solo travel
You've got somewhere to go, but no one to go with; solo travel is the nexus of independence and opportunity.
Learning to Love Vietnam
A while ago, I was living in Chiangmai, in Northern Thailand, while writing a book. Every three months, I had to leave Thailand to renew my visa, so I'd take a trip to one or other of the nearby countries, stay a week or two, then come back. These visa runs were special - a quick infusion of the new to break up my routine in Chiangmai
Roger WellsPublished 7 years ago in WanderBehind the Sky
One day a driver is headed home from a usual work day. Most drivers listen to music as they travel from point A to point B, but this driver often likes the sound of her own thoughts. Surrounded by the symphony of life, busy streets, high wind, and rubber tires against the concrete road, the driver also hears thoughts passing through her mind and then very subtly vanishing into the abyss until something finally stuck. It was an epiphany. This epiphany appeared as the driver stopped at a red light. Past the interior of the car, past the windshield, past the stop lights, the driver saw clouds, light, and space. What a beautiful sight...what a wonderful thought. To ponder on something greater than the existence of one life and focus on the beauty of the world is priceless. The driver became filled with excitement as she thought freely into the atmosphere. She was grateful for the life she had now, though it grew monotonous. But, experiencing the beauty past the interior of her life, past the windshield of her anatomy, and past the stoplights of her mind, forced her to appreciate the ability to think freely. To have thoughts about what lies behind the usual sky, as unusual as the sky can seem allowed her to express a kind of gratitude that was genuine.
Jamiah SandlesPublished 7 years ago in WanderThe Sweet Pain of Leaving
Ever since I was a child in the 1950's, standing on the wharf of Melbourne pier to board the immense ship that was to take us to Europe, I have never recovered from the excitement of embarkation.
Roger WellsPublished 7 years ago in WanderYork to Cork and Back Again
It began one Friday afternoon. I was just thinking about my schedule for the following week, which I needed to send out to some online students in order for them to book some slots with me the following week, when the phone rang. It was the company I do TEFL teacher training for. I usually teach once a month for 20 hours in Hull, East Yorkshire and another 20 in York. This month I’d been lucky and had spent the previous weekend delivering the course in Liverpool too. This was because the teacher for Norwich was ill and it was easier for the Liverpool teacher to cover Norwich and for me to teach in Liverpool. Now I was asked if I would like to teach 20 hours in Cork, Southern Ireland.
Bribing Border Guards and Smuggling Human Remains
Late last year I took a little trip to South America. Why South America, you might ask. Well, quite simply, because someone said to me "what about South America?" And so it was decided.
Maggie HarrisPublished 7 years ago in WanderMaximize Your Personal Freedom
For many, freedom is the ultimate goal in life. The highest aim. The freedom to explore, to make our own choices, to push the boundaries. To be, who we know in our heart of hearts, we can be, if only the world would let us.
Jordan DaviesPublished 7 years ago in WanderWhite Blank Page
I closed my eyes and absorbed the darkness, letting everything around me come alive. I had roamed the streets for hours, taking it all in: the smell of melted mozzarella on the world’s finest pizzas; the ghostly decadence of the city’s oldest buildings; a loud melody, Chopin perhaps, can be heard through an open window; the dazzling chaos of roses, daffodils and poppies sitting on sills, stealing each other’s colours; and the repetitive navy-and-white striped men, proudly parading visitors down Venice’s shimmering canals. As I reached San Marco, Venice’s personal hotbed of human stench and anarchic clatter, the sweltering summer air was hard to take in. The waves of flickering cameras and the howling chatter of the crowd engulfed the piazza. Revolted, I wriggled away from the daunting humanness. I moved away from the crowds seeking silence. The chatter faded away, as did the Sun and the unbearable trail of heat it left behind.
Carlota MauraPublished 7 years ago in WanderJust An Old Country Road
Unless you have lived in a city all your life, you probably have driven or walked down a country road. Sometimes it's a road home, a road to Grandma's house or to a favorite fishing or hunting spot.
A Weekend in Santa Marta
Santa Marta is an undiscovered gem of a city located on the northeastern tip of Atlantic coast of Colombia. I say that it’s an ‘undiscovered gem’ because it usually flies under the radar when compared to its coastal counterparts of Cartagena and Barranquilla. Still though, for Colombians and foreigners alike on vacation, Santa Marta has a lot to offer its visitors. I was drawn to Santa Marta a couple of months ago when I visited its neighboring town of Minca, which is also quite beautiful and full of lush scenery up in the mountains. Unfortunately, I did not get to spend much time in Santa Marta so I decided that during my 2nd time living in Colombia, I could not pass up the chance to visit this city if I had the chance.
For the Love of Tagine
Welcome to the blue city. There is a four-year-old child clinging to his cat on the steps of his home. The blue tunnels feel like underwater caves and you almost expect sharks and dolphins to weave between the crowds. There is an old lady selling bread- hard, floury, fresh Moroccan khobz, and a flock of animals and their child counterparts run up and try to steal crumby mouthfuls. The smell of leather, incense and cinnamon loom from musty underground doorways. Handmade jewellery and hair oils line doorways and wooden shops and the pavement is cool and dusty. Doesn’t this sound glorious? This is Chefchaouen, in the far dreamy north of Morocco.
Imogen KarsPublished 7 years ago in WanderThe Purple Backpack
If the little girl I was could see me now, with my purple backpack on my back, old tennis shoes and walking by myself on the streets of Rome, she would smile gladly.
Angela DuranPublished 7 years ago in Wander'Sorry I'm Late, My Bike Broke Down...'
I wasn’t particularly nervous for my move to the UK. After all, I’d lived in South Korea for half a year and spent a summer interning in Kenya and Uganda (such white girl, much wow), speak English pretty fluently, and I wasn’t afraid of being culture-shocked in what’s pretty much a neighbouring country to the Netherlands. I was determined to act professional, starting my MA, to blend in with the Brits and stay far away from ‘situations’ I’d encountered in my previous episodes of expat living.
Merel van 't HooftPublished 7 years ago in Wander