Look forward to spring.

So long summer.

Yes, it’s true. Summer is over. Fall has set in, and soon the leaves will turn and blow away, the grass will go dormant and brown, and cold air will chill our bones. Let’s not even discuss snow. I have only recently returned to the north and I am not ready to talk about it. I'm holding on to summer for as long as I possibly can. I know many people love autumn: the colors, the pumpkins, the cooler temperatures. I would, but it's just a doorway to winter so I don't enjoy it as much as I should. I can't quite let go. Hey, only about five and a half months until MLB spring training starts! Woo hoo! 

See?  Can't let go. 

Cheers to you, summertime. And cheers to the products of your perfect days.

Just remember, it is always summer somewhere. If you really need a flower fix, some sunnier, less slushy weather, some reminder that spring will come again, take a trip to warmer climes! Plan a trip during the upcoming cold season and look forward to an early summer. Bathe in the sun. Warm your toes in the sand. Sweat your butt off on a hike in the rainforest. Heck, you may want to escape to different snow so you can swish-swish-swish down the side of a mountain. Whatever warms your heart during a long winter, take advantage of what the rest of the world has to offer. Or, if you're like me this winter, just remember to layer! And before you know it, those flowers will be blooming again. 

Don't let go, Part 4.

When wanderlust grabbed my good friend Ana Maria, and propelled her into making plans to visit the U.S. from Spain earlier this year, I thought “Good for you, amiga!” I was even more excited when she divulged that she would be ending her road trip in Houston, where I was living at the time.

Ana Maria has traveled all over the world, really and truly. For her work and because she is also a wanderer. This trip began in Las Vegas, where she rented a car and drove through the American Southwest, visiting national parks such as Zion, Arches, and the Grand Canyon. She also spent time in Santa Fe, New Mexico and Fredricksburg, Texas. She hiked, explored, took a helicopter ride, snapped photographs, and stayed in charming bed and breakfasts (and yes, she traveled by herself – because she also believes that adventure waits for no one!). Then she wrapped up her U.S. trip in Houston, to be the maid of honor in her Venezolana friend’s wedding, and also to stay with me. ¡Qué emoción! It had been 16 years!

Here is Ana Maria entering Zion, her adventures in the southwest just beginning.

AnaMa and the Grand Canyon.

Sometimes there are people in your life who are good friends for a brief time, but then when time and space grows between you, you lose touch. You may see them again, but it is never quite the same. Or you may not ever see them again – they just remain part of your memories. And then there are friends who will always be your friends. You can talk to them no matter what is going on. You can connect with them even when you haven’t talked to each other much over the span of time. You fall into easy conversations, about anything. You trust them. You laugh with them. It is like no time has passed. Everything else changed, but not your friendship.

That is how it was with Ana Maria and me when we saw each other again in Houston last April. Older, maybe wiser, with totally different life experiences, but still relating to each other. We just talked and talked and talked. We took walks in lush green neighborhoods and ate Mexican food. We went to Galveston Island and tried Cajun food, walked on the beach, and ate decadent desserts at Sunflower Bakery. AnaMa made me arepas, one of my favorite foods from Venezuela – kind of like corn cakes, with yummy, gooey melted white cheese inside. I introduced her to peanut butter on toast. She had become a big fan of peanut butter during her stay in Connecticut, but had never had it for breakfast on toast. And she loved it.

Despite my aversion to eating any kind of critters,
I encouraged Ana Maria to try some Cajun-prepared
crawfish. She dug right in and thought they were delicious.

We had a fantastic time, which wasn’t all that surprising I suppose. Ana Maria is a wonderful person, with an incredible outlook on all things. Our reunion was fabulously fun.

It is a great lesson in this world of ginormous divisions that two people, from different countries and backgrounds, with different experiences and personalities, can actually have so many things in common. When the smoke clears from your hectic life (in this case cigarette smoke), and you slow down for a minute, you can sometimes find an amazing friend who will not just be a part of your memories, but a part of your present and future, too.

See you in Madrid, AnaMa!

Don't let go, Part 3.

Through the good-bye tears in Connecticut, Ana Maria invited me to come to Venezuela to visit her and her family that summer. Since I was in a graduate program for Latin American and Caribbean Studies, I jumped at any chance I had to travel to the region. Top that with a big dollop of fresh and fun friendship, and it was impossible to say no. 

It was a changing time in Venezuela. The presidential elections were just around the corner, and one of the candidates, Hugo Chavez, was making waves. Crime was high, and most people I met had been robbed at gunpoint at least once. One of Ana Maria’s friends had been robbed, then thrown in the trunk of a car and left somewhere outside of his city – alive thankfully. But still ... holy crap!

Since Ana Maria had to work most days, I went with her back to her office after lunchtime. Lunch breaks outside the U.S. are the way lunch breaks should be: substantially long. She had enough time to drive all the way home, have a nice lunch, and even rest a little before being expected back at the office. I would return with her, and then venture to el Museo de Bellas Artes (Fine Arts Museum). I explored the museum, and also really enjoyed an afternoon snack of torta tres leches (three milk cake) y un café venezolano (strong-ass Venezuelan coffee; "espresso" to us North Americans) in the cute museum cafe with counter seating.

Initially, I didn’t do much more than that the first few days. And I started to get antsy. I wanted to explore more. But my hosts were afraid for my safety – a reasonable fear, although I did not share it at the same level. I was a giddy traveler, eager to explore and see everything and anything. My brain had no room for fear.

To alleviate the ants in my pants, Ana Maria’s parents took me to a nearby town one afternoon: Colonia Tovar, Germany ... er, I mean Venezuela. It just looks like a European town. Alpine-style buildings lining the hilly streets. Many blonde, blue-eyed people who are not tourists or transplants. Colonia Tovar was settled by Germans in 1843 and the obvious influence is why the town is such a tourist attraction and why it is called “the Germany of the Caribbean.” I don’t recall there being much for this vegetarian to eat in Colonia Tovar at the time, which was unfortunate. But even more unfortunate were the dead pigs hanging from meat hooks in a cafe where we stopped. Let’s just say it was not as enjoyable for me as was the architecture you can see here. Ana Maria’s parents evidently still make fun of me for my reaction to the aforementioned lunchmeat situation. Ha ha. So funny.

Another day I insisted on going back to El Hatillo, a cute part of Caracas Ana Maria had taken me to earlier. I told her I would take a bus -- I was determined to go. But because of the safety issues, she took me herself at lunchtime and arranged to have her friend pick me up later in the day. I wandered the quaint and colorful streets, shopped in some local stores, and relaxed in a cafe overlooking the town square. When AnaMa’s friend Barbara got there, she found me in a large store filled with locally made ceramic espresso cup sets. I spent an exorbitant amount of time there, trying to find something for myself. I finally decided on a set of four little light blue espresso cups, with a little light blue creamer and a little light blue sugar bowl that fit on a little dark wood tray. All little for the little amount of Venezuelan coffee necessary to keep you up for approximately 18 hours straight.

Ana Maria also took me on some road trips. We went to Puerto La Cruz, a beach town east of Caracas. We stayed with one of her friends and took a water taxi to a nearby island to enjoy the sun and sand. We also drove to Isla de Plata, on a windy road that brought us to a port town where we took a boat to a secluded island beach. Beautiful white sand, turquoise water, cute local kids running around, playing soccer in the sand. And yes, I have photos. Unfortunately, like most of my travel photos before the digital age, they are all in storage (sorry). And also unfortunate is the fact that I cannot find a thing online about this place, so no mini-geography lesson either. I honestly have no idea where the heck Isla de Plata in Venezuela is (do you?). But it is lovely. And we had a lot of fun road tripping and relaxing by the sea.

I was fascinated with Caracas, the nearby beaches, the beautiful mountains, the German town, the beach towns. The coffee was amazing (and eye opening as I previously mentioned), the people were nice, the weather was great, and it was impossible for me to feel scared or threatened. Of course, I was cautious (always am – read here and here). But one thing is sure, no one knew at that time how severely Venezuela would change in just a few short months.

After that trip, Ana Maria and I stayed in touch, some times more often than others. Shortly after Chavez became El Presidente, she moved to Spain. And she’s been there ever since. And no, Part 4 will not be about me visiting Spain, because that unfortunately has not happened yet.

But do stay tuned ... 

Don't let go, Part 2.

I hate cigarettes. I hate what they do to health. I hate that they are so addictive. And I hate the smell. But were it not for cigarettes, I perhaps would not have become friends with Ana Maria, the dear friend I mentioned last month (see here).

I honestly do not remember our first-time-meeting very well (or at all), but Ana Maria reminded me of the event when I recently saw her. We were next-door neighbors in the small, shoe box graduate dorms at the University of Connecticut. I was working on a Master’s degree, and Ana Maria was a student from Venezuela studying English at the UConn American English Language Institute (UCAELI).

Upon moving in, I was trying to get used to being back in school after a few years since undergrad, and getting accustomed to life in such small quarters. Evidently, one evening I smelled cigarette smoke, and since we were in a non-smoking dorm, went next door to confront the smoker. The smoker was Ana Maria and this was apparently our first meeting. As I said, I do not remember that, although it sounds feasible because I do hate smoke and I’m not afraid to bitch about it. Needless to say, neither one of us had a shining first impression of the other, she the inconsiderate smoker, me the inconsiderate complainer. But first impressions be damned! 

After that, Ana Maria and I would run into each other in the bath/shower room in the evening. We washed our faces and brushed our teeth, and with the smoking confrontation over with, would chat. I always like meeting people from other countries (as I have mentioned in other posts – see here, here and here) and was intrigued that she was from South America and learning English. I would sometimes help with her homework and she would help me with my Spanish. I met her friends from the language program, I attended some of their events and parties, and she went with me to New Hampshire to visit my parents. I learned about Venezuela from her. She learned more about the nonsensical English language (e.g. there, their, they’re) and the U.S. from me. We had become great friends that semester, and when it was over, and I moved out of the dorm and Ana Maria prepared to return to Venezuela, we were big babies and cried as we said our good-byes. 

But we had plans to see each other soon. Very soon.

To be continued ... 

Don't let go, Part 1.

I am once again bombarded with too much to do in too little time. I planned to write about my amazing friend, Ana Maria, who just visited me from Spain. But I do not have time, nor will I for a while. I am going to post a photo of her visit now, and write more about AnaMa’s travels, and mine, at a later date.

Cheers!

¡Saludos! 

Don't forget.

It's been a tough few weeks, so I am posting this as a reminder to myself ... and to you.

"We live in a wonderful world that is full of beauty, charm and adventure. There is no end to the adventures we can have if only we seek them with our eyes open." 
- Jawaharlal Nehru

To the next adventure!

Pay it forward.

In this blog, I have written about meeting people when traveling (see here and here). I have also written about a trip to Norway and making my dad jump off a train (stationary, not moving!) here. I wrote about amazing friends hosting me in other countries (see this post). But today I want to write about when you are a host to a foreign guest; when your land is strange and new to someone.

About a year ago, I played host to friends from Norway (I did mention this a bit in this post). My friend, Mariann, is from Norway and we met over 20 years ago when she was studying in the U.S. We stayed in touch all these years and when my father and I planned our big trip to Norway, she and her family were a huge reason the trip was so amazing. (You can read all about it - not just the train part - in this post). One of the wonderful people we met on that trip was Mariann’s father, John. A big bear of a man, John could talk about anything. He was more in tune with U.S. politics and current events than most people in the U.S. are. He had a great sense of humor and a penchant for debate.

Unfortunately, in July of 2012, John passed away. I got the email from Mariann and could just feel her sadness through her written words. But what could I do? I couldn’t go sit with her, or listen to her, or even attend the funeral. I sent a card, but that wasn’t enough. When John was first starting his career after graduate school in New York City – and when Mariann was a baby – he became a professor at the University of Texas in Austin. He, his pregnant wife, and baby daughter moved to Austin and lived there for a few years. Since I was in Austin at the time of his passing, I thought I would contact the university and see if they had a way for us to plant a tree or something in his memory. That is how I found out about UT Remembers Day.

UT Remembers is a special day the university plans for the loved ones of those who have died in the previous year. They have a whole day of events, including a special ceremony. I found out they send invitations, so I asked them to send one to my friend and to her mother in Norway. I just thought they would like that John’s name would be on the list for the ceremony. But instead, when they got the invitation, they were moved to tears and Mariann’s mother and sister planned to come and participate in the UT Remembers day! I was shocked, but so happy. And so excited to help them make their plans.

A few short weeks later, the three of them showed up: mother (Jorunn), sister (Pernille), and sister’s 10-year-old son (John Gudbrand). I was so excited to be hosting them. I introduced them to Texas BBQ (even though I am vegetarian!) – which they said was their favorite meal, and also had them try breakfast tacos, which they initially thought sounded strange. I took them out to Lake Travis where they had lived for a while, and we ended up at a neighborhood picnic with some of the neighbors from way back then. We went to the church where Pernille was baptized. We went to hear live music at Gruene Hall. But most importantly, we went to UT Remembers Day.

It was a beautiful day. It started off rather cold, but luckily got warmer because the Norwegians had only brought clothes for Texas warmth. The sun was shining, but not burning. And the family enjoyed and appreciated every part of what had been planned by the university. My father and I went with them to the ceremony in the Tower Garden in the afternoon. It was perfect, not too long, bagpipe procession, touching readings, lovely music, and the reading of the names and the tolling of the Tower Bell. It was moving and full of class. Really well done.

Here are my friends, including John,
back in the day, on Lake Travis. 

After the ceremony, a professor who had worked with John came over to talk to Pernille and Jorunn. I know they loved that, and the professor even had some papers John had worked on during his time there. And on that day in Norway, Mariann and the rest of the family flew the U.S. flag at half-mast. It was all just very nice and lovely.

But it was more than the ceremony for them. It was seeing this place they hadn’t seen for over 40 years. It was stepping back in time and remembering all the wonderful things that happened when they lived there. It was remembering how much John loved the U.S. and Texas and how his daughter who was born there still felt that sense of pride, even from so far away. She finally had a chance to connect with this place, a place that meant so much to her father, and that still meant so much to her mother on this trip. Her mother felt all these things came together perfectly for the trip, and it made it easy and special to honor and remember her husband.

Texas BBQ ... awww yeah!

Visitors from Norway and me at UT.

John Gudbrand and me up in the UT Tower.

There are some trips that are a break from the chaos of everyday life, and a chance to escape from the “normal.” There are some where the focus is architecture, art, or history. There are some that are about gastronomic pleasures and wine tasting. But there are a few that go beyond all that. The trip I took to Norway with my dad was very special, on so many levels. So playing host to my friend’s family was an honor really, and a complete pleasure. We had so much fun and I loved being the conduit to revisiting some special places. If I ever again have the opportunity to help someone make a special trip to where I am living, I will jump on it. After all the hospitality I have received abroad and in the U.S., it is only right that I pay it forward somehow, some way. If you have encountered similar assistance while traveling, consider doing the same for someone when you are home. It is almost as great as – if not better than – taking a trip yourself. 

Check out your own backyard.

I have not been able to travel abroad for a while, but I am having fun reacquainting myself with the Texas Gulf Coast. If you have never been, here are some things you might see:

Horses. Yes, you can see horses pretty much anywhere.
But these are TEXAS horses.

Rice University in Houston: beautiful campus,
amazing live oak trees in that part of the city.

The Beach (Galveston)! I've heard some people complain
that it isn't white sand. Who cares?! It's the beach!!
And on this day, I had it all to myself.

Palm trees swaying in the gulf breeze.

And then there are alligators. I saw one last
weekend while walking this very trail.
It was on the other side of the water, so
I couldn't get a good photo (on the plus side,
I also couldn't get eaten).

Be reminded.

The other day I went outside and thought, “It feels like Guatemala.” Now, I’m in Texas at the moment, where temperatures reach sweltering heights during the summer and the humidity makes you sweatier than a high school football team. But that is summer. Winter is a whole other story and a big reason many of us northern-folk migrate to the south. It can be amazing, spring-like, sunny, warm but not too warm, clear, dry, refreshing. Beautiful. Perfect. That is what the highlands of Guatemala felt like during the day most of the time I was there (nights, not so much as you can read here). And when the weather is just so, like it was the other day, it doesn’t just feel like Guatemala; I feel like I’m there. Just for a second.

If you’ve traveled, especially to places mostly different from your own, this phenomenon might happen to you as well. I call it the “wish you were there” virus. But it is not a bad virus. It is a bit of longing, mixed with nostalgia, swirling around your ever-present desire to roam the earth. When you are going through your day, commuting, working, shopping, cooking, cleaning, and all the other responsibilities you may have, sometimes a distant Guatemalan-like breeze blowing your hair as it pushes the faint smell of burning wood toward you is kind of nice. It’s a bit sad. But it’s mostly nice.

Sunny blue sky, short sleeves, sandals ... what better way to illustrate nice weather?
This is my dad and me in Antigua, Guatemala on a beautifully perfect day.

You may not have any idea what I’m talking about. That’s okay. But someday, when you’re somewhere quite different, or when you’ve been somewhere quite different, you may find yourself being reminded of that different place by the smallest thing: the smell of fresh bread, the sound of a bicycle bell, the wet air of a mid-summer thunderstorm. Your experience at home has changed because you have felt it in a different place. It is no longer just a snack, a sound in the street, a natural occurrence. It’s a memory, fastened to your brain, stimulating your smile muscles from time to time. You can’t forget. Nor do you want to. 

Happy travels to you.

The year is coming to a close and at such a busy time, I will simply share this with you:

“Travel is more than the seeing of sights; it is a change that goes on, deep and permanent, in the ideas of living.” – Miriam Beard

Granada, Nicaragua

May the new year bring you wonderful new adventures, wherever you go.
Thanks for reading! 

Just go!

When you travel in Latin America, especially if you are not a luxury traveler, you gotta leave the little girl pants at home. No, I am not going to talk about travel clothes again (did that here). I am talking about realizing that you are going to come across things that are very different, perhaps seemingly avoid-worthy as you traverse the region, so you just have to deal with these things. This has been discussed in previous blog posts (see here, and here, and also here), but I am going to address it again, on a smaller scale.

I briefly mentioned the rain in Xela, Guatemala in a previous post (check it out here), and that although it was the dry season while I was there, when it rained, it rained a lot. Buckets. Cats and dogs. Insert other incomprehensible English colloquialism here.

On one such a day, I had to get back to work after lunch. It was raining relatively hard, but I had my rain jacket and an umbrella. I took my usual route and when I got to the strange street (mentioned in this post here; I am posting the photo again below), there wasn’t just a wet road and some puddles. There was a waterfall. A dirty, fast moving waterfall. I was getting wet despite my wet weather gear, but this was going to soak my shoes. And socks. And perhaps all 52 bones in my two feet. More importantly, I was going to fall on my ass.

I stood there, underneath my umbrella, for at least ten minutes, pondering what to do. I didn’t know another route. All routes I took led to the waterfall street. I could go back to the house, call my boss, and tell him I couldn’t get back to the office. I didn’t really want to do that. But I didn’t want to get washed away either. 

As I was thinking, observing, brainstorming to find a way to get down this crazy hill, two old ladies walked by and just stepped down the waterfall. Zippity-doo, down they went. Just like that. Like they had done it a thousand times, knew where to step without losing a shoe, and it was no big deal. That is all it took to snap me out of my caution-addled thoughts and get down the waterfall. If two little old ladies could do it, so could I!  I tried to step where they did, and guess what! I didn’t fall or get washed away. I got incredibly wet, but I already was incredibly wet. 

What is the point of this story?

If you don’t know where to turn, follow your elders, as they are wise to the ways of the river.

Or:

Standing around thinking too much will get you nothing but wet.

Or:

Don’t be such a chicken – put on your big girl pants and just go!

Follow your bliss.

Here in the U.S., it is major league baseball playoffs time. My beloved Boston Red Sox are in a nail biting series with the Detroit Tigers right now for the American League pennant. I haven’t really had easy access to television all summer, so I haven’t been watching like I usually do. But last night I ventured out to a bar in El Lago, Texas to watch a game, in a place devoid of Red Sox fans (except for the bartender who was actually from Boston). And it was a fairly crappy game, from my standpoint at least. We lost. No one cared but me. I felt so alone.

I am a baseball fan. I am not obsessively so, but I enjoy it a lot and have since I was a kid. Although I have seen many games at all levels here in the U.S., I have not yet seen a professional baseball game in Central America, despite its popularity there. But it is something I would really like to do. 

Although not professional, this is a baseball (or maybe
softball) game I watched in Nicaragua. 

Not too many women watching this game, but that's okay.
I tried to keep my swearing down to a minimum.

I went to a semi-professional soccer game once in Costa Rica and I was glad to be with a group of people, including some guys, because it was a bit rowdy. A huge majority of the crowd were male. And a huge majority of those males were stinkin’ drunk. They were yelling profanities at regular intervals, never anything too creative, but as a student in a beginning Spanish class at the time, I quickly learned the term “hijo de puta.” That was their favorite by far.

I imagine a baseball game may be similar. (I found this guy’s blog and he has a baseball post that is super interesting, so check it out here. It is very guy-centric, but from what he wrote, so was his experience. The bathroom scene is a bit disturbing.) Nevertheless, I think it would be an interesting cultural experience that would tie my own interests to a popular past time in a country I am visiting. You can do this with anything really.

If you are a crafty kinda gal, then find a way to watch local artisans create their wares. Sometimes you can even take classes, e.g. weaving classes in Guatemala are popular. If you love to bake things, learn how to bake something popular from where you are visiting while you are there, from a local. If you take pleasure in drinking a couple beers now and then (while you watch baseball perhaps), go to a local brewery – or at the very least, try all the local beers. I like the beer in Central America, but even if you don’t, at least try it so you can find out. I can also be convinced to try new cocktails (as I mentioned here). If you delight in gardening, find out about local vegetation, get a guide or visit with a local garden club during your travels. There are countless possibilities.

Maybe all this is obvious, but a lot of times we are too busy on trips to make a personal connection with what goes on in a new country. Either our schedules are too full of visiting the usual touristy things, or we are so overwhelmed by it all that we just can't make a personal connection with life in this different place. It doesn't have to be a profound connection. But you can enjoy your past time or your hobby or your bliss in a completely different way. Heck, you may enjoy it more in another country. You just never know where following your bliss might lead you. 

Take a walk.

In my second post for this blog, I extolled the virtues of comfortable but sturdy shoes (see that post here). In another post, I encouraged you to wander around new places, get lost and just enjoy what you see along the way (see that one here). Today I am going to suggest that if you are planning a trip to Latin America (or elsewhere), get your butt moving now. Literally. Be ready to walk. There are mass transit systems in many Latin American cities, there are taxis that are very inexpensive compared to the U.S., and there are the legendary and amazingly cheap buses (discussed a bit here). But you are still going to be walking a lot. It’s just the way it is.

I think it is probably pretty universal knowledge that in the U.S., people like their cars. Sure, there are several cities where you don’t need to own a car to get around, like New York, Washington D.C., and Boston. But by and large, people are driving. Even if they are taking a train into work, most people have a car.

If you so desire, when you are traveling you can also drive by renting a car. But I have never done that when in another country. I always rely on others to drive me where I need to go, i.e. bus drivers, taxi drivers, or friends with cars. I just don’t want the hassle when I’m trying to see as much as possible in the time I have to experience a place. I like taking cheap taxis and practicing my Spanish with the taxi driver. I like taking buses (sometimes!) and people watching and looking out the window at the scenery. I like checking out different subway systems so crowded they remind me of the “T” at Kenmore after a Red Sox game. But mostly I like to walk.

As you have read in my blog before, “It’s part of the experience.” When you are walking, you are rubbing elbows with the locals. You are walking on their streets, passing their front doors, catching glimpses into their homes, smelling dinner as the aroma wafts from an open kitchen window. You get that while on your feet, not behind the wheel of some rental car.

Walking is not always easy at first, especially when the altitude is higher than home. I have mentioned high altitudes before (here). In Quito, Ecuador, I had about a 25-minute walk to the Spanish school I was attending. But I could not walk at the speed I usually did. I got out of breath really quickly because of the altitude (9350 feet/ 2800 m), which was quite a change from the 607 feet (185 m) in Connecticut, where I was living at the time.

It was also challenging in Xela, Guatemala, where the elevation at its lowest point is about 7655 feet (2330 m). With all the walking I did, up and down hills, to and from the center of town, sometimes twice a day, I was really getting in shape. Of course, you can only really prepare for a higher altitude by being in a higher altitude. So my friends, about all you can do is be aware of this so you don’t overdo it, or get altitude sickness.

This is just one of the hills I walked up (and down) to go to work
in Xela, Guatemala. Then I had to climb that volcano you see
in the distance (okay, that last part isn't true).  

Here is another hill I walked up and down on a daily
basis in Xela. This is a street. I never saw any cars on it,
but I did see a motorcycle go up it once.

I mentioned in that earlier post (again: here) that I walked about two hours every day when I lived in Xela. You may not walk that much yourself on a trip, but you might be surprised at how quickly the steps add up. Start a walking regimen before your trip to make it easier on yourself. If you can, walk up hills. If there are no hills, try stairs. Just do not go into it cold, with nothing but sad, mushy muscles and lungs that cannot face a challenge. You don’t need to train like an athlete. You don’t need rock hard abs. And you don’t need to be able to run a four-minute mile. Just get used to walking more than you usually do so you don’t feel the need to banish yourself to your hotel room from exhaustion. If you get exhausted, let it be because you actually did walk for two hours!

Just buy it.

I know people who love to buy things, no matter where they are. They stock up on shoes, clothes, furniture, accessories, whenever they can. Others, like me, are not really into shopping. Sure, there was a time when I loved to shop as a past time. Loved those sales. And I still do if I have to shop for something specific. But shopping just for the sake of shopping is usually not my thing. (I also mentioned that in this post). 

When traveling, I am a bit different. I love to browse through local markets (also mentioned here and here) and check out local wares. But I know people who don’t buy things when they travel. They have enough stuff, they say. "Who has the room?" they exclaim. Yes, I understand this. We all could do with a little less “stuff.” But for me, the things I buy when traveling are more than things. They are compact memory portals, taking me back to a great trip, even for just a moment.

I know that may sound a bit trite. But when you are working too many hours, relaxing too few, worried about bills, spending so much time in the usual everyday madness that is your existence, sometimes grabbing that bag you bought in Guatemala, or wearing the t-shirt you purchased in Ecuador, or putting that Mexico-made ring on your finger can be a little pick-me-up, a little reminder of a wonderful time you had in another place. Yes, just a reminder. But I value those little reminders

I recently had friends visit here in Texas from Norway. One was born in Texas and had not been back since she was a baby. She really caught the Texas fever, grabbing hold of the state of her birth like a cowboy lassoing a calf, and didn’t let go until she went back to Norway. I’m not sure she even let go then.

She made many Texas-centric purchases ... a lot of items with the lone star on them. And she didn’t just buy them and take them back to the hotel. She wore them while in Texas. Some people looked at her twice after seeing her dressed a bit like a cowgirl, and then hearing her speak, not with a southern drawl, but with a Scandinavian accent. She understood these double-takes and would explain, “I am from Texas!”

Here is Pernille, the lovely Texas-born Norwegian
and her cool Texas boots. I think she looks terrific,
like a real Texan (yes, many people in Texas
wear cowboy boots all the time. It's true!). 

I don’t know if she continued to wear her bedazzled lone star items back home. I think she probably did. She had had a wonderful time in her birth state and I am sure she wanted to extend that to her home country. Those things will always make her smile, maybe even laugh, whenever she sees them. 

So if you are one of those folks who think, “Why do I need to buy anything on this trip? I have enough stuff,” shop around anyway. You might find something – and it doesn’t have to be big – that will bring you back to that lovely store down the street from the little cafe where you liked to buy café con leche and pan dulce every afternoon. Those kinds of flashbacks are worth every penny.

Appreciate what you see.

Tonight I am not going to write about some past travel adventure or give any advice on traveling. Things have been very hectic lately and I honestly do not have the energy tonight to write a full post. Instead, I will tell you something that you undoubtedly already know, but perhaps have forgotten: you do not have to travel to foreign lands to see beautiful things. Sometimes the beautiful thing is simple, small, or something you have seen a thousand times, but did not really look at. Here are a few of those things I have photographed.

Old barn near Royal, Iowa, USA

Lake near Fergus Falls, Minnesota, USA

This is what a wheat field looks like. Southeast North Dakota, USA

Bridge on the outskirts of Spencer, Iowa, USA