the history of a traveller: part six

I can't believe I'm finishing up my history of a traveler series today, though the bright side to all of this means all new adventures await me and I'll be sharing them in real time instead. My last trip abroad before starting this blog involved my sister, snow on palm trees, and a trek through Spain in January. On a wild hair we decided to take a trip together right after the holidays my senior year of college. I'm not sure what possessed us, neither of us had the money, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. Looking back now, I know it was the best idea.

We started our journey a day late thanks to a Delta gaffe, and landed in Barcelona after the longest flight and a half of my life. We were tired, luggage-less and ready for a hot shower and something yummy to eat. Turns out we arrived on the wrong day because everything was shut down due to 

El Día de Reyes. The Day of the Kings is as big as Christmas Day for Spaniards and everything is shut down. We surrendered ourselves to the situation and enjoyed a day of wandering the abandoned streets, and eating in one of the only restaurants we could find still open. A lesson for those with wunderlust, check for local holidays/traditions before you book your flight. It could save you a headache or two.

Barcelona was pleasantly warm and inviting for January and we discovered the great art of Gaudi, and visited his almost finished Sagrada Familia, and delighted in his Park Guell. His life's work has since impacted me more than a can say and it all stems from this trip. I could devote an enter post to him and might in the future but I haven't shared the part about snow and palm trees yet. We departed Barcelona for Toledo and Madrid having long forgotten our rough beginning.

The entire trip my sister was completely smitten with palm trees, obsessively so. Any time she saw one she wanted to take a picture, or have her picture taken in front of one. It was really cute. While visiting Toledo it began snowing and the snow stuck to the sparse palm trees in little courtyards around the city and Sarah kept squealing as we passed them. We still joke about it to this day, even as she now lives in a state where palm trees aren't all that rare. It's my favorite memory of all, and to be honest I don't remember much else about our time in Toledo.

In Madrid we enjoyed amazing tapas, flamenco dancing, and more sangria than I care to admit but it was the squid sandwiches or "Bocadillo de Calamares" that stole the show. If you ever visit you have to go to the historic Plaza Mayor and eat one of these amazing sandwiches at Casa Rua, they're cheap and they're the best. Madrid was a winter wonderland while we visited and we met the nicest bartender from Australia who practically paid for our meal one night. He asked nothing in return, just our company at his stools for the night. It's moments like those that make traveling the most magnificent of all.

It's funny but I can't help but think of Ryan when I think back on this trip, we weren't even dating but our friendship had just rekindled (after two months of not speaking) right before departure. Something had changed but I wasn't sure just what yet. Taking this trip gave me the time I needed to think and dream as it turns out. The spanish siestas do wonders for the mind, and sisters know way more than they let on. More on that another time though. big kiss, bekuh

the history of a traveler: part five

I love traveling alone. There's something really exhilarating to me about being left to my own devices in a country where I barely speak the language. You have to learn to be flexible, make mistakes, and learn as you go. The ultimate character building experience. It was a goal of mine while living in London to take some time to travel to countries/places by myself. As my time overseas neared to a close, I finally decided to take two weeks to explore Southern Italy. Why south and not north? The plane tickets were cheaper.

My trip consisted of stops in Naples, the island of Ischia, Capri, Sorrento, and Positano. I practiced my Italian every single day and immediately forget it all once I landed. I had some of the best food of my life in Naples; eating a knock-you-on-your-feet octopus stew, fresh antipasto from olive barrels (including the salty delights called anchovies), and an authentic Margarita pizza. So authentic in fact that the people who owned the hostel I stayed at were eating there when I walked into the restaurant! I also got my first taste of Italian sexual harassment on the oldest street in Naples, Via dei Tribunali. To this day I hate the term "ciao bella."

On Ischia, an island with hidden hot springs all over its cliffy coast, I stayed at a hostel where my room opened directly on to a roof deck that overlooked the entire island. At this same hostel I was asked to paint a mural of the sun instead of paying for my room, and I gladly stayed an extra few days to accommodate their request. I met two Americans, sat in the hot springs on a chilly morning, and explored a lighthouse or two along the way. Ischia would be my dream vacation destination if it weren't for the potter who tried to trap me in the back room of his studio because I wouldn't kiss him. Strike two for the blonde foreigner.

Capri was overrated so I won't waste my time talking about it here, but Sorrento blew me away completely and unexpectedly. If the orange trees growing in the streets, the ornate ironwork on every balcony, and the cliffside dock you anchor in to get up to the city aren't enough for you, then the darling old people will steal your heart anyway. I listened to a seniors choir recital in a church courtyard, ate gelato twice a day, and spent evenings people watching while dining al fresco. It was bliss, and picturesque bliss at that.

My final stop in Positano required a bus ride along the narrowest, and windiest road I've ever been on. I'm not one for motion sickness, but this trip almost got me. The precarious travel was worth it though, because as you make your way down the cliff edge to the beach you realize there is no other place on earth quite like Positano. I bought jewelry from a smooth talking salesman (still own it!), sun bathed on the beach for he day, and made my way into the carved out mountain side that Positano was built in. It was almost the perfect ending to an unforgettable trip. If only a teenage boy hadn't touched my inner thigh on the bus back to Sorrento; of course that meant I had to slap him, and watch an old Italian woman yell at him with the most ferocious eyes I've ever seen. No wait...that only made the end of the trip even better.

So what's my take away from my trip to Italy, as my others stories all had their own? Well, I'd say listen to your friends when they tell you to be careful, but don' let it keep you from going anyway. The hassle was worth it for the memories I'll always keep. Only one more travel story before you're all caught up on the history of this traveler. I hope you've liked the journeys so far. big kiss, bekuh

history of a traveler: part iv

I'm so excited to continue with my History of a Traveler series today, though maybe an unexpected topic with a major US holiday being tomorrow. Last time I left off at meeting Avril, the fabulous shop owner, slash queen of of Highgate who so lovingly took me under her wing while homesick in London. After meeting the Castellazzos things changed entirely. I fell into a pattern and found myself getting comfortable in a life abroad. Suddenly I could take ownership of my actions, and walking the streets I felt more grounded in my position, and less like an impostor. 

Right after Christmas I met a group of wild and crazy kids through my visa organization and they will forever be the BUNAC Babes in my heart. We did everything together, but we mostly ate and danced together. Every weekend we'd get the group together and pick the most absurd dance clubs to go to. We'd dance with Australian tourists in the down-under themed club Roundabout, or go roller dancing in a warehouse converted for the night into a club. It wasn't about hooking up, it was about fun and being silly as single girls away from home. We were like Sex in the City, except without all the sex and three times the number of friends. silly-heads.

It was on these adventures that I'd find myself walking the streets in the wee hours of the morning, or riding the only late bus that went north. There was a toothless bus driver I made friends with, and a few bums whose accents were so thick I couldn't understand them, but I knew they were looking out for me. I loved seeing the characters that came out late at night and formed a certain kinship with them as I frequented their favorite haunts.

When I wasn't dancing to cheesy 80s tunes, or eating in themed restaurants with friends (I had an awkward conversation about sex in an erotic themed bathroom once), I was going to galleries, museums, and walking the Queen's Wood. My experiences with the museums and galleries are what you would expect, but my experiences in the Queen's Wood are a bit more magical and transformative. Queen's Wood was often my escape in London, it felt wild and untamed, and it's where I'd go to when I felt lonely or out of sorts. Something about this thick of woods felt like home. 

On a rare snowy morning I somehow managed to leave my apartment an hour early for work, instead of turning around to head home I decided to take the time to walk through the Queen's Wood and enjoy everything snow covered. I was getting to the thicker bits, when out of nowhere, I here bagpipes playing a short distance away. I followed the sound to a clearing where a man in black stood, with snow and mist falling down around him, playing the bagpipes as beautifully as I've ever heard. I stood listening to him until he caught eye of me and stopped. I asked him why he had decided to come out on this chilly morning to play, and he told me because he just felt like he needed to. In my heart I knew that the reason was me. After we talked for a moment he picked up his things, and left with no other explanation.

Things like that were always happening to me in the Queen's Wood, and really London in general. I have a million more stories I could tell about my time there, but I think that last one pretty much sums it up. When you listen to your heart, and follow where it leads you, the unimaginable sometimes becomes real. big kiss, bekuh

history of a traveler: part 3

Today is about that time I decided to move to London. Yeah, I actually did that, and yes it was amazing, but not so much in the sweep you away kind of changing like Paris was for me. No, London was about settling down my wild heart, and seeking inner peace with who I was, and who my family was, and years of pain I'd suppressed. London was about running away. London was about growing up.

After deciding not to go back to school for my junior year of college, it became obvious to me that I had to get as far away from the things I knew as possible. I saved all of my money from a summer job, got a student work visa through a company called BUNAC, and made plans to temporarily stay with family friends while I settled into life in London. Like in most of my adventures abroad, my plans didn't work out quite like I'd planned them to.

I arrived in London just days before my 21st birthday, and I don't think I've ever been more homesick in my entire life. I immediately set to work trying to find a job, and on my actual birthday I had my first interview. It was thrilling to sit across from someone in a foreign country and think I might actually work here in a few short days. The idea of finding employment, I thought, would make this dream-come-true more of a reality. But this job wasn't meant to be. I boarded the train back into London proper and stopped off at a sushi restaurant for a special birthday meal & drink to celebrate this new chapter. Teary eyed I looked up at my waiter and said "I'm 21 today," he just vaguely looked at me, and I said "I know that's not a big deal here, but in America it's a REALLY big deal and I'm alone." Pretty pathetic.

This may seem like a sad start to what should have been the happiest days of my life, but sometimes it takes going through some bad for something really good to come out of it. Despite my solitude, and despite my homesickenss I didn't leave. I trucked on and happily the following weeks started looking up for me. The family I was staying with, the Westbrooks, offered to let me stay on in their spare bedroom, and I found work temping to pay the bills. I still had a nagging feeling that there was more for me in London than this piddling, and I'd soon find out what that was.

Right around, what would have been Thanksgiving, I was in-between temp jobs and taking a day to explore the neighborhoods surrounding my "home" in Crouch End. I made my way up the hill to Highgate and popped into the most fabulous yellow fronted shop filled with furniture and trinkets. After looking around for a couple of minutes I felt completely overwhelmed by the sense that this is where I should be working. The owner probably thought I was a pick pocket as I fiddled with her displays, hoping to get the nerve up to ask her if she was hiring. Finally she looked at me and said, "Can I help you find something?" and I blurted out, " Yes, I was wondering if you were hiring?"

She paused only for a moment before getting the biggest smile on her face and said, "Darling, I haven't had a vacation in three years...I am definitely hiring. Come back tomorrow for tea and we'll chat. My name is Avril. This is fabulous!" I was flabbergasted and beyond happy, and we made plans for an early morning talk in her shop. We did in fact drink tea the next day, and she did hire me on the spot, leaving a week later for two weeks of vacation. And so began my real adventure in London... to be continued. big kiss, bekuh

Read the History of a Traveler Part 1 & Part 2 for more crazy adventures in the life of Bekuh

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the history of a traveler: part II

I had every intention of posting this earlier in the week, but it turns out that my second trip abroad is the hardest one for me to describe. My trip to Paris, during my second year of college, proved to be one of the biggest life changing experiences of my life. Everything that has happened since has been directly influenced by the hours I spent wandering Montmartre, and getting lost down by the Seine. I spent those days alone, with just my thoughts and a beat up journal to keep me company.

It happened like this...After taking just one semester of French I convinced my roommate at the time that we had to make the trip to Paris for spring break. I was convinced that my life would be incomplete if I waited to go another second. With what little money we both had we bought plane tickets and booked a shared room in a hostel for 9 days. We landed with almost empty pockets, and hearts overflowing for a city we'd never seen up close. It was cold, rainy, and there were riots in the streets. It was everything I'd hoped for.

What wasn't perfect however was our itinerary. In our excitement to see this grand city neither of us had thought to ask the other what they were interested in doing once we got there. She wanted to visit Versailles and the shopping districts. I wanted to get lost in cemeteries, churches, and visit art museums. After a day of misery together we decided to split up and sought to see the city on our own terms, meeting every night for dinner as we went. A little serendipitous really.

What happened when I was left to my own devices is what's so difficult to describe. I spent time reading up on post-impressionist artists living la vie boheme, sought after Jim Morrison's grave, ate quiche and drank cafe two meals a day, cut my hair, and tried twice to see the work of Jacques-Louis David to no avail. I remember walking up the steps of Sacre Coeur and looking out over the city with tears in my eyes. It was like I had been walking down a corridor of locked doors my entire life, but Paris had suddenly given me the keys to unlock them all at once.

I made so many missteps you'd think the trip was a failure, but it was exactly what I wanted and needed at that time. I loved how scared it made me when I'd get lost in the labyrinth. I loved having to buy shoes from a street vendor after mine got soaked through in the rain. I loved sitting in museums for hours looking at master works, from renowned artists. I saw the world through my own eyes for the very first time, no one was filtering what I saw or how I saw it.

I soaked in a way of life so unlike my own, that when I got back to college I broke up with my boyfriend of 3 years, changed my class schedule, and made plans not to go back to school in the coming year. I was put on a new path and new way of thinking about life. Paris taught me how to feel. big kiss, bekuh

Read the History of a Traveler: Part 1 for the full experience.

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the history of a traveler: part one

Memories are a delicate and precious thing, so it's easy to want to hold them close for fear of losing them, but it is in that fear that the true loss occurs. Time and age ultimately, viciously, steal them away from us, and only in sharing are we able to keep them alive. Why not let others taste what you did when the memories were created? It is in the tasting that they may recognize a piece of themselves, and continue the story where you left off. 

My most precious memories are those I've made while traveling. Up until this point I've only casually hinted at the journeys I've taken on the blog, foolishly reluctant to share them with you. Somehow I felt that by sharing my experiences with others I would be cheapening them, or doing my memories an injustice. I floundered to even describe them in my travel journals as they happened. How could I ever expect you to relate?

Now, I realize that all I can do is try. All I can do is share my memories, my experiences, and hope that their meaning transcends my inaptitude to describe them. This is my first big step in leading a life of passion, shared...

Growing up travel was reserved for visiting families to the north and south of us. I spent my childhood dreaming up excursions to far away lands, but I would be 18 before any of these dreams became reality. Ironically my first trip abroad was anything but pleasant. I couldn't sleep on the plane, I whined a lot, and missed my then boyfriend something terrible. I was touring England with my sister an my mother, but all I could think about was Virginia. Then, half way through the trip it clicked.

I can remember, with extreme clarity, the second the travel bug bit me. We were sitting in a pub watching a football match on TV, eating mediocre pub type foods, listening to locals shout at the screen, and I was smiling. I was suddenly in love with the world. Something about experiencing this part of England made sense to me. I was seeing beyond the touristy veil for the first time, to what life was like in another part of the world. I was, for a split second, so very English. I liked it.

To experience a culture outside of your own expectations, accepting it for what it is, is a beautiful thing. It is a lesson unlike any other in life. I walked away from that experience in England a changed person. I recognized that though I desperately wanted to see the world, I wanted it to be on my terms. I didn't want to experience the world through the "must see" attractions tourists cling to, but through the locals who called it home. I wanted to get lost in whatever culture I found myself in next. I wanted an education in what it meant to be  from...(fill in the blank).

Lucky for me, this was just that start of my journeys and little did I know just how soon I'd be traveling again. Stay tuned for part II next week. big kiss, bekuh

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