Category Archives: Travel

It’s All About the Shoes!!

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And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.IMG_2136 Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage. Anaïs Nin

For the past decade the concept of The Journey has intrigued me. Foot shots in over a dozen countries have been a way for me to keep track of the pilgrimage and to say: I was here, I have walked in this place. In many ways the journey of the spirit has been a parallel trek.

IMG_2456Any journey of significance begins with the step of daring to dream, followed closely by the courage step. Courage ties the laces of desire’s boots to provide stability to wavering ankles.

Those boots help us walk the path we have been called to, or the path that has chosen us.
While Psalm 37 tells us that the steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord, we still have to pay heed to those orders and get up off the chair to move, or pick up the pen to write, or sign up for that class, make that phone call, or book that flight.
In 2009, after a series of events in life, I began to pursue a long time dream to IMG_9218live in another country. What began as a longing to relocate to Australia, needed courage to make the inquiries to pursue the goal and file the paperwork. The pursuit of that dream has changed my life and helped me realize that I can do things I had not believed possible for me. While in the land down under, I also took my first writing class.
I realize relocating countries is a major step, and many smaller steps are needed to make that happen. Life is full of daily decisions to choose courage, to choose to conquer the fear that would hold us back.

It’s all about the shoes …

Cement Blocks
Ill fitting shoes
Doubt on the left
Fear on the right
Laced with guilt
It is hard to walk
Harder to dance
Impossible to fly
Barefoot she skipped ahead.

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Jocelyn is the author of Who is Talking Out of My Head, Grief as an Out of Body Experience.

 

Thoughts from A-Broad

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Travel makes one modest, you see what a tiny place you occupy in the world. Gustave Flaubert

People travel to faraway places to watch, in fascination, the kind of people they ignore at home. Dagobert D. RunesDSC_0186

When I was a child I spoke like I child, I acted like a child, but when I became an adult, I stayed in the neighbourhood, I dwelt in the safety zone … until one day … I left, I realized there was more to life than security.

My daughter expresses continual surprise at how different the childhood of her children is, as compared to her own. My daughter went to the same elementary school as I had. (I think most of the teachers had left by then.)

My grandchildren live in North Africa, in a country with French as the second language, after Arabic. Minimal English is spoken in their Muslim neighbourhood. My nine year old grand-daughter rises grumpily for an 8am start at a local private school. Do not think Western style private school. The reason my granddaughter had been keen on this school was because this one had real washrooms, not a converted house bathroom that still had a bath-tub; there were four stalls for girls and four stalls for boys.

IMG_3193It was with great fanfare and delight that I initiated a doubles ride on the single speed bicycle as a way of getting her to school fairly quickly, which was very important last year when she was an eight year old who dawdled efficiently. “We are rocking the hood,” I said to her, as we pedalled the sandy partially paved street, dodging large stones and garbage. She perched on the mounted rear rack keeping her feet slightly apart, holding on to my seat with as firm a grip as her still small fingers could. Like clockwork, our traveling bicycle circus passed the local high school at their arrival time, forcing us to navigate at least two hundred students crossing the street. The head-scarfed girls were thrilled to say a bonjour-presuming I must be French. That day as we pedalled, I responded to a few of the greetings with a smile and either Allo or bonjour. Some of the boys made comments and my granddaughter said “Grandma they’re making fun of us, let’s just get out of here.” As I could not understand the Arabic comments, and saw only smiles and laughter in eyes; I didn’t think they were making fun of us. We were a novelty in their monolithic landscape, this mature blonde woman, with red streaks in her hair. (She couldn’t be a grandmother, for grandmothers would be fully covered in their long jellabas, and never on a bicycle.)

“Don’t worry Maisha,” I said, “they’re not being unkind. They’re just not comfortable in their own skin.”

“I don’t get it … You’re not a snake grandma, you don’t shed your skin. What do you mean?”

“Sometimes people aren’t comfortable with who they are, and then they make fun of other people, to feel better. If you feel okay about who you are, you don’t have to make fun of other people.”

Ah, my dear girl, (I thought) perhaps shedding skin is exactly what we need to do to become who we wantIMG_4854 to be.

Mark Twain’s words ring true: Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, especially as one shares peanut laden strong tea with new friends. 

Jocelyn is the author of Who Is Talking Out of My Head, Grief as an Out of Body Experience.

Of Boogie Boards and Mermaids

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The cure for anything is salt water – sweat, tears, or the sea.             Isak Dinesen

IMG_2157In three days time, I will be on the coast of North Africa. For thousands of years this land has intrigued and invited people to take part in the rituals and magic of life by the sea. Remains of ancient Roman villas, public baths and libraries remind me that others have walked those places before me. Their footsteps have all washed away, as will mine. But while I am in that space, while I am in any space I want to live and breathe the energy it gifts to those who are open.

I connect with Jill Davis’ line about the waves of the sea help me get back to me.

My grandchildren explore unmarked ruins, dip their toes into clear waters of the Mediterranean and barbecue hot dogs along blonde sandy shores. There is a sense of infinity as cerulean blue of sky and water blend into each other. Earth meets sky as thoughts of infinity and divinity merge together on the distant horizon … The land of hopes, dreams and mosaic memories.

And my bags are packed to the gills. Last summer I bought boogie boards for the grandchildren’s visit to my Canadian home, but we experienced end-of-summer-snow and warm campfires. Now the crazy thought to take the boards to North Africa had entered my head, and after a request for life jackets came from across the ocean, my decision was made. Even though my grandchildren live by the sea, my son-in-law could not find life jackets in the local stores. We may be over safetied here in Canada, but they are definitely under the mark. This just meant a second checked in bag … There are times I try to travel light, with only one checked in bag, but when considering gifts for the grandkids and their safety … some of the reasoning went by the sea side.IMG_2250

Certain things make me feel small – mountains and oceans are definitely in that category – especially oceans as they seem to have no beginning or end. Their vastness, can be calm or unrelenting. They not only make me feel small, but they give me a sense of the bigger picture, and my place in it. And the reality that all the trivial daily fussing is not worth its energy. There is a much grander scale of life beyond the routine. There is also an infusion of sacred in the ordinary. Mother Theresa said: We ourselves feel that what we are doing is just a drop in the ocean. But the ocean would be less because of that missing drop.

I can hardly wait to stand by the sea, to feel the water on my toes.

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Mermaid image by: quotesville.com

Jocelyn is the author of Who is Talking Out of My Head, Grief as an Out-of-Body Experience

It’s The Climb

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It’s about The Climb

Sunday afternoon with the promise of poutine to follow, I invited two international University of Calgary students to join me for a little walk. They come from Africa and want to experience as much of Canada as possible, on their meagre student budget. I can show them sections of the nearby Rocky Mountains. This particular hike, I did almost two years ago, and thought it to be fairly easy. Early on, the 27 year old from Malawi slightly short of breath states, we need to pace ourselves, and take time to enjoy the scenery. We come to a fork in the road.IMG_3298

They suggest the easy option, but I had read the reviews: the more difficult is the more scenic route. Since I am buying the poutine, they agree to go left. They have each had an intense year of studies, are here for the long haul, unable to return home, but thankful for technology which connects them to loved ones in Malawi and Zimbabwe. Our in-depth conversations have been labelled as DRDs—Deep Reality Discourses … we talk about life, the expectations of women in their countries, to be bearing children at this stage of life and the singleness issue. We talk about cultural differences, the loss of fathers for each of them, we always venture into spirituality. I love these DRDs.

And then we spot them … the wild orchids.IMG_3352

I take many photos, another hiker passes us, and I point them out to her. She and I marvel at their intricacy. My students admire them, but do not appreciate the rarity of the sighting. The hiker informs us of an owl nesting in a rocky opening at the top of the hike. She continues her way down and we continue our climb. We dip our hands in the mountain stream, drink of its water, the younger woman expresses her desire to spend a day with her journal next to the sound of a mountain waterfall. We marvel at the aqua green colour of the lake, and search for the great grey owl that appeared to have been waiting for us.IMG_4011

After the promised poutine rated as the best west of Montreal, (La Belle Patate) we return back to our normal lives,  feeling a slight connection to Miley Cyrus in knowing that there’s always gonna be another mountain and it ain’t how fast we get there, it’s The Climb. At the end of the day, students returned, I marvel at the beauty of the day, the gift of the orchids, the owls and that I could keep pace with these two young women.  I hope to return soon.

IMG_3995“I will not die an unlived life.

I will not live in fear
of falling or catching fire.
I choose to inhabit my days,
to allow my living to open me,

to make me less afraid,
more accessible;
to loosen my heart
until it becomes a wing,
a torch, a promise.
I choose to risk my significance,
to live so that which came to me as seed
goes to the next as blossom,
and that which came to me as blossom,
goes on as fruit.”

–Dawna Markova
― Dawna Markova, I Will Not Die an Unlived Life: Reclaiming Purpose and Passion

The Climb, sung by Miley Cyrus, written byJessi Alexander, Jon Mabe.

Knocking on Heaven’s Door

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The Power of the Ask

Ask and it shall be given to you, seek and you will find, knock and the door will be opened to you.  IMG_4745   (Matt 7:7 NIV)

I had arrived in Perth, Australia, the day before, time-zoned out by fourteen hours.

Still in the excitement phase, I tried not to think of the new realities that I: was on my own, did not know a soul here, was to start a new job in ten days, and had no place to live. I had booked into a hostel for two weeks, hoping that would give me enough time to find an apartment, before my nursing  job began.

A sense of expectancy, filled me as I headed downtown under the vivid blue Australian skies—I had come from a prairie winter, where minus twenty was the norm. This felt beautiful, warm and friendly. Two things I remember clearly that welcomed me. Next to a brown brick church with large wooden doors, a group of teenagers stood over the green grass carrying “Free Hugs” signs. (I had a video of my youngest daughter holding a same message.) I went to receive my free hug. The unwrinkled arms that wrapped my traveled soul, had no idea that I believed that my daughter had orchestrated this hug from heaven.

Wiping the tears from my eyes (I never saw those free huggers again) … I explored further down the road and chanced upon a young woman busker with a guitar of dreams. Cross-legged, she sang two songs while I stood near by—Knocking on Heaven’s Door, and I can see Clearly Now the Rain is gone … I can see all obstacles in my way. Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind, it’s gonna be a bright, bright sun-shiney day. I looked all around to nothing but blue skies.

“You must be very brave to move half way around the world.” people said …. or desperate, I thought.

Perhaps that is the best approach to the Father. I usually come desperate … hungry for the blessing.

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The power of the ask … I had asked, I had knocked on heaven’s doors, I had been a regular at the gate … “Should I go, or should I stay?”

That was five years ago. Although I have returned to Canada, that move changed my life. I am forever grateful that I responded to the inner voice that said Go. Ask for direction.

The response did not come in a type written detailed memo—oh I wished it had. But in hindsight I can see that many doors opened for me as I continued to search, and I met some wonderful people along the way. It did not come easily. Seek and you will find.

Sometimes, I don’t know what it is I seek … but, I know there are questions that the soul propels me to ask and to explore. Simone Weil has said it well:

DSC_0878The danger is that the soul should persuade itself that it is not hungry. It can only persuade itself of this by lying.

Oh I can see clearly now, the snow has gone … but I know rain and snow showers will return, and I will experience more storms, but, I will keep asking, and the spirit will guide. That really is the best.

Photos by author, painting of woman by Kristen N D.

Travel Tips from A Broad

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The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only a page. ** SaintAugustineIMG_2383

Trains, planes and automobiles … all in a day, plus bumping carry-ons over cobblestone streets. A privilege to be reading pages from the book of Four Great Cities of Eastern Europe: Dubrovnik, Budapest, Prague and Vienna. The destination is only a part of the journey. Four weeks of travel and what have I learned:

Communication, communication, communication.

The barrier of language,

The connection of smiles,

but precise words can direct you to the correct train platform.

A face tells a story. (Be in charge of its cover.)

Titles are deceiving, and customer service does not guarantee anything,

Information desks may or may not dispense accurate information.

Travel with a friend is joy doubled.  IMG_2706

Be prepared, travel light.

(Prepared for what?)

Be prepared to be flexible, and always have tissue in your bag.

Judgements over differences can arise quickly,

Open travellers practice seeing the world with the eyes of the heart,

Culture bleeds into opinions, even when we feel we are open-minded.

There are countless ways of living life, the wise traveller practices

Giving up the need to be right.

Smiling faces at arrival gates dissipate travel weariness. (Especially if they are grandchildren)

“This world is not my home, I’m just a passing through.” (And I want to pass through as much of it as I can.)

The 3 minute egg versus the 5 minute egg:  “Would you like a 3 minute egg or a 5 minute?” The blank look on my face gave evidence that I did not understand my Austrian host’s question, so she repeated it. I opted for the 5 minute, egg … we are called to breakfast 6 min later, with a boiled egg in a white egg cup, a white plate for bread, a white bowl for fruit. Cheese, meat and jam set on the table alongside fresh squeezed orange juice. We began, and as I approached my 5 minute egg my host corrected my angle of attack with an expression of horror. (There is in an egg cup for a purpose.) When I confess that we usually shell our 8 minute eggs in Canada, I am informed that 8 minute eggs are eaten only at Easter. I like to think that I carry the hope of Easter all year round, perhaps that explains my egg eating habits?  With an outer smile and an inner grimace I recognize there are numerous ways of getting egg on one’s face.

Perhaps travel cannot prevent bigotry, but by demonstrating that all peoples cry, laugh, eat, worry, and die, it can introduce the idea that if we try and understand each other, we may even become friends. **

Maya Angelou

**Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/topics/topic_travel.html

May the Zippers of her Suitcase Hold

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May the zippers of your suitcase hold, she wished me …IMG_0138

Anticipation, packing, traveling light (Not even close)

Justification, rationalization, wanting to take more than I truly need, just in case. It will be cold, it will be desert, it will be … ocean, ancient cities, museums … cultural dress code versus personal preferences. It will be Family.

I know this is one of those first world problems I dare not complain too much about. I am fortunate to be able to travel to my daughter’s home. Because she resides in N Africa, I have had opportunity for some unusual travel. I have seen Luke Skywalker’s home, stayed in a troglodyte cave, stretched my hip joints on a camel.

I have also missed out on too of my grandchildren’s birthdays, too many school performances, and too many babysit moments to give their parents a break. So this trip covers my granddaughters eighth birthday, (early Nov) and Christmas (late Dec) with a side trip thrown in. Two continents, three cultures, and how do I pack?

Requests for peanut butter, Craisins, home-school supplies, gifts for family, neighbours, hostess gifts, Christmas items, books and games for grandkids, the list and desires go on. Thus far I have two full suitcases, not including my own clothing or personal items. Can I take my big camera? It’s the shoes that fill the space. What to do?

My sister calls for a final chat, gives an understanding ear to my dilemma, and the quick acknowledgement, that I am not complaining—if I could bring the world to my children I would try.

That is all good to have lofty goals and ideal, but the reality is you still do need to pack, you still need shoes and clothes to wear, she says.

And I struggle to understand the unease of my soul.

Is this the old self-imposed need to meet or exceed expectations—a left-over from the strived for Supermom days, mixed in with the desire to have it all, be it all.

This desire to live the full life, wrangles with the longing to be free from the burden of “stuff.” The hope not to be disappointed, nor to be a disappointment.

And this craving for beauty and serenity in my soul.IMG_4192

And I am reminded of Max Lucado’s book, Travelling Light that I read about half a dozen years ago and don’t remember a single thing about it, except the title. As I pack, I am thinking about traveling light, physically and spiritually.

IS this how I live my life? With only necessities …  a self-imposed frugality of spirit? What about those words, of having more than we can dream or think about? I want both the being and the doing.

As I pack I am faced with prioritizing necessities versus wants. It’s been both a challenge and delight to mull through this. After all, in the end, what matters most is how well we love. And that is an attitude I can pack in, carry on, and dispense when I land. And I know in return my own suitcases will be filled with memories unspeakable.

I send this from the airport …. the first take-off of many. The zippers are bulging …

Gonna Go Round in Circles

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DSCN5828Will it go round in circles? Will it fly high like a bird up in the sky? …
Every now and then that song repeats through my mind. (Billy Preston)
Waiting for spring, and yet March has stayed a winter course here in the foothills with mini-glimpses of warmer days to come. Fresh snow and sunshine IMG_3893lured me to follow the brook’s meandering pathway. As I stopped to watch a snow-eddy spinning round and round in the glistening stream above the current, I realized I was seeing my daily metaphor of life. At times life seems stalled in a holding pattern while my mind whirls in circles, not knowing which direction to go, and like the old records, someone needs to lift the needle off the track.

Three years ago destination: Turkey; goal: take in as many culture/adventure sights as possible with my two traveling sisters. One of the touted must sees was The Whirling Dervishes, so we booked our tickets, boarded the bus after a full day, were led to a dimmed room and those darling Dervishes took the stage. DSC_0603With their long flowing dresses they whirled, chanted, and mesmerized me to nodding off, but not before a serious case of school-girl giggles. I don’t know exactly what I had been expecting, this was not it. Men in long dresses spinning in circles? Apparently the meditative spiritual process had been passed down to the chosen few for generations.
What to do when the mind spins in circles like devilish dervishes? The merry go round of life, at different times the carousel seems the same, but the dark horses change. My challenge has been deciphering when to get off, when to stay the course. And often in the decision making process my mind will “go round in circles” but when “will it fly high like a bird up in the sky?”
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Proven wisdom comes back in the form of the serenity prayer*,
God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.

DSCN7492The following line is part of Reinhold Niebuhr’s original:
Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;

*The prayer is attributed to Protestant theologian Reinhold Niebuhr, composed in the 1940s. Alcoholics Anonymous adopted the Serenity Prayer and began including it in AA materials in 1942, which may have done more to canonize it than any other cultural use of the prayer.

Water brings life

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How can anything grow here?IMG_8754
A knock at the back door, I answer and tried to explain that my daughter was not here. By her motions, I knew the neighbour wanted me to follow her … so I did. We passed through her tiny four room house to the little courtyard in the back and with a great big smile she pointed to the watered ground. There along the white plastered wall a solitary large turnip erupted from the sand. She was ecstatic with it. When my daughter returned a short while later, we were both summoned and then shown the rest of the garden. A few onion greens and leafy parsley poked through the carefully marked off circles. Now I have been privileged to garden in “the bread basket of the world” and would feel underwhelmed with this as my season’s crop. She was delighted. We were invited to coffee.
IMG_0983I recalled the change in the harsh desert climate as I had travelled the sandy road to reach the oasis, and the sudden contrast of a mini palm forest that seemingly emerged out of nowhere, testimony to the incredible power that water makes.

IMG_9270A cup of water or coffee mixed with kind words, are like a gentle rain to the parched soul. My daughter translated for Nahjwet, “You need to learn Arabic, I have so much of my heart I want to share.” Coffee, smiles and a turnip equal a desert oasis for the soul.

Dromedaries and Tooth Fairies

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North African quiz—the numbers game!
How many dromedaries fit in the back of a Mazda truck?
DSC_2519Many odd items are carted in the backs of trucks, and loaded up on motor cycles … but this trip to N Africa was the first to see four camels stuffed into a Mazda truck box.IMG_8268 (Sheep and goats are regulars)
Counting helmets on motorcycle riders—IMG_9281a slow start to this game … but at day 18 the count was at 18, one helmet sighting per day. Ten days later with the help of two observant grandchildren the one hundred mark was passed and as of today I have counted 121 motorcycle helmets, eleven of which were full face. I have yet to see a bicycle rider with a helmet! Number of women observed riding motorcycles? About ten. Does this helmet give me a bad scarf day? (One helmeted women observed)
One hundred and thirty—the number of mtubga’s made and sold for a half dinar by the neighbour, similar to a gourmet pizza pop.IMG_0656
Trees growing out of a water tower—three small trees, one water tower.
Wild dogs encountered along the sea shore—eight, IMG_8330in a pack, and my grandson wielded a long palm branch from his stroller, giving us a sense of empowerment!
Two cat fights witnessed, one occurred under my chair while I was drinking my cafe Direct.
Two—the number of rain days needed to make the secret garden bloom. (‘Secret garden’—the empty lot passed en route to school.)
Cockroaches killed by grandma? Two! (A bravery award bestowed by grand-daughter, who thought the roach had been a mouse!) No shrieks were heard in the night, even though the wounded critter needed to be decapitated.
Five Dinars the amount the Canadian grandma tooth fairy left under the pillow, to the delight of a seven year old.
Number of days grandson wants for more Grandma funning – apparently twelve hundred years … gotta love those numbers!! (alas she has to fly back home)