LIFE LESSONS LEARNED ON KINABALU
I did a hard thing. Well… It was hard for me. Perhaps you would find it easy. Or impossible. Perhaps like me […]
I did a hard thing. Well… It was hard for me. Perhaps you would find it easy. Or impossible. Perhaps like me […]
Well a wedding is one thing, but discovering a little piece of Indonesia that rarely sees foreigners is a whole other exciting […]
A month or so back I won a travel writing competition. I was pretty excited about that. To enter you had to submit 150 words about your favourite travel destination. As per usual I wrote about 1000 then had to trim it down. So it ended up a little truncated however, it passed the test and I won.
There is something incredibly healing about being so close to nature and having the time and freedom to just explore. I challenge anybody not to be calmed by the beauty of a sunset over the painted cliffs, the vista atop the peaks of Bishop & Clerk, or a baby wombat poking its head out from mum’s pouch for the first time.
None-the-less, while sitting bored witless at one of the most boring airports gracing this fine earth, I felt inspired to share some hard-earned wisdom.
It’s a delusion to think anybody genuinely knows us, and when faced with evidence telling a tale different to the one we believe, the ramifications can be genuinely distressing.
It’s the unfun bit of travel – going home. And after three months, it’s the bit to look forward to – going home.
I arrived in Lisbon a mental mess. The two hour flight from Pisa airport, on our most budget airline, turned me into a blithering ball of batshit crazy. It was time to see a doctor before my oldest and dearest friends traded me in for a better model.
My fondest memories are sitting at our villa, eating dinners outside and toasting the magic view of Lucca in the distance. The evenings were warm, the food spectacular, the drinks convivial, and the company exquisite. These are the precious memories I cling to. As our week came to a close, we packed up and headed to Pisa for the flight to Lisbon. With my anxiety now peaking and bordering on full panic attack, the flight became an interesting affair.
The Arc de Triomphe was within spitting distance of our hotel (we elected not to spit on it). Of all the iconic Parisienne landmarks, this was our favourite. It’s enormous – towering in the center of the Place Charles de Gaulle, with 12 streets radiating out in all directions. We explored Paris on foot, meandering almost all 12 at one time or another.
Our first morning we visited the Saint Cyprien farmers market. Oh my lord – how fabulous! I’d heard French farmers markets were pretty special, but they really are pretty special. The produce and the atmosphere, and the cheese and strawberries and nectarines and sausages and tomatoes and baguettes and yoghurt and more cheese and we were in gastronomic heaven!
Yep – I spent a week in Berlin, and by day three I was bored. By the time we arrived in the city that birthed Oktoberfest, the Brandenburg Gate, and Adolf Hitler, we’d been away from home for 46 days. So looking at old rocks, old churches, and old history, was wearing a little thin. As are funny-tasting tap water, pay-to-use toilets, European heatwave, and whatever-that-yellow-stuff-is-they-call-cheese.
The Krakow signal bugle call, or Hejnal Mariacki, dates back to the Middle Ages when it was announcing the opening and the closing of the city gates…The melody abrupt ending is said to commemorate a trumpeter from Krakow who was shot through his throat by a Tatar archer in 1241 when the Mongols besieged the city. Every full hour a golden trumpet shows above Krakow’s central Grand Square in the west window…of the Basilica of the Virgin Mary’s. Then a characteristic signal trumpet melody…resounds all over the city’s Old Town…Next the same bugle call is played towards the east, the south and the north.
While you’d think fear and loathing around body size would make me eat less and move more – proven methods of weight loss – it does in fact increase my anxiety which makes me eat more food, more often, and much faster. Counter intuitive. But my reality. This in turn makes me more unhappy and I find myself in a vicious downhill spiral.
Budapest is a city of statues – there are statues for everyone and everything. The beautiful wide streets, flanked by stunning gothic buildings, have small parks and plazas filled with statues and fountains every couple of blocks. There is no shortage of places to sit down and have a lovely rest.