Cultural – aimlessly ali

Mostar now

Bosnia-Herzegovina. Why haven’t I been dreaming about seeing this place before?

I really hadn’t thought of it, and when I was looking at the map before I left for this latest trip my eyes skimmed right over this country. I wanted to see Montenegro and Albania, and maybe Serbia if I could get it squeezed in; Bosnia-Herzegovina wasn’t one that even registered for me. But on my first afternoon in Dubrovnik, though, a quick conversation had me convinced that I should give it a chance.

A couple things I learned on the ride up: before reaching our destination our little tour group of about 16 people would need to pass through customs and border control 3 times, and the same again on the return. I have to admit I’ve gotten kinda used to the European norm or not needing to worry much about borders, but Croatia is part of the European Union while Bosnia and Herzegovina is not. And, there’s a small little section of Bosnia that reaches the coast in between Croatia. I guess this goes back several hundred years: when the Turkish Ottomans ruled Bosnia, they allowed Croatia to continue to run the mines for silver and such on what became their land, in exchange Croatia allowed them seaport access. And it stuck.

Our first stop in Bosnia-Herzegovina was Kravice Falls. A remote area that would be difficult to find on your own if you didn’t already know which little marker to look for leading to the winding rural roads. There’s an entrance fee of 5€ now, but don’t let that deter you. The falls almost sneak up on you from the forested hills, but once you get to the first bend and see the cliffs drop away and hear the rush of the water you wonder how something so incredible could have seemed so hidden a moment earlier. It’s like a mini Niagara Falls in the forest, but with sparkling shades of emerald everywhere instead of city neon lights.

After about an hour spent staring at the falls, it was time to move on again. During the 45 minutes or so that it took to drive to Mostar, the guide told us about what life was like during the war in the ’90s. I still find it hard to wrap my head around the idea that during my idyllic childhood there were people trapped in their city being shot at if they stepped outside, with the food supply so cut many were forced to pick grass after dark to eat in order to survive. The main bridge that the city of Mostar is famous for was bombed and completely destroyed during this war, on November 9, 1993. It had stood connecting the city since its completion by the Turkish Ottomans in 1566, and the destruction was later considered a war crime. The bridge that I saw is an exact replica, built with a few pieces of the original that had been pulled out from the river, completed and opened in 2004.

The city and river and surrounding area is beyond beautiful, and the moody skies just prior to the rain felt exactly right to me after the somber stories I’d just heard. I’m told the river is this colour because of copper minerals in the area. Either way, it’s real and it’s breathtaking.

The reconstruction of an entire city takes time, of course, even during such an ambitious drive such as this country has had. While it’s easy for us tourists to forget the tragic history and simply enjoy the streets of shops and restaurants and dramatic scenery, if you choose to look there are reminders everywhere. Down side streets there are many buildings still in ruin, some in the middle of being renovated and others already given over to the overgrown flora. Bullet holes still visible in many of the walls. It makes me wonder what real, day-to-day life is like here. The half hour we had with a local guide didn’t give much of an answer to that. She spoke about how lucky they were under the socialist rule as part of the former Yugoslavia with almost no unemployment, and free schooling and healthcare. She mentioned briefly that there were tensions, and that because there was no freedom to express oneself publicly, their private activities and faith meant that much more to them as a society. The faiths and culture groups have caused further division, with the Muslims from the 400 years of Turkish rule and the Catholic Croats and Orthodox Serbs in an uneasy union split across the city. Even today, the chipper and cheerful guide said that there is still two of everything in Mostar; you can go to a Muslim hospital or a Catholic one, or school or police force or nearly anything you like. “How wonderful to have two options of everything in such a small city!”

I got the sense that tourists were welcome, and I would highly recommend this area as a stop on your next itinerary. The stalls full of local and handmade goods are great to browse through, with lace and lavender next to Byzantine platters and Turkish lamps or local grappa and of course gelato stands.

Or, the views of the city alone are worth the drive. I’ll leave you with one more image, then I’m off to the next stop!

Gallipoli

This morning I had my heart broken a little more again. You’d think I should know by now, expect it even, as it’s not the first time. But I can’t seem to steel myself and each new experience has my eyes well with tears.

These war memorials get me every time.

Today we’ve just left the area of Gallipoli, now more famous as Anzac Cove. All the Australians on my tour knew of this already, it’s one of their culturally defining moments in history, but this particular battle from WWI was missing my from knowledge. It’s funny how I used to just assume that everything I learned in school was pretty much all there was to know about major world events. Now I know so much more, and am just aware of how clueless I still am.

Difficult terrain added to the troops’ problems

Back in the midst of the war, The Allied forces had a plan to take control of the peninsula and waterway, which would allow them to transport goods to Russia. They assumed if they could take Constantinople (Istanbul), the Ottoman Empire would leave the war and it would have the double effect of allowing their safe access to the Black Sea while weakening the German forces. So the Australian and New Zealand armies, newly formed and training in Egypt, came in to reinforce the British. They landed on a cove near Gallipoli on April 25, 1915. This wasn’t the simple success envisioned, though, and the soldiers were stuck in a tragic torture for months. To make a long story short, it was finally in January 1916 that the remaining Allied fighters were able to be removed to safety. Thousands lost their lives.

Graveyard after graveyard, memorials and tributes march across the land as an emotional contrast to the bright scenery. Lest We Forget feeling even more poignant here, where if it were not for the carefully tended markers the landscape would feel cheery under the bright Mediterranean sunshine.

Hushed and reflective, our group read the names of the soldiers. The epitaphs engraved spoke of bravery, of love, faith, honour, and family; this mixture of pride and devastation did me in and I was thankful for my dark sunglasses to hide my liquid eyes.

At the crest of the hill stands a memorial complex for the Turkish army, who also sustained significant loss of life despite ultimately claiming victory in the months-long battle. On the way up there’s a statue of a Turkish soldier carrying a wounded British soldier to safety. It shows simple human kindness and the respect soldiers had for each other even across the battlefield, though I suspect some might also see it as a subtle testament to the locals’ mastery.

The Turks are very proud of the outcome, and while they acknowledge the horror of that time, their course of history was improved by the Battle of Gallipoli because this is what developed Mustafa Kemal Atatürk as a revered leader. Atatürk ultimately brought reform and independence to Turkey, and was the country’s first president.

While at this memorial, I walked through the recreation of the trenches. Whether from some lingering sense in the air or from Hollywood, I could feel the young soldiers as they walked those same footsteps. Again as always when I’m in locations such as this I am so grateful for the peace I’ve grown up with.

“Those heroes that shed their blood and lost their lives… You are now lying in the soil of a friendly country. Therefore Rest In Peace. There is no difference to us between the Johnnies and the Mehmets to us where they lie side by side in this country of ours… You, the mothers, who sent their sons from far away countries wipe away your tears; your sons are now lying in our bosom and are in peace. After having lost their lives on this land, they have become our sons as well.”

– Atatürk, 1934

Istanbul introduction

Constantinople. Ottoman Empire. Byzantine. Ancient Roman Empire. This all has intrigued me for years and Turkey has always been high on my wish list.

Finally…

I’ve booked a tour from Istanbul that will show me 10 days of highlights from the western side of the country and I am so keen to get started! Right now I’m at the first hotel now after a 2-hour drive from the airport (who knew it was such a huge busy city?! 13 – 16 million citizens) and unfortunately I arrived just too late to meet the group for the initial welcome/introduction. But as it turns out, the 38 people on this tour are mostly Australians living in London. There are a few from New Zealand, and a few more Aussies that still live in Australia. One couple from Paraguay, one from Poland, and me as the sole North American rep. Should be a good time!

My first dinner in the country was a perfect start to set the tone of my travels. I nibbled on a piping hot lamb kebab grilled in a crispy pita wrap and sipped Turkish tea from a delicate fluted glass at an outdoor cafe. Fruit-scented sheesha and melodies from local musicians wafted around me, and I basked in the atmosphere.

I have a bit more time in Istanbul on my own after the tour ends, so I’ll circle back and write about the city then. For this post I’ll just leave off with some visuals for anyone armchair travelling with me.

Stampede City

I’ve said a few times before, I love the city I live in. And this is especially true in the summer. The big blue sky, warm air and sunshine, happy friendly people… what’s not to love?! Also a highlight of the summer – The Calgary Stampede, which is what I’m thinking of today. Every July, the City of Calgary takes 10 days to host the Stampede; billed as “The Greatest Outdoor Show on Earth” Now, Calgarians are generally split into either loving or loathing the Stampede. I imagine it must be similar in the major tourist cities, where locals end up inconvenienced by the swarms of crowds on their streets (Amsterdam, I’m thinking of you here!). I can understand there are some valid reasons a person might not want to be around, so how about I list them quickly, get that out of the way, and then move on to why I love it instead?

So here we go. A mostly-unbiased opinion of the Negatives: For ten days each year,

Downtown is crowded. The trains are packed, parking sucks, and traffic is slow.
Alcohol consumption rockets and public drunkenness becomes normal
Modesty seems to take a break (ummm…. #trampede is a real thing)
Some people think animals are being taken advantage of.

And so here is where I need to vehemently disagree. The rodeo professionals love their animals, and I know absolutely everything is done to protect and care for animals. For example, one year I was behind-the-scenes in the barns with my friend who was hired to massage the chuckwagon horses. Yes, Equine Massage Therapy is a booming industry. And the photo is from this year, where even in the exhibition barns they ensure times throughout the day for the animals to get breaks from all the city slickers gawking.

So maybe you saw those drawbacks, and have decided that’s enough to make you want to run for the hills to avoid it all. That’s ok, may I recommend Jasper or Banff? But if you’re still with me, even for curiosity’s sake, please keep reading.

Personally, I automatically love the Calgary Stampede because of my positive childhood memories. My family would come to the city for a day, and we’d delightfully dizzy ourselves on the fairground rides and cheer my Dad on as he won us plush toys at the carnie games. (To this day, I can’t walk past a ‘strong man’ game without flashing back to him) We’d watch the rodeo and chuckwagon race highlights on tv every night after dinner, crowding around and crowing when our pick did well.

Another reason why the ten days of Stampede are something I look forward to is the camaraderie this city experiences. Picture it a little like Cowboy Christmas; with decorations up at businesses citywide, special music played everywhere, staff parties, and days off from work! Just substitute carols with country twang. Even without entering the Stampede grounds there is a festive feel throughout the city. We get to wear jeans to work almost regardless of industry, and cowboy boots are the exact right accessory to every outfit. My cousin, Erin, demonstrates that perfectly, below.

Erin's Instagram post — erin.slemp: The only place it’s acceptable to wear all denim and eat poutine perogies… #calgarystampede #canadiantuxedo #stampede2018 #calgaryalberta

She brings up another great point: The midway food is an attraction all its own. I personally can’t go without at least one corn dog (battered and in a pickle this year!) and the mini donuts with cinnamon sugar, but I also snarfed down some deep-fried coffee balls, brisket and poutine, and charcoal ice cream.

Much more than the midway, though. The Calgary Stampede is a cultural bridge, reminding us of our heritage as a ranching and rodeo frontier town, as well as the Indigenous roots of the Canadian Prairies. I took some time this year to explore more of that, and I am absolutely in awe the First Nations set up at the Stampede. This is exactly the type of thing I would flock to any time I travel to a foreign country – representation of the uniqueness of the cultural history – and I was awestruck seeing this again from my own hometown.

A quick video clip from my cell phone, so my apologies for the lack of quality production, but I had to show you a snippet of one of the dances. Make sure you have sound on to hear the singers from the drum circle just outside the image.

wow.

You know, this far into the post and I haven’t even scratched the surface yet of everything that’s on offer at the Stampede. Try learning to two-step at one of the beer gardens, attend a concert, watch the rodeo and events, learn about current agriculture, worry about the motocross daredevils hired to entertain, view the incredible western artworks, watch the grandstand show or the marching show band, and go to one of the FREE pancake breakfasts or (and!) BBQ lunches that are everywhere across the city. The list goes on and on. You’ll need to come here and see it for yourself next July.

After ten days of “Yahoo!” excitement, the dust is settling, and the city is returning to a normal urban centre. Boots and hats are tucked far into the back of closets again, safe until next year. We start to pick up on all the work that was missed, but first all the stories are swapped around the water cooler. Love it or hate it, The Calgary Stampede gives everyone a story to tell.

Beaming in Port Barton

Note: I’m behind on my blogging – again. I wrote drafts of several posts while I was travelling, but wasn’t able to post them all during the trip (limited wifi!!). These next few posts are arriving online late, but were mostly written on the road.

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Getting to Port Barton was fun, (well, until it wasn’t… you can read about that in my previous Post) but being in Port Barton – that’s the real story. I found this area accidentally; I’d never heard of it until the day before setting off to get here, and it has me wondering. I wonder to myself “In this modern age of travelling with Google Maps & Instagram Influencers & Bloggers galore who have been everywhere & the Hostelworld app at my fingertips, could I REGULARLY find myself arriving in towns I’ve never heard of until I was almost there?!” Who knows, maybe! After all it’s still a huge beautiful world out there. And I guess I’ll enjoy ‘sometimes’ even if ‘regularly’ doesn’t happen.

I had been sitting around the bar at my hostel in Puerto Princesa looking for a place to stay in El Nido, and not having much luck at all. I was surprised to find that almost everywhere was already fully booked up, and I was beginning to wonder why I was spending all my time on my phone scrolling through places to stay instead of being out doing something more fun. I made a comment to that effect to a traveller next to me, and he said “Oh! You should go to Port Barton before El Nido! I just arrived from there, you’ll love it.” As it turns out, Port Barton is a tiny little town on the cusp of adventure. (In my opinion, both literally and figuratively.) The stunning beachfront with soft deep sand is so inviting, sparkling with the promise of a great day regardless of if you choose to be busy; boating or snorkelling or paddleboarding; or lazy lying on the sand or in a hammock and soaking up the sunshine. And there definitely are signs of tourism catching on. While it still can’t be found on the hostelworld app(*), there are several great options for backpackers to stay. And more being added all the time to keep up with the demand! We stayed in a couple new hostels and were really impressed with the rustic comfort and unique vibe of each place. So lets backtrack again a little so I can relive all the best times.

* At least, not found on the app as of this post. I suspect that changes before long!

Villa Evergreen

cottage

Summer Homes (Beachfront!)

Take a walk along the beachfront and you’ll see fishing boats gently jockeying for space, their anchor ropes cast out to the beach as they hope to reel in tourists now more often than fish I think. Strolling across sand and drinking in the atmosphere is up there among my favourite simple pleasures, and this place doesn’t disappoint! All along are friendly people suggesting options or activities; and yes, I know they’re hawking their businesses but it never felt pressuring or irritating (like I’ve found in some other countries). This felt more like they were suggesting an option to a friend, something I might enjoy if I felt like going, but only if I wanted. I’ve commented on this before in the Philippines and it’s true in this town as well – I got the impression that the locals were just genuinely excited to show the world how great their home is, and as a whole are not trying to just squeeze a buck out of the tourists. I recommend taking up one of those suggestions and booking an island hopping tour, as there are some incredible reefs for snorkelling here. Bright coloured fish darting around the coral, schools of silver fish like a mist passing through, giant sea turtles paddling lazily past, fat starfish settled in near sandbars, and so much more!!

When I’m not busy being deliciously un-busy at the water, I meander around to eat. Everywhere I turn I seem to find another new place serving tantalizing options, from traditional to traveller-trendy. For such a small town the options are vast. One of my favourites in Port Barton is Mojitos Restobar. It’s not on the main street, not on the beach, (though both are full of great places!) instead it’s a gentle hike up through the village and into the jungle. Less than 15 minutes of walking at a leisurely pace, following the signs they have up along the way, is rewarded with Mojitos Restaurant and Bar. I call it a “Tropical-Zen-Party Zone” which sounds like such an oxymoron but somehow still really works.

Mike and I spent a whole afternoon here, chatting with the owner and snacking on incredible fresh pub food. Sounds like another oxymoron but somehow it’s true! And of course, sampling our way through the menu of specialty mojitos. I’m partial to the passion fruit calamansi mojito…. and I’m salivating again just remembering that drink!

Back in town again, the streets transform to a night market, and it’s clearly the place to be to mix with the locals. We watched a high school basketball tournament, shopped for trinkets, and were delightfully bemused with the popup gaming stalls. Like an arcade for kids at a summer fair, but instead of tossing rings to win a plush toy these children were gambling centavos like pros! Reading this, it could sound negative and like the kids are being taken advantage of, but I never got that sense. It seemed like a safe and fun way for the kids to play with their candy allowance.

The next morning Mike and I decided a slow start with breakfast on the beach was just what was needed, and yep, we were right. I think I might have gotten a little sneak-peak of heaven with my mouthful of mango topped pancakes.

Mango cashew pancakes

Coffee!

All this to say: Don’t be surprised if before long your Instagram feed is FULL of #PortBarton from the travel bloggers and Influencers. This is one spot that will be having a major moment on the tourist trail before long. It’s incredible as is, seems to have room to develop and sustain tourism, and has such a special charm that my days here will forever make me smile. You should definitely plan to be here if you’re anywhere near the Island of Palawan!

Grouchy in Paradise

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People talk about getting away from everything, leaving the city and all the noise. I’ve had people ask or tease me about wanting to live in the downtown core of my city at home, saying, “how do you sleep with all that noise?” In our minds, busyness and bustle equals noise. So a retreat in some cozy eco-lodge in the absolute middle of nowhere, with limited electricity even, might seem like a silent paradise.

Well that might be half true.

I’m in a paradise, no doubt about that, but it has been so stinkin’ noisy All. Night. Long. that in my insomniac state has me almost missing my city hum and sirens. Almost…. but as soon as I roll out of bed to engage my other senses – seeing the island’s beauty, tasting fresh fruit and smelling the fragrant flowers growing here, feeling the sand under my toes – I’ll remember how amazing this is to be here. And have a coffee!

I’ve experienced jungle noise before, but I always forget at first how loud the nights are. It’s a whirling swirl of cacophony from the animals all around. Where I am now we have insects buzzing and lizards chirping, birds squeaking and singing and crowing and cawing, dogs barking, monkeys calling, and even the occasional water buffalo lowing. And my own grouchy grumbling. Honestly I’m a little embarrassed at how irritable I’m being. Good thing Mike is sound asleep still and therefore not noticing this scowl I’m wearing, because I don’t have the energy to fashion my face into a smile quite yet.

Might as well get up to catch the sunrise

Mike’s photo of me taking photos. He came to join me for the sunrise

It’s a couple hours later now, and I feel like a new person; or rather, the old me again that’s easily happy about everything. I saw the sunrise over the other islands across the water, went for a walk to explore this enchanting edge of the earth, and am now sitting sipping my first coffee. And I realized again why I always forget the irritation of the noisy nights when I travel to locations like this – because the daylight’s joys overwrite the night’s negatives. Always and every time.

So now properly caffeinated and ready to gush about this location I can’t contain my enthusiasm for Tribal Xperience. Take a look, and I dare you to disagree with me on the perfection of this place. (At least during daylight hours!)

Miss Monkey in a rare capture of calm. I think she likes Mike

Paradise has won me over again, and I’m already feeling a bit sad to leave tomorrow, which is quite the departure from my feelings while I was lying awake in my bed earlier. If I ever get so lucky as to return, I’ll re-read this post first so I remember to pack quality ear plugs!!

Port Barton or Bust

Question: How many people can fit in a jeepney?

Answer: One more. Always one more.

This is another thing I love about travelling – noticing the similarities found amidst all the differences. Taking local transportation today has me thinking of this, and how that same wry joke is used around the globe, the only difference might be to swap out “jeepney” for “tuktuk” / “dalla-dalla” / “micros”. We’re on our way now from Puerto Princesa to Port Barton, and technically in a van rather than a jeepney (though that wouldn’t have had the same ring to start out my post with) but the concept remains the same. After taking a tricycle from the hostel to the station on the outskirts of the city we bought our tickets to Port Barton for only 300 Pesos each and settled into wait for our ride to arrive. When the van did show up, it was already full. We hung back a moment to let the people out, but were instead ushered in. Everyone squashed over another inch and little homemade seats were placed in the aisle between rows. About five minutes of human Tetris ensue inside while luggage is stacked and tied to the top outside the van, but in the end another six adults and a child found a way in and off we go. It’s incredible, and that’s what I’ll keep my focus on rather than the discomfort and potential safety hazards of the upcoming 3 hour journey.

I had a better seat than some – at least mine was cushioned!

The drive is beautiful and I am blissfully alternating between marvelling at the scenery and jotting down thoughts. I have headphones in and am so content I almost forget about the four other strangers sharing my personal space, except when one of us makes the odd comment to another. Between all the lush greenery I watch glimpses of day to day life; farmers working by hand in rice fields, children playing in yards. Or the hues of the blue sky, green palm fronds, bright pastel homes and more blue sea.

Nearly two hours into our journey we turn off the main highway and at the intersection is another backpacker trying to flag down our van. I chuckle to myself as the driver pulls over, expecting him to open the door and show the guy that we’re full. But I forgot that there’s always room for one more. One guy hopped out of his little half-seat and ran around to open the driver’s door, where he wedged himself in between the driver and door! So to keep track, that’s now 19 people in a van designed for 10.

Twenty minutes later and the humour I felt has ratcheted up to tension. The road we turned onto goes inland across to the other side of the island and isn’t paved the whole way, which means a rough bumpy ride across a small mountain range. And since it’s mid-afternoon, the rain has started. Sheets of rain torrent down on us and the road became a slick muddy river. So picture this with me: an overloaded vehicle navigating the rain on a nearly washed out single lane, two way road clinging around a mountain side. I’m almost happy I can’t see out the window anymore, as I’m sure the vision of the looming landslide above and below our little trail would really scare me.

I’ll distract myself now with thoughts of some other transport stories…. while in Puerto Princesa the best way to get around is on a tricycle, as I’d mentioned earlier. A metal frame just large enough for two people is welded to a motorcycle, often a small Honda trail bike about 150cc. (-ish…. I don’t know much about bikes so I’m guessing off what I might’ve heard Mike say earlier). Every time we’d step outside the hostel several of these tricycles would be waiting to whisk us off to wherever we needed to go for 40-60 Pesos per person. I asked once if I could snap a quick photo before we set off, and the driver nodded his consent, then kinda edged a bit closer in. I picked up on the hint and asked if I could take another with him in it as well and he flashed a huge smile as he posed, grabbed his friend for another photo, and by then the third guy ran up to be included as well. Young men mugging for my camera – I couldn’t help but give a delighted giggle before we set off on our way!!

Back to the present now, and we’re pulling up to a stop at our destination. I’m so relieved we made it on one piece, I don’t even mind that we now need to walk in the rain, with our backpacks, to the other side of the town searching for our next hostel.

All in a day’s adventure.

Pouring rain when we arrived at the village

Mike with Jimmy, who showed us the best stalls in town to wait out the worst of the rain

Cebu City Faux Pas

Arriving at the hotel in Cebu City completely exhausted, I feel like I couldn’t stand up another second longer when the key to the room is handed over. We finally arrived around 7am local time on Friday morning, and considering the roughly 26 hours on the go and the 15 hour time difference I was ready to collapse the second my bed was in sight. But it’s worth it!

Two and a half hours later I’m wide awake again and buzzing with excitement to get out and explore. I think that may have been the deepest sleep I’ve had in recent memory, and I wake up after that nap feeling completely rested and re-energized. Unfortunately, Mike’s still sawing logs… not that I can blame him – he’s not used to lack of sleep the way I am. Trying to keep quiet and not disturb him, I distract myself with my emails and writing for as long as I can sit still, then tiptoe to my backpack and dig out my running shoes. I am convinced that a solid workout is my best way to tackle the jet lag, so off I go.

Our hotel in Cebu has a lovely little pool, and I chose here as our starting-off point exactly for this: it’s nice to have the first day of vacation free to lay around, and preferably on pool loungers basking in the tropical sunshine!

This isn’t my photo – I took it from the hotel’s Instagram **@questhotelcebu** (Somehow I was too busy enjoying the sunshine and a novel to take any photos!)

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It’s the next day now, and I’m back at an airport waiting for a domestic flight to Palawan…. the seemingly endless delays are handy, at the very least, for me to be able to jot down the day.

Cebu is in the middle of a party as we arrived – it’s the Sinulog festival this weekend and everywhere I look there are bright flags and artwork decorating the streets; a distinctive drum-and-xylophone song being played on a seemingly endless loop with costumed dancers weaving through the crowds. Speaking of crowds, we hadn’t realized just how much that would be when we set out to explore after breakfast. I guess our first clue should have been that the roads where we were headed were being closed to vehicles… but we didn’t know what we were getting into and set off anyway to see San Pedro’s Fort and Magellan’s Cross for a bit of local history.

Trying to get back in time for our flight was a bit of a challenge as well, as of course by then the streets were entirely closed to traffic. Mike’s Google Map said it would be about a 35 minute walk so that didn’t seem too bad, and we set off. Somehow, and honestly I’m still not even sure how we did this, we found ourselves walking upstream against the parade the whole time, even when we tried to veer off to other streets. Actually, parade’s not even the right word – procession. Which makes me feel even worse… we’re very sorry for any offence we might have shown. We at least stopped and faced with the crowds when we noticed a holy image being carried. It was beautiful, though, and a very humbling experience witnessing the devotion of so many Catholics.

That 35 minute walk took us almost an hour and a half; where we uttered sorry/pardon me/excuse us please/I’m so sorry probably about a hundred gazillion times.

Cebu seems like a really great city, full of a very friendly population and some fun historical sites, but I’m really looking forward to getting out and on to the beaches of other islands!

AirAsia from Cebu to Puerto Princesa late at night

Soaring Away (Happily)

My soul is tethered to a sail, I think. I feel a tug to follow the wind wherever it may go. There are times of course where that sail is rolled away and stowed, when I need to focus on people or life at home but that connection never severs; waiting, hibernating. And when my soul’s sail unfurls and that rush catches me I can’t help but want to seek out every edge of the earth.

Right now I’m in the Philippines on the island of Palawan, a place that easily lives up to its reputation as The Most Beautiful Island in the World. To say that I’m happy right now is such an obvious understatement it’s almost silly, but there you have it. I’m happy here.

I’ve been anticipating this trip for a long time, as months ago I’d found an incredible deal on flights and bought two tickets on the spot before my brain could tell me not to. I wasn’t sure who my travel companion would be but I was willing to bet I could talk someone into going with me; either that or I’d go alone again since the cost of two tickets was still less than I’d been expecting to spend on only one. And, again, I’m happy with how it’s worked out now that my boyfriend, Mike, decided to leap into travelling with me. He might not have been certain at first on the idea of being on the other side of the world with me but he’s been great – always up for adventure and willing to look for the positives in any situation.

It’s early morning as I write this post, and I’ve been sitting at a small table in the sunny courtyard of the hostel. A few minutes ago a little boy walked up to me to show me something. I smiled at him and was expecting to have to try to kindly tell him I wasn’t buying anything, but he just wanted to show me his toys. In a moment he was sitting down and playing beside me. Happiness personified in a sweet little face, even though he was more interested in playing with the camera than smiling for it.

Yesterday Mike and I were able to see a little more of Palawan when we joined a day trip tour to an underground river. The scenery was spectacular, and while I sat in the canoe marvelling at the mangroves surrounding us the guide would point out something new to notice every few minutes. I loved how proud he was to show us a bit of his world. In fact, I was impressed all around with how well the community of Puerto Princesa has worked to develop sustainable tourism. I don’t know with any certainty but it feels like this area has tried to learn from its other SE Asia neighbours and avoid some of the problems that have plagued other top destinations. I think it’ll be successful, and I hope more people are able to come experience Palawan.

How lucky am I that I’m able to soar away with the wind like this? To see the kinds of places filled with a kind-hearted population like this? This wind in my sails is calm and steady again as I contentedly coast along here in the Philippines.

Little Trips

I’ve been feeling a little mopey about the fact that I haven’t been travelling lately, and can give about a hundred reasons why “I deserve” to feel this way… (just look at what I was doing a year ago!) but then it was pointed out to me that it’s not an entirely true fact that I haven’t travelled – more so an opinion of mine. And so, I guess I have to admit that yes, I did spend a week the Dominican Republic, then a day in Panama, and weekends in Vegas, Jasper, and Seattle. Fine – if we’re going to get technical I supposed I still have had a pretty great summer adventuring around. Why is it that I always feel the need to see more, go further, lose myself somewhere new?? (I could easily spiral into all sorts of ridiculous thoughts like; ‘My identity is a traveller: therefore do I lose my identity and fade away when I’m not away?’)

Glossing right past the silly existential questions for now, I want to share some of the moments that stood out for me this summer. My most recent jaunt was to Seattle for a quick work event, and while I won’t bore you with those details I will tell about my day exploring Seattle’s famous sights. I may have a grownup job now but I still really enjoy my aimless explorations, and so when I travel on my own I very happily throw planning aside just to see what comes my way. I chatted with the hotel clerk and found out that I could take the free shuttle to the airport, then hop on the train from there to the centre where I would find the city’s highlights, so that’s exactly where I started. Stop number one for me was the famous Pike’s Place Market. I knew it was busy, but I have to admit some shock at JUST HOW BUSY it is! I did a bit of digging after, and discovered that it’s in the top 40 destinations by visitor number in the whole world. Crazy! ( Tourism stats ) I liked seeing it, though, even if I was almost equally amazed by the people watching as I was by the oldest continuously operated farmers market in the US. My wanders took me through the market, along the piers, downtown to coffee shops, past the Space Needle and back to the water. It’s a pretty city indeed on a sunny August day!

Seattle Market

Totem Pole

Pacific Northwest

Moving back in time, I had a previous work event that brought me to Las Vegas. I’ve been there several times before so this didn’t hold the same wonder and awe for me, but I still had a great time walking the famous strip after dark to marvel at the neon lights, and sitting by the pool with a novel the next morning before my flight home.

New York, New York Las Vegas

Ali for Avionco

More exciting for me was July and exploring my own ‘backyard’ in Alberta. Have you ever been to Jasper before? It’s stunning. You should plan a visit. Even though it’s an easy and scenic 5 hour drive from my front door, I haven’t been since childhood – I generally go to Banff instead, less than 2 hours away from me. But a long weekend camping trip in the cutest little cabins has me convinced I’ll be back again!

Jasper Cabins

Squirrel!

Hiking forest trails

Continuing in my July adventures at home, I took in some time at the Calgary Stampede. If this is something else you haven’t heard of, look it up and plan to come. It’s a huge city-wide party, a cultural homage to our heritage, a thrilling competition and vibrant midway all packed together. ( Calgary Stampede ) And I just love it!

Authentic Tipis

Midway ferris wheel at dusk

Night on the Midway

Prior to all this I kicked off my summer 2017 down South with a little quality beach time. Thankfully my cousin decided to get married in the Caribbean so I had a chance to visit Punta Cana, Dominican Republic. I wouldn’t typically chose to go to an All-Inclusive resort, but I was thrilled with the chance to go and celebrate with family and friends. So often I’m alone when I’m away from home and this made it an extra fantastic treat to be in the middle of a huge group of friends this time. And now if I ever go to resorts again, I know I’ll want about 40 people I adore there with me. At least.

Photo by Dan, I think

Also my birthday – celebration breakfast

Photo by Dan

Beautiful resort

Caribbean style

Going into this week in Punta Cana, I knew that this would be my last trip with the freedom to just book my own employee-pass standby flights, so I wanted to make the most of it. I didn’t know exactly how I’d be getting home until the day prior – when I saw that I could fly directly to Panama. OF COURSE that called my name! Spending time in Panama would mean that I’ve been to each of the North American/Central America countries and I just couldn’t resist. (and, I plan to celebrate that milestone again if I ever go to each Caribbean nation. I haven’t done that yet!) I didn’t have long, but I made the most of it in Panama by choosing a charming hostel in the Casco Viejo Old Town in central Panama City. This is the epicentre of the tourism in the city and gave me the freedom to walk and explore. I loved walking along the bay and taking in the contrast between the glittering new high-rises and the old Latin/Spanish legacy.

Perfect morning

Casco Viejo morning

Pretty good for only 14 hours in the country, hey? I hope I get a chance to go back and see more of Panama.

So looking back with a little more gratitude, I can clearly see that I had a great summer and even one worthy of dusting off my travel blog. But let me tell you, I have higher hopes for my fall!

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