they began to dislocate, enabling a unique literary space for creative minds to flourish.

Our paths to Vilnius were varied. One woman had flown from South Dakota to Warsaw. Another woman had departed Pennsylvania to Prague, where she joined up with a group of lively backpackers. While the majority of us hailed from the US and Canada, it seemed we had all maximized our trips to the Baltic, crossing through places like Latvia and Belarus before settling in the Baltic’s southernmost country.

We wondered: what would we find in Vilnius?

I had pictured a small European town straddling the border between East and West European culture. I pictured a few key restaurants, an abundance of churches, deep leafy parks. A bar, maybe two. I saw long nights spent writing under the cover of lingering Soviet-era darkness, holed up in the steel-walled studio apartment I would rent. Certainly, I thought, Vilnius would be a good place to unwind, to buckle down and write. I contacted a friend who had taught in Poland a number of years. She had been to Vilnius several times. You must go, she wrote immediately. Vilnius in the summertime is breathtaking. You will never forget it.

It was July fourteenth when I rolled my suitcase to Vilnius Street Apartments, a neat two story building tucked away in the heart of Old Town Vilnius. Volkswagens, old BMWs and Audi station wagons zig-zagged the lot. Graffiti covered the alley archway and the apartment walls. I hesitated: back home in Detroit graffiti was married to danger, to violence, to abandonment and decay. But in Vilnius, I soon learned, graffiti was a form of art, the messages uniquely beautiful. Though it was well after ten pm the sky spread a glorious pink over a landscape so still and pure I wondered whether it was real.

Eager to learn the ropes of the town I set off to explore. I worried briefly – it was late Sunday night, would I be the only one on the street? I had no cell phone and no recourse were I to be accosted by a Lithuanian, Russian or other-language-speaking criminal.

Anything I thought I knew about Vilnius soon turned on its head. Vilnius was a place of heady energy. No further than one block in either direction of my apartment found me in the midst of an eclectic, vibrant East European city evocative of Italy or Spain. Young people spilled out of bars along Vilniaus g., smoking or simply enjoying the temperate summer evening. An ubiquitous techno beat wafted from open doors and windows, encapsulating passerbys with an energizing vibe. Cars sped down narrow cobblestone streets, inches from old town sidewalks, thin ribbons of concrete bordering three-story buildings of Medieval, Baroque and Soviet influences.  Several streets were closed off entirely, transformed into lazy sprawling terraces.  Restaurant after bar after restaurant saw thin, leggy, well-tailored women and men enjoying wine and good conversation under the wide open sky of the best three weeks, weather-wise, of the year.

  

 

Each day in Vilnius revealed another layer I was eager to explore. There was never a shortage of things to do, from the art museums to the cathedral tours to the famous castle of Trakai. It began to feel surreal; the lovers strolling through the parks, the winding roads and ancient stone architecture, the choirs I sometimes heard from second story windows, like angels waiting in the wings. The food was delicious and as varied as you desired. I dined at traditional Lithuanian establishments as well as Italian, Indian, Mexican, Chinese, and Vegetarian. Each spot was utterly unique, from dim swanky ambiance to casual coziness to spaces as far-reaching as low stonewalled grottos. The food was more than affordable, the abundance of cheese and cheap wine heavenly.

 

In lands of northern light, they use words like nautical twilight and civil twilight, as if to delineate light from less light, as if to replace the absence of that dark midnight cover of the rest of the world with something as equally comforting. In Vilnius, I couldn’t trust the sun to tell me the time, much less anything else, high noon falling after one o’clock, the sun clinging to the edge of the earth until after eleven. The dark of night I was to write under didn’t exist. I didn’t sleep much during my two week stay, and I didn’t want to. The city awaited me – the old and the new, the east and the west – in all its mysterious wonder.

 

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In Bhutan, Skateboarding is a Crime

In Bhutan, Skateboarding is a Crime

Driving the other day we see 2 boys on a homemade skateboard, I remark to Dorji this is the first such one I’ve seen. Oh yes, he says, the government banned them a few years back, as hazardous, citing accidents involving skateboarders and cars.Also banned: tobacco and plastic bags. In 2004 Bhutan became the first, and is still the planet’s only non-smoking country. Again citing health hazards, and 4-century-old statements from the Shabdrung (the unifier of the country) warning of the perils of tobacco. One cannot grow, sell, buy or smoke tobacco. This ban is not popular, and much flouted, though most smoking takes place at home and in nightclubs popular with the young. The penalty is 3-years imprisonment, though enforcement now seems to be lax, yet a cop recently told me there are some 200 plus people in jail for smoking. Foreigners are permitted to import one carton, and taxed about fifty dollars for this.The plastic bag ban is more successful. Citing environmental hazard, the country simply banned them. Most Bhutanese already took a cloth bag for shopping. Shopkeepers wrap items in newspapers, or make bags by taping torn newspapers together, or most interestingly, they fold newspapers into origami type bags or boxes so pretty you don’t want to toss them out.

Trongsa Dzong

Friendly kids, Trongsa, BHUTAN

Add not permitted: missionaries. The constitution provides for freedom of religion in this highly devout mostly Buddhist nation. There is a minority of Bhutanese descended from Nepali immigrants a century ago, and they are for the most part Hindu. They worship at home altars, as there are no Hindu temples, though Hinduism and Buddhism are so intertwined that most of my ethnic Nepali friends tell me they visit the temples and monasteries as well. It’s the Christians that are causing trouble. I’ve met a number of these people, as friendly as all Bhutanese, but quick to point out they are Christian, and ask if I am also Christian. While the answer is yes, I am not of the born again ilk they appear to belong to. The Bhutanese Christians have their churches in private homes, and apparently they have sent word out to their parent church abroad they are being persecuted in Bhutan (because they cannot build an actual church, and stateside missionaries are not permitted entry into Bhutan). I’m all for Christianity, practiced humbly and as it was intended. I have little sympathy for born agains trying to ply their murky trade in the only Himalayan Buddhist Kingdom still in existence.

Father and son, Trongsa, BHUTAN

We’re now in Trongsa, one of the prettiest areas in a country that does not lack for pretty places. Our hotel is about a mile from town, an easy and pleasant walk. Each time I make this walk I am stopped multiple times to talk. Those that don’t stop to chat greet me, elder people speaking Dzongkha, say “kuzuzampola“, little kids yell out “good bye” (their way of greeting, as you are after all leaving them as you pass by), and high schoolers and young folks say, “hey man, how’s it going?” In town I find the shops sell wine, imported from India. Bhutanese have easy access to alcohol (unlike tobacco). Two varieties of great local beer always available, Red Panda and Druk 1100 (‘super strong beer’ reads the label). And the army makes the booze: four varieties of whiskey, gin, rum, and vodka. Make booze, not war, could easily be their motto.  Home brewed is a rice wine, called ara, not unlike sake. But wine is a rarity, and I’m in a cabernet mood.

As I wander the streets of Trongsa, with my 2 bottles of wine, making new friends I come across a truck with bars for windows. About 12 young men are inside and they call me over to talk. It’s what I come to expect from Bhutan. Now maybe the altitude has slowed my thought process, so I ask why the bars. “Because we are prisoners being transported to jail” comes the answer. I’ve just spent 5 minutes talking with these very friendly criminals, thinking the bars might merely be some window substitute. Then they ask for my e-mail. They motion to a cop standing a few feet away. I ask him if these guys are prisoners, and he nods. What did they do? I half expect the answer to be “skateboarding and smoking.” But no, murder, larceny, and robbery. At that moment I decide I am not going to have any prisoner pen pals, so say “no thanks” and walk away.

That night, Dorji and I polish off an unexpectedly good bottle of cabernet sauvignon. Who knew? Vineyards in India.

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Ireland: More than meets the Eye

Ireland: More than meets the Eye

The gravestones appeared to have the best view on the island. Comfortably nestled in the long, wild grass, they overlooked the ever-changing sea. It seemed a grand spot to while away eternity, at least from the perspective of a landlocked girl from Illinois. I gave in to a soulful sigh, resisting the urge to sink down and plant myself next to the nearest Celtic cross. No doubt I was still feeling the effects of the boat ride over.

“Only 30 minutes by ferry from Doolin,” were my husband’s encouraging words when he presented his plan for a quick detour away from the Irish mainland. Although I was prone to motion sickness, the carefree adventurer in me longed to visit Inisheer (Inis Oírr), the smallest of the Aran Islands. So I let him choose a B&B for the overnight and said nothing to dash his hopes. My evil twin, the stark realist, knew better and whispered that the journey was probably 25 minutes too long.

I decided it was simply going to be a battle of mind over matter. When we arrived at the dock early, I thought that dwelling on the sound of the water slapping against the small white hull of the Queen of Aran would be counterproductive. So I left my family to snap some photos while I dashed over to the shops. I was looking for something that would bolster my spirits; and in the second shop I entered, a long black sweater in a soft Merino wool began calling my name.

I folded my old jacket to put in the bag the shopkeeper had given me and donned my new sweater, hoping that it would strengthen my resolve to keep my lunch in my stomach where it belonged. Once we were below deck and on our way, I found out I was as grateful for the comfort of the sweater as I was for the plastic bag it came in.

Despite the reviving pot of tea provided at the B&B upon our arrival, I still wasn’t feeling quite myself as we headed out for a walk. However, I was beginning to think that maybe my strange mood had more to do with the island itself. It was the first week of September and the landscape was desolate, but not in a bleak way. It was windswept, dramatic and somewhat mysterious.

Our tiny guidebook, printed in both English and Irish (the spoken language on all three islands), listed a population of around 250 on this less-than-three-square-kilometer island. Remembering an internet search that documented more than 5,000 years of habitation, I realized why I felt so disconcerted. I was trying to reconcile the incongruity of this small island culture alongside the history of thousands of years of civilization. Intimacy and enormity all in one fell swoop!

My map indicated that my sons were exploring the ruins of a 10th century church. Close by was another graveyard—a burial mound that dated back to the Bronze Age (1500 B.C.). Further sightseeing turned up a lighthouse from the 1800s, the rusting wreck of a freighter from 1960 and a contemporary arts centre, converted from a weaving factory in 2000.

This historical hodgepodge was as dizzying as following the maze of stone walls that dominate this land barren of trees. Thousands of years ago the area was blanketed with forests that disappeared to become fuel and building material. The islanders discovered too late that the tree roots also had the important job of holding the soil in place.

Wind and rain began to sweep the land back down to rock and sand. Careless but resourceful, the inhabitants started the slow process of creating new soil from a mix of beach sand, seaweed, fish meal and manure. They used the more fertile patches to grow crops, and the less fertile grasslands were reserved for grazing. In order to plant, the land needed to be cleared of stones. Building dry stone walls (made without mortar) also protected the thin layer of soil from the harsh weather.

Solutions… That got me thinking about my little problem. As I boarded the boat for the return journey, I approached the captain to explain my predicament. He smiled good-naturedly and told me that below deck was the last place I wanted to be. Also, I was not to look down at the water. I needed to sit topside, focus on the horizon and enjoy breathing in the fresh air. Armed with sunglasses to combat the glare, a long scarf to ward off the chill and a breathtaking view of the Cliffs of Moher on the horizon, success was finally mine!

About the Author: Andrea Isiminger has spent the 21st century living in Madrid, Spain with her husband and two boys. Originally from Chicago, a sweeping view of that famous skyline across the television screen can still make her heart skip a beat.

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Thailand: A Random Act of Kindness

The Sun was still shining but I knew the light would fade fast. Our resort in Phuket-the Kata Beach Resort was still at least a 45 minute drive away from the Marriott but I was sure I knew the way. My daughter was crying, upset at having been dragged away from the toys she’d been playing with and my wife was giving me worried looks, trying to pacify our two year old and hoping we’d finally reach the safety of a hotel room.

We had already spent two days in Patong and were booked for another three at Kata. Much to our surprise, we found that my cousins from Singapore were also in Phuket at the same time, staying at the Marriott in the far North and we had decided to spend the day with them before heading back to Kata in the evening.

I had hired a car for the three days we would be in Kata-a red Honda Jazz but without the optional GPS. I didn’t need one because I, of course have an “awesome sense of direction”. After all, it was just a straight road from the Marriott with a sign at some point that would say “Kata Beach” and there we would turn.

The miles flew by, the car behaving very well and the crying soon stopped. The roads were excellent, the traffic was smooth and the radio was playing good music.

A bit later, my wife says “That’s the sign”, pointing to a green board with “Patong Beach/Kata Beach” complete with a white arrow. But I was sure that Kata was further South and there would surely be another turn. But…(I should listen to my wife more…)

It was now dark and we were part of the traffic of Phuket Town, hopelessly lost. I knew I had to turn Right at some point but with no idea of where exactly that turn would be, I turned at a traffic light leading to a small,empty winding road. Pitch darkness with no one in sight and no idea of where the heck we were.

There seemed to be a sign taking us to Phuket Zoo (or was it the Aquarium?) and I could make out some kind of a lake next to us but that was not helping. I was starting to panic but my wife stayed calm. Fortunately my daughter was lost in her own world on the back seat.

A row of barely open shops passed us and I stopped the engine. Two men stood by the road chatting, probably closing for the day. There was not another soul around and there was complete silence.

From their looks, I could tell they knew we were lost.

I went up and said ” Excuse me, but we are lost. How do we get to Kata Beach”?

They did not speak any English but “Kata Beach” got their attention.

“Oh!! Kata Beach!!!” and I could see the eyeballs disappear into their sockets.

“Wait”, I was told, as one man went inside his shop and came out with a huge piece of paper and a marker pen. We went up to the car and he spread the paper all over the bonnet.

He then drew the entire route from where we were right till Kata Beach Resort on that paper. In detail, with all the landmarks we would cross, all the turns we would take and all the roundabouts we would encounter. He labelled the markets and the supermarkets, he drew highways with double lines and smaller roads with smaller double lines. He even drew arrows to make sure I wouldn’t go off in the wrong direction. And for some reason, he stressed on TESCO and where it would be.

All of this was done with no coherent communication-he did not speak English and I knew no Thai. And it was all done within five minutes.

I just gave an embarrassed grateful bow and a “Thank You”.

We reached in a half hour. The directions were perfect and apart from the car nearly getting submerged in a vicious cloudburst and my ATM card malfunctioning at critical moments, we had a fabulous holiday.

I have great memories of that holiday but long after the photos have been admired and the videos have been seen, much after the hotel views have faded from memory, I will always remember that little act of kindness by the roadside. I did not ask him his name and I cannot recall his face but I will never forget that one little incident.

I hope you go to Phuket and have a great time too. Just don’t get lost! And if you do, just make a random right turn and hope for the best.

About the Author: Nishikanta Verma: I am an Indian doctor currently residing in Malaysia. I am passionate about all things related to Cambodia and also have current interests in World History, Buddhism and Quantum Physics. I am married with one daughter and another on the way. Twitter: @jipmerdays.

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France: Bourgeois Bohemian

A recent foray into Paris saw me slightly off centre from my usual stomping grounds. Generally a Rive Droite sort of girl I decided to shake it up a bit, and no I didn’t casually cross a bridge to the left bank instead. In true bohemian spirit, I opted to take an apartment in Montmartre for the week. My sunny micro-duplex was right on the Butte practically under the gleaming white bulk of Sacre Coeur. One of Paris’ biggest tourist traps, Montmartre is to the golden hoardes of tour groups a a place where one snatches up faux impressionist paintings hawked along the tight cobbled streets. It is a fin-de-siecle pastiche and disappointingly nothing like Baz Luhrman’s Moulin Rogue. If you are wondering what it would be like to come face to face with one of montmartre’s authentic vagrant ‘artists’, you can try Sacre Coeur at twilight where the homeless men that gather in the portal of the Cathedral. Despite the architectural contempt that Sacre Coeur elicits, it indisputably has one of the most dramatic panorama’s across the city. Tourist trap or not; the arrondisment is not without its own native charms.

Sacre Coeur

For instance, Montmartre is home to the only remaining vineyard in Paris. The area has historically produced vine since the middle ages and continued to be cultivated by the Benedictine Abbey from the 12th century through the French Revolution of 1787. The revolutionaries vented most of their ire on the Abbey but the grapes were not deemed enemies of the state. The unassuming parking lot sized vineyard reinstated in the 1930’s and celebrates its annual harvest in October. The fete des Vendages produces some thousand bottles for auction each year (for more information in French visit http://fetedesvendangesdemontmartre.com).

Close Montmartre

Then there is Place des Abbesses due west of the butte. Right near Abbesses is the best baguette you will have in Paris, courtesy of Au Levain d’Antan. I am not joking, I don’t even like bread and I packed away three entire baguettes. It was a veritable carbicide and I would do it again. Also don’t forget to take in the iconic Art Nouveau metro sign, so belle époque chic.

Abbesses

To the east you will find Pigalle, the seedy but trendy area Christian Louboutin named his slinky stilettos after. Aside from the prostitutes this area has a number of hip gentrifying cafes and bars. The neighborhood has a distinct African flair, and is a great place to check out maverick culinary groups such as Cameroonian.

 

Lastly nestled on the edge of the arr. is one of my favourite museums in France. The artistic gem that is the Musee Gustav Moreau. The foremost symbolist of the French Canon, Moreau is often considered something of a hermit body of works. The townhouse where Moreau spent most of his life houses some 4,000 works by the artists along with his gentile chinoiserie. It doesn’t get more Bo-Bo than that folks!

 

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#Honolulu: TONIGHT join us at Lotus Honolulu

Hello Honolulu!

We look forward to seeing you TONIGHT October 3, 2013

7pm at Lotus Honolulu for 

Travel Talk Story with Lisa and George from We Said Go Travel:  Living without Regret

Have you dreamed of long-term international travels across Asia? Considered quitting your job to become a travel blogger and book writer? Want to connect with travel-minded community members?

Festival of the Pacific is a celebration of travel and transformation hosted by We Said Go Travel. The theme, “Living Without Regret: Travel, Love and Success: Make your Dreams a Reality”, presented by the founders of We Said Go Travel, Penn graduate Lisa Niver Rajna (C’89) and her husband George Rajna, will give an inside look into long-term exotic international travel across Asia. They will share their travel expertise, read an excerpt from their new memoir, “Traveling in Sin,” and provide information about We Said Go Travel’s writing contest, and upcoming community.

Join us for an evening of Travel Talk Story with Lisa and George, network with the travel community, and enjoy hosted pupus and drinks. There will be goodie bags for all attendees and raffle prizes.

Lotus Honolulu: THE Place to be in Hawaii from Lisa Niver Rajna

Mahalo to our Sponsors:

Lotus Honolulu for providing the venue space. Book your stay at Aqua Lotus Honolulu for a peaceful retreat steps away from the beach, Kapiolani Park, and Diamond Head.  The hotel decor is Bali-fusion inspired with Hawaiian warm hospitality. Aqua Lotus Honolulu amenities include in-room high speed Internet & WiFi, safe, complimentary coffee and tea service in the lobby, daily local newspaper, valet and concierge services, banquet/meeting facilities and complimentary use of beach items such as sand chairs, umbrellas and mats for the beach just steps away. Lotus Honolulu’s Facebook Page  / @LotusHonolulu

Park Restaurant for hosting pupus. Park Restaurant uses fresh local ingredients.  The food will take you on a culinary journey of infused flavors borrowed from French and Italian, to Greek and Egyptian influences. Chef Collantes’ menu promises a dining experience that is as much adventurous as it is comforting. Park Restauurant Waikiki’s Facebook Page  / @ParkHawaii

Zaratez Mexicatessen for donating to the raffle prizes.  Dine at the restaurant for home style taqueria including tacos, burritos and quesadillas. Zaratez Mexicatessen’s Facebook Page / @zaratez

Uber Honolulu is providing the first 35 attendees roundtrip car service to and from the event for NEW USERS, up to $30 each way.  Please download the Uber app for iPhone or Android and use the promo code traveltalk2013 or the link http://uber.com/go/traveltalk2013 when signing up.  This code is only valid for Thursday, Oct 3rd.

Gogobot Oahu for collaborating with We Said Go Travel. Download the Gogobot travel app (on iPhone and Android) and join the millions of travel community members in reviewing and sharing travel experiences and postcards. Gogobot Oahu’s Facebook Page / @GogobotOahu

Isle Discount for donating discount cards for the goodie bags.  The iDcard is an annual membership to exclusive network of savings at your favorite local restaurants, retailers, bars, and attractions in Oahu, Maui, Las Vegas, Japan, and Canada.  Isle Discount’s Facebook Page / @islediscount

 

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Edinburgh Castle—Rock Solid Symbol of Gratitude

Edinburgh Castle—Rock Solid Symbol of Gratitude

“Gratitude looks to the Past and love to the Present; fear, avarice, lust, and ambition look ahead.”

― C.S. Lewis

While touring Great Britain, my group and I visited Edinburgh Castle, an iconic fortress that stood on top a giant rock dominating the Scottish skyline. I was part of a group with members from the United States, Canada, Australia and New Zealand. While I was walking the streets and dining in Edinburgh, I couldn’t help but notice this symbol of gratitude; for whenever I looked up, the castle was there as it had been there for centuries protecting the Scottish people, including some of my Scottish ancestors.

The castle, built on a volcano left behind by the ice age, was erected and modified over many centuries and had been involved in many historical conflicts such the War of Scottish independence led by Robert the Bruce in the fourteenth century and the Jacobite rising of the mid-sixteenth century.

In order to reach the castle, visitors must walk up the cobblestone inclined walkways, much like the soldiers did in earlier times. Our kilted guide, a fountain of knowledge on Scottish history, pointed out the buildings along the way. Listening to his thick brogue transported me and my group back to earlier times and reminded us that we were in Scotland. Like the other members of my group, I was in awe listening to the guide pronounce “Bruce” with a long “u” or “oo” sound like the dialect of my ancestors.

The guide pointed out the prominent Half-Moon Battery built in the sixteenth century which guarded the fortress. He also mentioned that the military buildings on the site had revised their functions as weaponry changed throughout the years. The fortress housed prisoners during the Seven Years war, the American Revolution and the Napoleonic Wars. The grounds also had living quarters to house the reigning Scottish king and a meeting place of the Scottish parliament.

The Scottish National War Museum commemorated the Scottish soldiers, and those serving with the regiments, who died in the twentieth and the twenty-first century wars. There were rolls of honor of the fallen from each war. I was fortunate enough to find some family names of ancestors (Dick and Greehan) while perusing the museum. There were fascinating exhibits of Scottish military history over the past four hundred years including a wide range of military artifacts, such as uniforms, medals and weapons. The exhibits also illustrated the history and causes behind the many wars.

In a small room, we saw the crown jewels which were comprised the crown, scepter and sword of Scotland. Because of conflicts between the English and the Scots, the crown jewels went into hiding in the days of Oliver Cromwell, Lord Protector of England and were restored for King Charles II’s coronation. After the Parliament of Scotland was dissolved in 1707, the jewels were locked away and forgotten about in Edinburgh Castle until Scottish novelist Sir Walter Scott found them in the far reaches of the castle a century later.

After that, we admired another important Scottish artifact called the Stone of Destiny; also know as the Stone of Scone. The stone was used for coronations of Scottish kings until the 13th century when the English invaded, captured it and used it as their own coronation stone. In the 1990’s the British Government decided that the Stone should be returned to Scotland where it had been displayed in Edinburgh Castle ever since. This Scottish descendent is grateful to the British Government for their wise decision.

Presently, the castle is no longer actively used by the military. The military presence is ceremonial with performances by the Edinburgh Military Tattoo taking place every August. The spectacle consists of a parade and pipes and drums performed by Scottish regiments with military bands from all over the world participating in this event.

This landmark is a lasting symbol of gratitude. I hope to return someday when I can see a performance of the Edinburgh Military Tattoo and get another guided tour from a Scotsman with a thick brogue.

About the Author: Eileen Sateriale is a government administrator who writes in her spare time. She lives in Methuen, MA with her husband and has had the opportunity to travel after raising their two daughters. She can be found on Facebook.

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in the Top 100 Travel Blogs! Thanks Nomadic Samuel!

Thank you to Nomadic Samuel for all his work in running and creating the Top 100 Travel Blog List. We have been following it and many of the great websites included for awhile now. We are honored to now be ON the LIST!

Here is what he has to say about us:

Lisa Niver Rajna and George Rajna are the collective creative genius behind We Said Go Travel global travel community site.  As co-authors of Traveling in Sin they’re also accomplished writers and speakers with extensive around the world travel experience.  Given their versatility in skill-set and passion for travel it’s no surprise they have one of the most accomplished travel blogs around today.

 THANK YOU NOMADIC SAMUEL!

Join in our Travel Writing Contest: $1,000usd in cash prizes!

Meet us at one of our live or online events : Oct 3rd in Oahu, Oct 16th in Los Angeles and Oct 23rd for our online webinar with the University of Pennsylvania about Exotic Burma. We hope to see you or your friends at one of ourupcoming events!

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

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Happy and Safe Travels from Kauai, Hawaii!

Mahalo and Aloha!

Lisa and George

Our memoir, Traveling in Sin, is available on Amazon.com.

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

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Washington: Apples of Gold

 

Wenatchee by Joe Mabel

Apples of gold in settings of silver

Wenatchee, Washington, 1999

Proverbs 25:11 reads, Like apples of gold in settings of silver is a ruling (or word) rightly given.” I can’t say that I completely understand its meaning but thinking about a mere moment that I spent just north of Wenatchee, Washington at the Rocky Reach Dam Park back in 1999 at the age of 17, I think that I get a little closer to its wisdom, a glimmer of its truth and then a smile emerges on my face which reflects exactly the smile that blooms within me.

Every time I read this verse, my mind’s eye goes to the evening I camped there as I traveled home from a North West Youth Corps work site; the night of comfort and peace before the storm. NWYC is a summer youth program working to build or rebuild hiking trails in various locations of the great NW. I and a NWYC counselor were driving from who knows where so I could catch a bus in Bellevue Washington. I was called home early and I was naïve enough to not be scared or even concerned in the least.

We arrived at sunset and my breath was taken away in such a moment of unimaginable peace and I found myself blanketed gently in a cocoon of light with an exhilarating since of fullness. I never knew that one could have such an experience looking at landscape, as beautiful as it was. I look back now and see that God was using that moment to infuse me with strength and light before arriving home and hearing about my sister’s death.

Could the following day’s news bias me to the memory of the brilliant glow of the sun setting beyond Wenatchee’s dam and mountains? Could my sister’s death drive me to be biased and seek for a moment before this to hold onto for strength? No, I don’t think so.

That night was so pure and my recollection of what I felt prior to the news is still so fresh after all these years. I remember the warm summer breeze that flowed through that night’s air and the perfume of the vibrant flowers and tall green grass that I can still smell. I remember the complete comfort I felt sleeping under the mantle of blackness speckled with the brilliance of perfect wish-making stars. I remember falling into a rest-filled sleep listening to the noise of the water that flowed through the dam and crickets that sung around our tent. I remember the cool morning sunrise and noticing for the first time that delectable smell of crisp and juicy apples from the heart of Washington’s apple country filling the early dew filled environment and how the sun’s rays glistened behind each apple tree telling me that one day, I’d go back again.

I am still waiting for that elusive day, but closing my eyes or reading Psalms 25:11, “Like apples of gold in settings of silver is a ruling (or a word) rightly given,” My senses can take me back any time where my mind hold the only pictures I have and I love it!

About the Author: Hi, my name is Emily Free. I love my name. I love writing. I love working as a Dental Hygienist in Brookings, Oregon, and I love my quiet, simple life and spending time with my friends and family.

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