Today’s throwback: Pliva Lake, an hour’s walk outside Jajce, Bosnia and Herzegovina, early August 2013. Clean and clear, calm and peaceful, and practically devoid from any other people, it took practically no effort to find a secluded place along the lake to go for a swim, soak up the sun, and relax before a bus ride to Mostar.
A month from now, I will be flying from Bucharest to Istanbul to Boston to Toronto. It’s a simultaneously frightening and comforting thought that almost a year and a half of travel around the world is coming to an end.
To commemorate, I would like to share with you each day something from these tales of travels, these trials and tribulations that went on somewhere in the world in that time span (really, just my misadventures). This will be in addition to my daily travel posts and updates. Each day, I would like to reflect on a memorable experience I had during the last year and a half of travel – something I did for the first time, something I learned from, something humbling, something that made me feel accomplished, something that made me feel a way I’ll never forget, something that impacted me and left me with an impassioned inspiration – anything, really, that manages to make me smile when I look back upon it with the filter of time which only manages to facilitate the nostalgia I feel.
Today’s throwback: let’s not begin with anything too profound. Instead, here’s something from my time in Georgia from August/September 2013 – the food and drink! Khinkali, khachapuri, ostri, roasted eggplant topped with a walnut/garlic paste, Khevsuruli beer, homemade wine in used plastic bottles – these were my staples, and though sometimes repetitive, were always filling 🙂 By the way, I absolutely loved my time in Georgia and it’s easily one of my favourite countries I’ve ever visited. This won’t be my only post about Georgia in the next month…
Khinkali
khachapuri
Ostri
eggplant with walnut garlic paste
Khevsuruli beer
Homemade wine
One step at a time. A simple phrase, but one which takes on greater meaning when you’re somewhere on an 800-km trek from the Pyrenees to Galicia, Spain. One step at a time. That’s the only way you can accomplish such a challenging journey, to keep putting one foot in front of the other no matter what weather conditions you face and whatever physical or emotional baggage is weighing you down. One step at a time. This is one of the most important lessons I’ve ever learned.
between Hontanas to Boadilla del Camino
One year ago today, I began this pilgrimage from St.-Jean-Pied-de-Port to Santiago de Compostela. I take a look back and memories flash through my mind, some like blinding lightning, others like a slow-motion replay of a sports highlight. Many memories will forever remain vivid, while I guiltily acknowledge that some are already fading, and might disappear with the passage of more time…
But I will remember to take life one step at a time. And with each step, attempt to recognize what makes life so mysterious yet gratifying, be appreciative of every breath, every foot forward, every person that shares my journey, and every person that almost inexplicably appears with an almost inexplicable precision when I need a reprieve from my solitude.
The Camino also taught me that the path – my camino – that I walk must be my own. I must walk at my own pace, not be afraid to take alternate routes, and always listen to my body, mind, and soul. I can’t live for the wishes and expectations of others and place their dreams in front of mine, no matter how good-intentioned they may be. I know it sounds incredibly selfish, but that path won’t create happiness and ultimately the person who ends up hurt is myself.
I believe I am still on a pilgrimage and that I continue to walk my camino. In fact, it’s an often arduous journey and the road looks like it never ends. But I can say that if there’s a destination, I’m closer to getting there today because of my experiences last year.
I’m a firm believer that the journey to a destination should be approached with as much importance and regard as the destination itself. There’s so much excitement, so much to absorb, so much to take away from getting yourself from Point A to Point B (often via Point C and Point D, depending on your luck). I’ve read that Ometepe Island should be part of any traveller’s itinerary to Nicaragua. And now, after having visited, I can confirm this statement’s validity, but as this is beyond the scope of this blog post, I won’t explain why at this moment…
After spending four nights in Granada, I checked myself out of my hostel and the uber-comfortable double bed that had been my crash pad in the dorm, and walked to the bus terminal, passing through the bustling shops and markets that spilled onto the road. I had walked this same road two days earlier to catch a chicken bus to Mombacho, but its familiarity did not temper the noise, odours, and peculiarities I had noticed the first time around. This was my first time taking a chicken bus alone; I’d taken them to and from Granada the past couple days with friends, so I found myself more alert travelling by myself. I felt that the bus was packed much more than on previous occasions, and it was interesting and entertaining just watching all the different vendors selling everything from food to pens that doubled as two-year calendars…
Upon arriving at the bus terminal in Rivas, I tried to pair up with others who were going to Ometepe in order to share a taxi. It was all in vain because unfortunately, everyone was either already part of a big group or had already gotten in a taxi, leaving me with taxi drivers offering very inflated prices to get to the port in San Jorge. I ended up speaking with a rickshaw driver who said that he’d take me to some taxis further away from the terminal, who would offer lower prices. I figured, “Why not?” and got in, and enjoyed the ride a couple streets over, pretending I was a celebrity being the recipient of numerous stares while on the road.
The rickshaw driver pulled over not far away from the terminal, and started telling the taxi drivers that I wanted to get to San Jorge. They were offering the same inflated prices as those at the terminal, but I was able to bargain it down a little, though I still think I overpaid by a dollar or two. At any rate, I got in a taxi for the ~7km ride to the port, happy that my journey was finally progressing…
I climbed a volcano, admired some fantastic views of Granada, Lake Nicaragua, and Las Isletas (through which we had taken a boat tour the day before), caught a glimpse of a volcano crater, rode in a chicken bus twice, rode in a tuk tuk twice (and simultaneously was in amazement that I wasn’t in India!), had an amazing dinner, and all with the enjoyable company of Derek from Ireland, Bernard from Holland, and Gui from Brazil. And none of these was the highlight of my day. Undoubtedly and unequivocally, my encounter with the 91-year old woman is what I’ll remember most about day 5 of my Nicaraguan trip.
We were well on our descent down Mombacho volcano, walking down the road built for trucks to transport tourists up to the Biological Station (the base for which you can explore the top of the volcano through guided or self-guided hikes of varying lengths), when Bernard and I were stopped by this old woman at the entrance to her property. I’m writing this over two weeks after this happened and I can’t describe the physical setting too well, only that it was typical of rural Nicaragua – her home was a modest shack comprised of concrete and sheet metal, surrounded by dusty brown dirt and the lush shades of green effortlessly produced in the Tropics. This woman looked like she had been standing there awhile, and was eager to greet us and I’d say even a bit desperate to stop us for a few minutes of light conversation. I may no longer be able to recall my surroundings there very well, but I can certainly remember her tan, wrinkled face framed by her silver hair, the contradictory excitement and sadness in her eyes, and her smile simultaneously expressing gratitude and melancholy.
Above all, I remember her words. She fervently told us her age, and I had trouble believing that she was older than 60. She described to us how she used to work up at the Biological Station up until a few years ago, but one day they told her that she was too old and that she basically stayed home since then. With sorrow, she expressed how it was almost a curse that God allowed her to be so old, because she lived in this lonely, solitary environment without her children and grandchildren (although one of her grandsons was visiting her that day), and life was tough being alone and unable to work. And then she brought her hands together and praised God, thanking Him for the blessing of our company this day. She claimed that meeting us and talking with us was the highlight of her day, and I believed her. The sincerity in her eyes and the honesty in her voice were only genuine.
Throughout this encounter, and certainly the further along it went, I was always a bit wary of this woman, thinking that she might want something in return for sharing her very personal stories. Some money, some food – that’s typical of what people usually asked for, right? It turned out, she had wanted nothing more from us that what we gave her – a few minutes of our time to enliven her day and break the seemingly endless monotony that dominated her life. It really was just a few minutes of conversation with this lady, and then we said goodbye and continued our walk down the volcano. But this encounter had me feeling guilty and ashamed for thinking the worse in a fellow human being. How jaded, untrusting, and skeptical had I become? Thankfully, my actions didn’t reflect my thoughts, but indeed, this meeting gave me a lot to think about.
This 91-year old woman was the highlight of my day. Perhaps what I love most about travel are these strange, unforseeable encounters and surprises that you can never imagine taking place, but which unquestionably end up having a lasting impact on you…
Any solo traveller will tell you that one of the best things about travelling on your own is meeting and befriending other travellers (many of whom are also going it solo) and ending up doing a lot of fun, amazing things together. Or something like that.
I had been introduced to Bernard from the Netherlands a few days earlier at the hostel in Granada by an Irishman named Derek, and as we were both staying another night in the city, he invited me to do that typical Dutch activity of bike riding. There’s a place called Laguna de Apoyo, a crater lake outside of Granada that reputedly has Nicaragua’s cleanest water for swimming. “Sure,” I thought, “Sounds like fun plus it’d be good exercise”. Turns out, I got too much of a bargain…
We rented bikes from the hostel and after a short ride around the city getting acquainted with our rides, we made our first stop at a supermarket for a humble breakfast of bananas (an unbeatable value at 1 cordoba or $0.04 apiece), drinkable yogurt, and coconut cookies. The sun already began to bake us outside the store where we indulged in our meal. We then stopped at the old railway station and took a few pictures before edging our way to the outskirts of the city where we rode along the side of the highway. And here, it began to get really hot. Just in case you didn’t know, asphalt + sun + temperature of 30 degrees Celsius + humidity + bike riding = a desperately terrifying amount of sweat. To the point where your light blue shirt turns navy. To the point where you can fool someone into thinking that your sweat made this lagoon we were making our way to. We asked for directions from locals on the side of the road or those cycling just like us, and each time we got different responses to how close we were. As we were intent on just getting there, we kept going. Luckily, there was a roadside tienda selling ice cold gaseosas and we enjoyed a sugary orange soft drink with the company of the friendly shop vendor who pulled out chairs for us and kept us company in the shade of her family’s modest home, telling us how beautiful the lagoon is, and lamenting how her boyfriend who studies English wasn’t here to practice his language skills with us! This place was an oasis, a world away from the highway just steps away!
From here, we were a couple Ks away from the road which joins the lagoon with the highway. That was the good news. The bad news was that it was mostly uphill. But we kept pressing on, sometimes without enough energy to cycle, instead getting on our feet and pushing our bikes uphill. We passed a massive commercial chicken farm, enjoyed another break with ice cream, popsicles, and Pepsi, were objects of curiosity and fascination by passing schoolgirls… Ever closer, the last stretch was the easiest part and a welcome reprieve from our bike riding so far – a winding downhill ride in the shade where we could catch beautiful glimpses of the lagoon, and later into the entrance to the lagoon itself. We chose the closest access to the water by a lakeside restaurant, ordered some beer and some light snacks much to the dismay of the waitress who couldn’t sell something more pricey, and passed out a little bit from the fatigue of two and a half (or perhaps closer to three?) hours of bike riding to get to this point. It was a lazy afternoon of lounging by the lagoon, swimming in its almost too warm waters, admiring the hardly touched countryside, and having conversations with a new friend.
glimpse of lagoon
well-earned beer
picturesque lagoon
Alas, we resigned ourselves to the fact that we had to leave to make the arduous trip back to Granada. We walked with the bikes uphill for forty-five minutes, unable to find a suitable vehicle to hitch a ride. At the top of the hill, though, it was a fast and exhilarating ride down, and once at the side of the highway again, we waited not half a minute until a chicken bus pulled over and we eagerly got in, bikes and all, marvelling at the perfect timing of it all. Back in Granada and off the bus, it immediately started to rain heavily (it is still rainy season here, after all, and a strong downpour in the afternoon is obligatory). But what’s a little rain after all that exercise? It was even more refreshing than swimming in the lake, and possibly the funnest part of the day to bike through the streets of Granada, competing with cars, buses, taxis, and horses for control of the streets, navigating our way back to the hostel to end this great journey!
So, all in all, I’ll remember this day for many reasons and had an excellent time. Riding a bike in the city, down the highway, and especially through the rural countryside of Nicaragua was special, an opportunity to see life up close and personal for a bit, without the filter of shaded windows. But the physical exertion in this climate can’t be underestimated! So, the next time a crazy Dutch guy (or anyone from any nationality, really) invites me to go cycling in a tropical country, someone remind me of today so I’ll think twice about it!
So, I’m going to Nicaragua today – and I know there are people thinking, “You’re going away again?” or probably, “You’re going away again already?” It’s strange – when I was in various places in the Balkans during my last month of six months of travel, the thought of being back home made me feel both apprehensive and excited, but once I was back, it was a welcome change to sleep in the same bed every night, have my own bathroom, wear a different set of clothes, and, of course, see my dear family and friends. However, I got bored of it pretty quickly! Quite soon after I got back, I found myself researching flights to various places around the globe and a week after I returned, I found myself booking a reasonably-priced flight to Nicaragua, ready to see and experience a bit more of this beautiful world of ours.
Back in the spring, when I was happily telling everyone about my travel plans, the short summary was that I was going to Europe for six months and planned on having a superlatively amazing time. And I did! But the truth was I was planning to travel for about a year, and Europe was the first stop. I debated whether or not to actually go back home at all, if I should really be away non-stop for a year, but when all was said and done I decided to take a small break for “awhile” and I boarded that plane from Istanbul back to North America. But the travelling wasn’t over!
I’m in Nicaragua for four weeks, and then will return to Canada once again to spend the holidays there. Again, I’m looking forward to seeing my family and friends, the festivities, and the food and drinks, but the stay is temporary. Early next year, I’m going to Asia and leaving behind the oppressive Canadian winter. Of course, I have some ideas about where I’ll be going and what I’ll be doing, planning my best to coordinate schedules with family and friends in the region and meet up with them along this journey! Just to name drop – Japan, Philippines, Sri Lanka, Nepal, Singapore, Malaysia, all of mainland Southeast Asia – I really hope that I’ll touch ground in all of these places and see, learn, experience, and discover…
It’s been a wonderful 10 days in Yerevan and Armenia filled with unthinkable surprises, fantastical landscapes, hospitable and curious people, encounters with other travellers that I now call my friends, misadventures on marshrutkas, finding random restaurants/cafes/bars/clubs of which the city has no shortage.
I knew little of Armenia before crossing its borders and still feel that I’ve only scratched the surface (like most places I’ve been to, in fact). I’ve been tempted to stay at least to the full term of my 21-day tourist visa, but ultimately, the travel show must go on…
Yes, it’s been superlatively wonderful; days so full of life I couldn’t have imagined when I started travelling four and a half months ago and certainly not when I was processing paperwork in the office even longer ago!
Now, in what is probably my last full day in Yerevan, I relax at an outdoor cafe (it’s a pleasant 28 degrees Celsius with a light breeze) listening to a beautiful singer covering English and Russian pop songs after going on a city-wide quest to buy new shoes! And now, after thinking about the last 10 days or so, I think about the upcoming week: Yerevan – Tbilisi – Belgrade – Kotor … I’m excited!
Irreplicable moment of the day: I’m in a taxi with two Japanese travellers I met atop an abandoned ruin in Mtskheta (just outside of Tbilisi) in order to split the cost of a cab to an ancient church atop a mountain. Our driver is a big, burly Georgian with tattoos of a dagger piercing through a heart, a scorpion, and Georgian characters on his knuckles. Out of nowhere, we hear “Love you like a love song” by Selena Gomez. It’s not the radio, but the driver’s ring tone! He tries to get the phone out of his pocket while negotiating a blind bend up the mountain. I make the sign of the cross with as much fervour as do the Georgians, and somehow all is well as we got to the top and saw views like these:
And this one (I’ll leave it to you to make your own commentary):
Perhaps I’ll go into more detail about my day trip to Mtskheta, but I just wanted to share this weird moment with you. Never forget to appreciate the random things that come your way! Happy travels!
I have had an incredible August so far. Perhaps unusually, the summer has normally been a time where I have worked. In fact, I’ve worked every summer since I’ve been an adult save for one when I was “studying” in Mexico for five weeks in 2007 (“studying” in quotations because really, I don’t remember much studying and remember too much tequila – but that’s another story). This is the first time in the summer since then that I’ve been travelling – and it’s been wonderful and packed with so much more than what I can put into words…
Since leaving Mostar on 4 August until arriving in Tbilisi on 14 August, I’ve gone hiking in the highlands of Bosnia; found some really great nightlife spots in Belgrade; stayed with family in London and was treated to delicious home-made Filipino food; and met up with friends in London, Dusseldorf, and Brussels, grateful for the opportunity to meet up with wonderful people that I met on previous travels last year. But whenever I’ve gotten comfortable in a place, it was time to leave…
Which brings me to Tbilisi – the capital city of Georgia with a population of almost 1.5 million people. For me, Tbilisi has been an incomparable blend of modern and traditional, shiny and glistening to rotten and crumbling, a place where I’ve been the recipient of indecipherable, unstopping stares to receiving some of the warmest hospitality that I’ve ever experienced, and that which transcends the language barriers that certainly exist. Figuring things out for yourself is an outright challenge, as Georgian has its own written script, one which I know only a handful of characters at best. And the most common second language isn’t English – it’s Russian – a language I don’t speak! There’s much to see and do, although I’m content if I leave the hostel some time in the afternoon and walk somewhere that I haven’t yet seen. I’ve been here for five days and don’t yet know when I’ll be leaving, although I know I’ll be coming back at least twice – Tbilisi is pretty central in Georgia and I know I’ll be going to Kazbegi, Batumi, and Armenia some time in the next month and will have to return to Tbilisi before continuing on to my next destination. I’m in the region until mid-September, and I’ve given myself a month to explore the Caucasus, but I certainly don’t think it’s enough time as it is!
I’m staying at a very interesting, laid-back, “homey” hostel a few minutes walk from the central Freedom Square. It’s comfortable and inviting, though doesn’t boast of any eye-popping facilities. It’s gem, though, undoubtedly lies in its guests. There’s an Australian guy that has been here long-term, and by “long-term”, I’m talking about months in the double-digits. There’s also an Iranian guy who’s been here for about a half-year, and a Lebanese girl who arrived earlier this month who’s staying and working here for a couple of months. There’s also an American couple who I think has been here for a week and will be here for another week more. I feel that I’m falling into this realm of a handful of wonderful, incredible human beings with each additional night that I stay here. I want to leave and explore more of the amazingness that I know Georgia has to offer, but for some reason (fatigue? desire for familiarity?), can’t bring myself to pack up my bags and get on a marshrutka (shared mini-bus) and go!
In any case, I know that I’ll have an amazing time, either just “living” in Tbilisi (breathing, cooking, eating, drinking, interneting, meandering) or exploring more of Georgia…
Patrick and the World 