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My friend Mary wrote a blog about a trip we took to Mexico a few years ago and I giggled so hard that I decided I wanted to give my two cents about that very same trip. It’s funny how, after the years go by, people remember things differently.

Most of what she says about our trip really happened…but what exactly? Well, that’s for the two of us to know.

When we arrived at our incredible resort, our room wasn’t quite ready…so we grabbed our suits from our bags and headed to the pool. Mind you, we’d thought ahead and brought our own cups for the all-inclusive cervezas because the ones they give you are equivalent to that of a mouthwash cup.

When we settled in our loungers, we decided to speak in British accents – because we’re so damn good at it – and we did so very, very loudly as to make sure that all of the other holiday-goers could hear us. I remember it only taking us about three minutes before we realized that half of the United Kingdom was actually in Nuevo Vallarta on holiday and we looked like stupid Americans.

Brits: 1, Americans: 0.

I introduced little Mary to tequila that day, something I’m usually only friendly with in Mexico. There is just something about drinking tequila in Mexico that makes me feel culturally sound. It’s kind of like getting a Sapporo with my sushi. It’s just something I feel like I should do. If I were in Australia, I’d probably drink Foster’s (it’s Australian for beer)…or a Guinness in Ireland. Get it?

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Inside, outside, everyone, everywhere was in a flurry of movement. The year of the Dragon was upon us. Row upon row of dragon-like flowers peered down from the shelves, mouths wide open in determination to display their wealth of colours and tantalizing petals while screaming seductions at shoppers as they bustled past. Everywhere you looked red and gold dominated the landscape, with every stall a mirror image of the other, all of them selling wine, flowers and boxes of finger foods. The air was filled with the sound of children screeching happily, dashing here and there in the delight of knowing full well what these symptoms meant – the arrival of the Chinese New Year.

In the weeks succeeding Christmas, the red and gold shops of the Lunar New Year plague the downtown malls of Hong Kong, bringing with them gifts of food, sweets and red laisee packets containing money that sends all children into an excited frenzy. The whirlwind of Chinese New Year had captured the immense population and spun them into a mad trance of stocking up on gifts for every eventuality. ‘Another box of cookies?’ I asked my friend, Yi Ai, as she was queued to buy what seemed like the tenth box. ‘What if uncle eleven comes visiting?’ she responded with an anxious look on her face, before dashing out of line to grab an additional box of goodies as she remembered yet another member of her hyper-extended family who may or may not come calling during the three days of celebrations and visitations. In a city of extreme wealth and excess, not having a gift to present visitors (or to give hosts) was deemed unacceptable. And this was on top of the laisee packets that married couples and parents were expected to give children, employees and even the cashier lady.

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Life as we know it

by Tyler Horton

As I think over my life and all of my many travels to over 17+ countries, two things jump instantly in my mind. These are times when time itself has seemed to stop for me. I was not on top of Macchu Picchu or at Ankowat (both of which I have been too) but, I was in very ordinary places doing very ordinary things.

I was living and working for a year in Australia in 2009/2010. One day I randomly met a British girl and we really got along well. So, on my day off we decided to go to Hyde Park in Sydney and lay on the grass to feed the birds. Think about your own life and ask yourself how many times in your life have you taken the time to slow down enough to just totally relax and feed the birds?

In that moment when we were feeding the birds time slopped. Nothing else mattered, we were both totally content with everything around us. I remember feeling such a wave of peace come over me that I never wanted it to end. Unfortunately all good things must come to an end. As the sun faded that day we left the park and returned back to our lives. I was sad because I thought I would never get to feel those feelings again. Lucky for me it happened once more.

A year later I was living and working in Auckland,New Zealand and I was walking down Queen St at 9pm. I had somewhere to be and I was in a hurry but I suddenly heard two street performers across the street from each other. One guy was playing Jimi Hendrix “The Wind Cries Mary” and the other was a gorgeous girl playing something on the cello right then and there I stopped, time stopped. I totally forget where I was going or what I needed to do. The only thing that matter in my life was listening to them play music. I once again felt that total peace and everything was good in the world. Once they stopped playing the moment was over. I was back to normal life again. Ever since then I have been searching for that feeling of total peace but I have yet to find it again. This was not an adventure or adrenaline story. This was not a story of something beautiful or amazing I have seen. But, this was a story of how sometimes, just sometimes you can be reminded of how amazing life can be when you are traveling. When you are at home wrapped up in your own life I think you are way too busy to stop and listen to music or feed the birds. You have way too much going on to really appreciate life. The exact opposite is true when you are traveling. I hope that each one of you who reads this will stop to feed the birds somewhere. Stop trying to control life and let it control you just for a brief moment in time. You wont regret it.

Our trip to Toledo was purely driven by the fact that one, it is near enough to Madrid we could just do a day trip via the train and two, everybody else who had gone to Spain said that “You should really see Toledo.” So on our second day in Spain, we went to the train station and bought ourselves the tickets to Toledo. We had no expectation whatsoever about how the city is going to look like. The only idea we had was that it is a small city. From Google we know that there will be a beautiful bridge to welcome us there.

Toledo is a small city located about 70km from Madrid. It was declared as one of the World Heritage Site by UNESCO in 1987. There were several modes of transportations available to get to Toledo, but since I was travelling with a husband and a 5-month old baby, we chose to take the train for our convenience. We just bought the train ticket on the travel day itself at Madrid’s Atocha Station (no pre-booking was needed), and we were on our way to Toledo.

The journey to Toledo took about 30 minutes. Without us knowing, we had already arrived at the Toledo station. Don’t be fool by the size of the station. It was small when compared to most train stations I have ever seen in my life, but the interior was splendid. We were in awe with the level of details they put on the ceiling. At this point we knew, the trip was going to be exhilarating.

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For three months I’ve successfully dodged dog poop left in the middle of the sidewalk by careless Italian dog owners (I understand that picking up warm feces and bagging it isn’t the most appealing duty, but it’s part of owning a dog for christsakes!). I hadn’t stepped in it until last night, right before my bon voyage dinner arranged by some Padovan friends. I immediately took off my shoes and knocked them violently against the curb to get the crap out of the grooves. It didn’t work. So I grabbed a few leaves to wipe it off, and, in the process, accidentally smeared some on my hand. Then I tried to use more leaves to wipe my hands, which also didn’t work so well. So for the next ten minutes my fingers smelled like, well, shit.

Needless to say, I went straight to the bathroom to wash my hands as soon as we arrived at the restaurant. It gave me a chance to ask ‘Dove sta il bagno?’–one of my favorite sentences, mainly because it’s easy to say and makes me feel like I can speak Italian, if for only a fleeting moments. I also had to ask because the location of the bathroom wasn’t obvious. It’s never obvious in Italy: into the basement and through the storage room; outside and around the corner; see that hidden door behind the last table on the left? It never seemed to be in a standard place, so simply finding it was the first step.

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Coming  from the United Arab Emirates to live in Australia, I had a lot to learn.

New language, new handwriting — but when the school announced that Year 10 students were going on a  nine-day camp, I was totally confident. After all, when  you are talking tents, you are talking Arab.

We have been tent experts for thousands of years. There are not many stones in the desert and if you can get a tree to grow there, you are not going to cut it down to build something. Goats, on the other hand, we have always had a lot of, so we make tents from their skins.

To Australians, a tent is a shelter. To us, it is a residence.

A traditional Arabian tent is home for up to 10 people. It  has rooms, carpets, cushions,  all the comforts of home (because it is home).

Tents are our tradition, our heritage. So I told Tom and Richard they were in good hands. Their friend Ahmed knows about tents.

But when we got our tent, I was shocked. Instead of huge poles and masses of material, the parcel was the size of a sleeping bag. “What is this?” I wondered. “A free sample?” That was the tent. We must put it up.

Well, OK. Maybe it was bigger than it looked.

Now, sand is great for camping. If a sand dune is not level, you can push it around and make it level. No sand at the campsite but plenty of rocks and tree roots. It would have taken a bulldozer to make this level. I found a spot but it looked a little slanted. Never mind. We got the tent up but there was a bit left over.

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This was the an epic trip of a lifetime, like a roller coaster ride, experiencing the best time of my life and trekking through a hardship of a stolen passport, wallet, and train pass during the travel experience. The story has a touch of an angel from San Diego, too!

Previous to this experience I was studying abroad in Bilbao, Spain, and during the summer I decided to backpack through Europe. I bought the Eurail Pass, for unlimited travel in Europe for 10 travel days on the train (each day you may travel to a new country) and at the time it cost $400. Like many backpackers I began the trip in Amsterdam. Afterwards, I sky dived the Swiss Alps at Interlaken, Switzerland and went snowboarding at the Matternhorn. Then I continued the amazing journey to Austria where I experienced more gorgeous mountain views of the Alps and snowboarding warm summer glaciers.

This is where the story gets interesting. I was planning on checking out Eastern Europe since, it’s generally less expense. I got on an overnight train to Budapest, and was surprised that at 3 AM there appeared to be a party on the train. I asked what the celebration was about, and was told about the Red Hot Chili Peppers festival near Vienna. When the train stopped in Vienna crowds of people were pouring from the train with tents and cases of booze, I couldn’t withstand the anticipation anymore and decided to follow. To my surprise we ended up at miles of tents and thousands of friendly Austrians at the festival. I was even more excited when I realized the closing band was Metallica! Someone sold me a 2 day pass for 50 Euros (were selling for 80 at the front door, what a score). I was welcomed by the Austrians with beers who were excited about the Californian, home of the famous Austrian, the Governor of California. I also went bungee jumping at the concert for 60 Euros.

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Rule of Three

By: Celia Laur

Throughout my travels, I have come to believe that three things are bound to go wrong before a vacation. For me, these have ranged from a broken appliance, to a mysterious illness, to having the dog sprayed by a skunk. When recently having to use my acting skills (or lack thereof) to a non-English speaking audience in a Bulgarian police station, only hours after stepping off the plane, I realized I had well surpassed my usual “rule of three.”

When planning the hiking trip to Bulgaria, I believed I would be employed by the time we departed. The day before we left, I received that dreaded phone call saying I had not been offered my dream job. Then the phone rang again. This time it was to learn that my flight home had been cancelled and details would be sent by e-mail. Broke, unemployed, and not entirely certain how or when I would leave Bulgaria, I caught the 2 a.m. bus to the airport. There I learned that one of my travel companions was ill. She was so drained of energy that even walking through the airport was difficult. But, her illness meant my rule of three was fulfilled and all would be looking up.

The flight was uneventful and we arrived at our (extremely cool) hostel. The walls were covered in graffiti artwork and everyone was lounging in the garden. Thoughts of jobs, illnesses, and early morning bus rides dwindled and we were ready for our first look at Sofia. We walked passed amazing buildings, had our first taste of Bulgarian food, and did some shopping. The woman selling sunglasses seemed unusually attentive. A few minutes later, my friend checked her bag. It was unzipped and an empty pocket where her wallet should be. This is how I came to give a performance in a Bulgarian police station. I am still not certain if the policeman understood that the wallet was stolen; or he just thought we were looking for a place to buy sunglasses. It did not help (as we later learned) that in Bulgaria, shaking your head up and down means no, while side to side means yes. The wallet was never recovered.

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Laying in the dark bunk as the train rattles through the night I am different. I have left a part of myself behind but I have taken something back with me….

I walk out into the moonlit hallway. As the air rushes past my skin I find the bathroom and look into the mirror. There it is… In the hollow of my neck I see the green mountains. Across my collar bone float wispy clouds. Red streaks my forehead and Indigo blue stains my hands. These are the colors of the land and the people of Sapa.

We were at the northern tip of Vietnam just a few km from the China boarder. This part of VN has been opened to the world for only about 12 years and tourism is a slippery slope…..Can they hold on to the old and embrace the new?

Many of the tribe people come in to the city selling what they can, even if that means their culture. The tourist areas are full of begging children, sad empty women who in my opinion have lost much to gain little. Of course my opinion really doesn’t mean much I have not walked in the shoes of these people.

Some have made the arrangement work bringing to market their wares, using their crafts as a way to make a living. There is a real senses of family among the tribes….

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I felt like I was trapped in an uncomfortable elevator-ride-with-the-boss that wouldn’t end. As I impatiently glanced at the handle of the handicapped bathroom stall at Chicago O’Hare airport, my longtime friend Morgan was pumping breast milk into a bottle and chatting about the wonders of childbirth. I was mortified. I tried my best to sound excited, but after our first flight had been canceled, the only thing on my mind was not missing our final shot at getting to Germany in time for our river cruise.

Bundled up against the cold of winter in Germany, Amber (left) and Morgan pause for a double self-portrait. Photo courtesy of Amber Nolan Morgan continued to ramble nonchalantly about her baby and how she was having second thoughts about leaving her behind to go on vacation, worried that the freezer full of breast milk would not suffice in her absence. All the while I was thinking “There’s a tiny toilet plunger attached to your nipple − and it’s going to make us miss the plane.”

“I’m going to have to do this three times a day,” she said, completing her 15-minute talk on why breastfeeding a newborn is healthy for the baby. “Otherwise I’ll stop producing milk. But I also brought my electric pump so I can do both sides at once after we are on the ship.” Her speech left me contemplating the idea of getting my tubes tied. “When you have kids someday, you’ll see,” she finished. I cringed at the thought.

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