All posts tagged: travel

Your Journey Has a Personality. Discover It!

“People don’t take trips—trips take people,” wrote John Steinbeck about his two-month journey across the United States in a small truck he named Rocinante after Don Quixote’s horse. Plan all you want, Steinbeck wrote, but a journey has a personality of its own and it always finds a way to surprise you, to take you places you would have never dreamed of: “Once a journey is designed, equipped, and put in process, a new factor enters and takes over. A trip, a safari, an exploration, is an entity, different from all other journeys. It has personality, temperament, individuality, uniqueness… And all plans, safeguards, policing, and coercion are fruitless.” Steinbeck’s road trip across America in 1960 had a clear objective: after spending over two decades dwelling in bubbles like New York, Chicago, and San Francisco, he needed to once again get to know America, to “feel” it. He wanted to know: “What is America? Who are Americans?” On the outermost level, Travels with Charley in Search of America is a chronicle of this inquiry. But Steinbeck’s journey …

On the Obsession of Travel Photography

A few weeks ago, I ate dinner with Barbara—a woman also staying at Hostel La Candelaria in Valladolid in Mexico’s Yucatan peninsula. Valladolid is frequented by travelers and backpackers alike for its proximity to Chichen Itza, Ek Balam, and breathtaking cenotes–natural sinkholes–scattered about the Yucatan state. Barbara showed me Google photos of Rio Lagartos, a coastal town north of Valladolid where pink flamingos roam free. Even though she failed to recruit any other hostel dwellers to join her day-trip, she was determined to take the two-hour bus ride to the lagoon and photograph the flamingos. “I will go there and take photos of pink flamingos. And they’d better be there or else I will Photoshop them into the picture!” she said. I couldn’t be sure whether her priority was to actually see the flamingos or possess first-hand photos of them. I had previously written about the transformative effects of being filmed on the experience of diving. Barbara’s excitement to possess images of pink flamingos prompted a renewed contemplation over a subject that has long agitated me. As …

A World through Transcultural Eyes

With globalization a trend of the past, cultures are no longer clashing but rather mixing, people are no longer stationary within the traditions that they are born into, but rather constantly evolving. Over two months have passed since I arrived back in my apartment in Tel Aviv. Once again there is a drawer designated for my underwear and I reunited with my electric toothbrush. Almost every day, I run into friends and acquaintances on the street. After all, Tel Aviv is a microcosm for cosmopolitan urban living. They ask if I have “returned.” I don’t really know what to say. I am here. For now. I don’t know if I will stay, how long I will stay, where I will go when I go. And I am fine with not knowing. My dear friend Aditi’s wedding in Portugal provided the perfect excuse for flying back to this rusty corner of the world. (Posts on Portugal are in the works). But I had other reasons, too. In Mexico, I realized that a year of gallivanting around …

A Story of Syncronicity: The Horrors of Solo-Travel

“Aren’t you afraid to travel alone?” I often get asked this question for traversing Latin America. A woman in bandit-land that is Mexico.  I must be out of my mind. Rather than a land of delicious food, great museums and beautiful towns filled with the kindest of people, in most people’s imagination Mexico conjures horror stories of kidnappings and drug-gang murders. “It’s quite safe as long as you don’t go around doing stupid shit,” I reply with a shrug. But I must confess. This is no off-hand reply. It’s crafted with precision to mask my luck in having managed to stay safe, despite doing stupid shit. Like wondering the streets of Mexico City alone at 2 AM with five shots of mescal in your belly. Don’t do that. After all, it would be naïve to say that Mexico is Denmark. The story I’d like to tell today begins in San Miguel de Allende, my beloved town of crazies and artists. But I will start this tale toward its tail end, which happened in Tel Aviv: my …

Who is this creature called the “backpacker”?

Yesterday a Frenchman accused me of being a fake backpacker at a Cuban bar in Lisbon. His allegation came after I revealed that I was staying at an AirBnB rather than a hostel. We had a lot to chat about–he had recently returned back to his nine to five IT job in Paris after a seven-month “backpacking” trip in Australia and Asia. “I bet you don’t even have a backpack,” he said with a smirk. “I’m not a backpacker!” I said in protest. “And I certainly don’t carry a backpack on my sensitive shoulders.” Our discussion made me realize once again why I decided not to stay in hostels and why I defied the categorical “backpacker” label. Though I indeed was once a “fake backpacker” and it was while I slept in hostels in Colombia. Thankfully my fraudulence only lasted five weeks. Before arriving in Colombia I read various blogs on traveling alone—all posts instructed staying in dorms for a fulfilling social life on the move. So who was I, a novice solo-traveler, to stray from the path? While staying …

On Dreams and Husbands

THE LAND OF DREAMS | There was a huge, open-air camp. Singing plants and illuminated chilis sprouted from magicians’ hats and everyone offered dreams for barter. Some wished to trade dreams of travel with dreams of love; others offered dreams of laughter in exchange for sad dreams to release a long-needed cry. A man walked about looking for the bits and pieces of his dream, which was shattered by someone who smashed into it: He collected the shreds of his dream and pasted them together to make with them a banner of colors. The water bearer of dreams carried the water in a vessel on his back and dispensed it in tall cups to whoever got thirsty while sleeping. A woman wearing a white tunic stood on a tower and combed her tresses that reached her toes. The comb shed dreams with all their characters: the dreams were born from the hair and glided out into the air. Excerpt from _El Libro de Los Abrazos_ by Eduardo Galeano. Trans. Nathalie Alyon “But how is Nathalie going to find a husband …

Mexico City with Suruç in My Mind

Something about Mexico reminded me of Turkey. It wasn’t just the taco joints at every corner grilling what any Turk would recognize as döner: Mexicans call it al pastor, prepare it from pork, and serve it on corn tortillas. In Istanbul, I woke up in the middle of the night from an acappella of muezzins from different mosques using megaphones as if competing with one another; in San Miguel de Allende it was a mix of church bells and firecrackers celebrating each night a different Saint’s day that disrupted my sleep. The daily advances of my neighbor Carlos, who spends his days staring at a construction site atop a disintegrating 1960s Volkswagen beetle, reminded me of many Mehmets and their sweet, polite creepiness that make me smile rather than run screaming. A drawing of the face of a young student missing since the mass kidnapping in Iguala, Mexico (September, 2014), reminded me of Berkin Elvan, the boy who died from a can of pepper gas fired by Turkish police and became the symbol of Turkey’s …

Villa de Leyva: The so-called sleepy town that whipped my ass into shape

The itch to travel is a desire to be everywhere at once. It’s a mental disease but an excusable one, since human nature instilled in us a certain insatiable curiosity. Until my early twenties, I used to have this obsession with sitting in the middle seat of any dinner table, large or small, so that I could follow the conversations happening on both ends. But of course, one can’t be at two places at once, and it can be stressful to follow two (or three or four) conversations, especially at crowded dinners. After all, you are sitting in just one seat. You are confined to the space you occupy and there is no way to be on every chair at once. If you get up to the other end of the table, you miss out on all that happens in your current seat. Before embarking on this journey, I made a promise to myself to not over-scratch this itching spot–I would not be able to see every museum, climb every beautiful hill, or watch every magical sunset. …

The ABCs of Hostel Talk

It’s been almost one month since my quasi-backpacking trip has begun and inevitably, I have observed some patterns. First and foremost, one must make a concerted effort to be alone. Since I left my hosts’ home in Bogota, I have yet to have a meal by myself. True story. Leaving Bogotá with a smile, I arrived at Renacer Hostel in Villa de Leyva following a long journey from Bogota with stops in Zipaquirá for a tour of Catedral de Sal and Ráquira, a small village famous for its pottery-making inhabitants. The hostel, which is a good 20 minutes walk from the town center, was quiet. Considering it was Monday after Semana Santa, it was not surprising to find Villa de Leyva, described in general as a sleepy town to be in total hibernation. Perhaps solitude would find me here, I was thinking as I put my bag in the dormitory and sat at the patio to rest. Three minutes barely past before somebody invited me to dinner. My first dinner overlooking the beautiful Plaza Major …

Bogotá Part I: Passover, Semana Santa, and Celebrating My Arrival in Colombia

Having lived away from my “home” country and family for most of my life, I never developed a soft spot for holidays. We don’t have family traditions cultivated over years and years of celebrating Passover or Rosh HaShana. I remember celebrating one Passover in San Diego with our Muslim neighborhood tailor and Christian friend. Another I celebrated in Boston with a childhood friend of my father, who had become religious since my dad last saw him over 20 years ago. That was my longest Seder, as the Hagadah was read in Turkish, English, and Ladino! In Israel, my sister and I always receive multiple invitations from distant relatives and friends. Last Rosh Hashana, I was in Ko Lanta, Thailand and celebrated entering the Jewish New Year splurging at the Pimalai Restaurant with an Israeli-Dutch couple we had met that day. No matter where I am on holidays, alone I am not but most likely not with my family either. Even with my missed-flight episode, I was to do the Passover Seder with a Bogotan Jewish …