I've been asked why you should read the meanderings of my travels while I’m wandering down yet another path not on the tour route but showing so much promise for sights and smells, music and birdsong.
My immediate thought was “Why would you?”.
Well of course you would. Not because I’m so interesting and a great writer. And not because I’m your sister or cousin or friend. But because I go to such interesting places. Right next door. And all around the world!
I go to the tourist sights and to the back alleys. I climb hills and walk walls. I hike up to the top and stop to buy ice - how much more accommodating can 12 year old boys be? I didn’t buy a sugary drink but some excess ice. Pure profit. It went down my shirt front and back to cool off in 100f heat. Of course, no hat. It doesn’t take long to learn the value of time-proven advice.
I walk across swing bridges a hundred feet above a canyon that terrify me but the views! I did it because it’s the only way to get to Everest Base Camp. We were on our way to say hello to the Canadians who were preparing to seek their holy grail and touch the sky.
I walked up the Anatolian hills in a dress to sit at the top of an almost intact Roman theatre in the loneliest dot on earth. Not a soul. Nor a whisper of wind. The clouds hung high over this neglected part of Turkey but at one time it had a population that supported such a structure and the stadium at the bottom of the hills. Sit and listen to hear the music. Or perhaps it was a play by two actors on the stage at the bottom of this high hill. It was magic.
Who am I? One of eight, a girl with three boys behind her. An only child who amused herself with her artist grandmother - she too terrified me. Everything terrifies me. I’m going upstairs and meet Nana coming down. I have to turn around and go down because it is bad luck to pass on the stairs. I’m ten. How weird. But she also taught me about bananas and potassium. Then in the evening we sat together while she showed me how to draw a tree trunk. It really did look like a tree trunk! With just a few half circles and a couple of lines and an odd way of holding a pencil to make shading.
There are two girls that follow those three boys. Two make a couple and they are so much younger. At ten, six and five does feel way down there.
My grandmother painted. My sister paints - I have an oil of pale while flowers - yes, she can make white look pale. Amazing. My grandmother wrote three books of poetry.
I use a camera to capture what we see. Sometimes a photograph tells you so much more than the stone wall and flower clinging to it. How the roots dig and slip to grab hold of whatever slim pickings the stoney sole provides. How the stones weathered for millions of years before being cut and mortared to provide shelter.
I travel with friends. Interesting people who talk about interesting happenings. I’ve been on nearly twenty explorations with one friend. We see each other once a year. “I’ll meet you next year in Rome” was my shout over to her as she was walking towards her airline gate after our sojourn on camels and sleeping under the stars across the White chalk, the Black rock, and Sand deserts of the Western Sahara in Egypt. And we did to cycle across Umbia to Ovieto to taste the crisp white wine across from the Dormo. After six days of cycling up hills higher than any in the Rocky Mountains, we hiked the Cinque Terra for another week - just for the fun of it. But oh the food! Only the Italians. But wait. The next year we discovered Vietnam on its first opening after its years of closure following the unification of the whole country. Down a back alley we stumble upon a one pot outdoor kitchen. The best shrimp EVER.
I ramble. Down pathways. Down long sentences. Down flights of Let’s See!
Come along. It’s an enchanting, beautiful, fascinating world out there. And inside here…