humanity
If nothing else, travel opens your eyes to the colorful quilt that is humankind.
Further Reflections on Living as an Expat in Paris
“Our homes are not defined by geography or one particular location, but by memories, events, people, and places that span the globe.” — Marilyn Gardner
B.R. ShenoyPublished 2 years ago in WanderMacchu Picchu
The sun wasn't even up when we stumbled our way to the first bus of the day that would bring us up to the mountain top where we would find the most mysterious of ruins left by the Inca, "Machu Picchu". We had taken a bus and train from the beautiful city of Cusco the day before, and this was the last leg of our journey. Now most people think that they have to do the tour from the city. They tell you it's too difficult to reach by yourself. Some even think they are doing something cool, and choose the tour that takes you on a three day hike up the "original Inca trail". It's not! The best way, as with every place I've ever been, is to do it yourself. Meet the locals, ask questions, spend the time to really see the true culture, not just what the tour groups want you to see.
Cyndi Morley-PerezPublished 2 years ago in Wander- Top Story - January 2022
What It Felt Like To Fly To Los Angeles on New Year’s Day 2022
Let’s just start this with I hate traveling by plane. Or at least the way that I currently do it. Ya know, main cabin, zone 4 life. Squished & uncomfortable.
Cole ConnorPublished 2 years ago in Wander The Art of Daydreaming Here in Costa Rica. .
Sitting here. . thinking about how much fun it is to share with all of you the many exciting adventures experienced in Costa Rica by so many people. Books have been written. . movies have been made. . lives have been changed by this thing we lovingly call, "The Pura Vida Lifestyle"! What a wonderful lifestyle it is!
William "Skip" LichtPublished 2 years ago in Wander- Top Story - December 2021
Land of Enchantment
Beneath it’s cloak of breathtaking views and artistic ambiguity, a familiar grit lurks behind clumps of mountains, sacred valleys, and a plethora of assorted casitas boasting shades of taupe and dusty coral.
Naomi WolfPublished 2 years ago in Wander Can You Have Authentic Travel?
I grew up in New York City. I just typed that as NYC, but then realized that that was shorthand. It is a shorthand that many people know, but it is not a shorthand that New Yorkers use. It is a way of expressing Manhattan. Actually, most people visualize Times Square or generic skyscrapers when they use the phrase NYC. They are definitely not talking about the Outer Boroughs. That’s where I grew up. If I wanted to talk about Manhattan, I would say “the City” as in, “I’m going to the City with Dad when he goes to get his paycheck.” My father worked for The Daily News at a time when direct deposit wasn’t a thing. I loved going with him on his day off to get his paycheck. I had the run of the Daily News Building, and after he got his check and cashed it, we’d sometimes go to the Horn & Hardart for a sandwich. That was an authentic New York experience!
Jean Elizabeth GlassPublished 2 years ago in WanderMusings From An Overseas Trip
2018 was not too long ago yet it feels like it was a different time considering current world social climate under COVID. Up to that point, I had never travelled overseas before. I was 39 years old and had been living in Australia for just over three decades after moving here from Philippines as a child.
Michael LewisPublished 2 years ago in WanderA Never-Ending Journey
My story began years before I tried to cram my life into tiny boxes. I have always been reluctant to admit that love was something that I needed. It was something that I desired. But, even though I craved loved, it did not crave me. So I decided that I wouldn't focus on it. Instead, I would do anything to distract myself from reality. My reality is that I have never had a boyfriend before. I felt ashamed. I am a 22-year old that has never experienced romantic love. I longed for a high school sweetheart, but nobody seemed to bat an eyelid at me. During these primitive years, I never felt like I met societies standard of beauty. What I didn't have in looks, I made up with my personality. I was the funny one. I would make everybody laugh, even if it were at my own expense.
Love and passion in France
There has been many historic sporting achievements throughout my lifetime some of which I’ve read about and some I have been privileged to have witnessed, incredible feats that changed not only individual lives but changed the psyche of nations. Such events as the Australian Socceroos heroic performance against Uruguay in 2006 which finally saw them reaching the Football World Cup finals in Germany for the first time since 1974 after 32 years of failure saw their disappointment and heartache forgotten as they participated in and on the Worlds greatest sporting stage. Skeletons have been firmly put back in their closets and the late, great Johnny Warren can now rest in peace. The eyes of the football World will be firmly fixed on these conquering heroes from ‘Down Under’ and this great land of ours will experience nothing like it since the Sydney Olympics. A nation will be united, cultural differences will be put to one side and the nations heart will beat as one as we watch every ball kicked and every tackle made. Emotions will overflow and tears will be shed, but I doubt the love and passion I experienced at the 1998 World Cup finals in France will ever be felt from supporting our champions from the other side of the globe, experiences from the most controversial World Cup finals held, memories that changed my life forever. Witnessing Brazils biggest defeat in World Cup football, the celebrations on the streets of Paris after Frances historic win. The disbelief in reports of Ronaldo the world’s greatest footballer swallowing his tongue through pre-match nerves and how the hatred of a nation turned onto a young English player for being sent off after a moment’s loss of control. Not since USA 94 and the senseless shooting of Colombia’s Escobar has so much controversy surrounded the finals of a World Cup. But there was another story in France that was not reported on, not a story of “German Nazi Hooligans” or rampaging “British Lager Louts”. But a story of true dedication, a story of love and sheer determination to be part of one of the greatest show on earth, a story I’m sure that was bigger than anything to come out of Sydney during the Olympics or is likely to come out of Beijing in 2008. What story could be bigger than breaking Olympic World records? The answer is quite simple, I survived four weeks in a two-man tent! “Big deal” I can hear you mutter. “The man’s gone mad” how can this be bigger than Australia’s own Cathy Freeman winning the 400 metres or Thorpy and company breaking world records at the drop of a hat? Let me start by clearing up a misunderstanding, the term two-man tent is a loose interpretation used by what I can only describe as the psychotic descendant of a tribe of pygmies who was impersonating a Camping and Adventure Salesman, who assured me that the picture on the box was not and I repeat not the actual size. It soon became obvious to me that I actually owned a pair of underpants, which had more room in them. Therefore when contemplating living in a canvas jockstrap firstly take the contents out of the packet and examine prior to reaching your desired destination. Now for someone who hasn’t actually bonded with Mother Nature for over thirty years, spending four weeks in a pair of Y-fronts can be very traumatic, and the memory has a habit of twisting the truth. My head was full of distorted scouting memories, sitting around campfires drinking cocoa and singing “ging gang gilly gilly” and sleeping all feet to the pole! I now know modern tents don’t have poles, probably because there is nothing to hold up and having reached France with my accommodation such as it was firmly in place minus the pole and my sleeping bag unfolded it was time to catch up on some well deserved rest. Sleeping in a padded condom directly on the ground is like trying to sleep on top of a bag of walnuts and it soon became clear to me that sponge matting is highly recommended. The camping grounds in France are of a high standard and offer all the conveniences a camper could want, showers, toilets and a shop to purchase all your food supplies such as beans, spaghetti and soup. It soon became obvious that you should never go camping without plates, cutlery and a can opener or at the very least your genuine Swiss Army multi functional knife; it can be very embarrassing having to ask your fellow campers if they can open your dinner for you. So I made some basic mistakes and sure the tent was small and I should have known that terra firma is bumpy and that cans are difficult to open without the recommended tools, but there is one more lesson to be learnt if you are thinking of ever going on a camping holiday, never and I repeat never go camping without a toilet roll, campsites offer excellent clean amenities but do not supply toilet paper in the cubicles. Sadly sitting on the throne with only a pair of shorts hanging around your ankles is not the ideal situation to find yourself in as it is highly unlikely you will have your trusty French phrase book available at the time “parlez vous anglaise, parlez vous anglais” World records will continue to be broken at the next Olympics in China and new heroes will emerge in Germany.Yes Ronaldo’s fears were overcome, Beckham was forgiven and my lower back actually did eventually respond to treatment. But there is one thing I’m sure of, we will all be back with a passion supporting some great event in the future either from the luxury of our lounge rooms or actually in person but remember please whichever sport you decide on I hope you choose your accommodation wisely.
Roy TraversPublished 2 years ago in WanderCrazy Baba
Serious travelers tell you that the most memorable moments, good or bad, are the unscripted ones. With international travel off the radar, I am sometimes nostalgic about travel from earlier, less complicated times.
Michael HalloranPublished 2 years ago in WanderStay
It was at a small diner in Iowa that I met her. I couldn't tell you her name, or much of what she looked like, but I remember our conversation. My now husband, Shane and I were on the first leg of our cross country road trip. We told her of our six months of working multiple jobs and renovating the old camper we found on Craigslist. It was a story we would tell a million more times before the trip was through, and yet it was not our story that keeps this moment in time stuck in my mind, it was hers.
Shannon ObbagyPublished 2 years ago in WanderMoving to Việt Nam during a pandemic: Chapter 2, 3 December 2021
I moved to Ho Chi Minh City - formerly known as Sai Gon, a name still widely used in the city itself - on Monday. A week locked in a hotel room should have been long enough to sort out all the admin requirements. I acquired a SIM card, downloaded apps, and completed online declarations. I saved QR codes and plane tickets to my phone. And I made sure I was in reception half an hour before my taxi was due, at 11am, just in case there was a problem paying for my daily 'coffee latte, hot', which turned out to cost £4 each, or my nightly 'Bia Sai Gon' which cost a much more reasonable £1 each.
Christopher HowePublished 2 years ago in Wander