A full month of traveling through the UK shattered my energy levels.  A lone nomadic woman has to always be on high alert. No matter how confident I was, at the end of the day, I was in unknown territory with infinite possibilities—positive or negative.

 I admit I was so good at reading people and creating positive experiences at the beginning of my trip that I got a little too confident and let my guard down. Basically, I became reckless. The universe retaliated, so I quickly backed my bag and got my metaphoric shit together.

  In that first month I learned to face my fear of approaching strangers and slept in some very interesting places—which all turned out for the better—even the creepy experience in Cork.

 My greatest accomplishment was fully trusting my abilities to navigate through new territory (without any prior research) and allowing myself the luxury of discovery.

If I could only bring one thing with me on my travels, it would be self-trust. I quickly learned that I am the only one accountable for my safety. My actions, inactions and reactions dictate the success or failure of a trip. If I go against my instincts, however irrational they may seem, or give the responsibility of my safety so someone else, then I become my greatest enemy. Even when put in a potentially dangerous situation, I learned that my own actions are the key to survival—I can’t blame others for what happens to me.

By the end of May, I could barely keep my eyes open anymore. After constant alertness, all I wanted was a place that I could make feel like home.

 Paris was my refuge.

“Hey, Pat, is it okay with you if I come to Paris a little early? “ I asked him with my fingers crossed, praying his answer was ‘yes.’

After the emotional rollercoaster that was Ireland, I really needed a familiar face. My emotions were explosive, which upset me further, because I am usually quite stable.

“Of course you can come early, when were you thinking?”

“Tonight at 5 p.m,” I grimaced.

“Seriously?” he asked.

“Yes.” I attempted to mask the urgency in my voice.

“I’ll see you at five.”

WanderlustMe

Just some thoughts from my notebook during a period of writers block. Everything on this commercial street in Glasgow closed at 6 p.m., except for a Starbucks and a McDonald’s. I didn’t fly across the globe to drink the same thing I shouldn’t be drinking at home. The places furthest from the reach of globalization are where I’ve found the most amazing moments. I don’t like walking through consumerist zombie metropolises. 

Maybe if I write sideways

down the long side of this paper

stand uncomfortably close to strangers

relishing my self-imposed solitude

and exploiting my deep seeded fears

the words will find me

The world is a word

flowing in every direction

driven by hidden intention

fragmented

by narrowed interpretation

I want to escape this chrysalis

but we all know what comes after transcendence

*Pictured is a Starbucks in London. I was too pissed off to take a picture of the one in Glasgow.

WanderlustMe

Where do I begin? I have not abandoned you my readers, even though it might seem so. It has proven hard for me to absorb myself in the act of travel, to write blog posts on a schedule and to find time to grow and reflect. I needed more time, more spiritual substance, more direction in my growth as a person. I needed to research the depth of my experiences, understand the knowledge I have found and refine my vision of expression in order to explain my journey to myself and to you.

My European portion of the trip has come to a beautiful end. I am in Lebanon now, which is an entirely different adventure. During my time in Europe I realized that I have three gifts, or three passions. In order for me to be in harmony with all aspects of myself I have to incorporate those three things together.

My first gift is the gift of language. My highest form of expression is through writing. My second gift is the ability to connect to others through travel. My greatest longing is to rediscover humanity and planet earth. My third gift, is also my only obstacle. My biggest obstacle here on earth is loving others without fear and trusting my power as a woman and as a human being. I feel that I would like to learn how to help women and men heal, because I have learned that war in the world is a direct reflection of war in love. We are at war against our true sexualities, against our bodies, against our lovers, against our families.

That is a lot for me to process. So, I have no idea where I will go next, creatively speaking. But as soon as my mind becomes clear, I’d love to share it with you.

The picture above was taken of me in Tamera, a peace research eco village in Southern Portugal. I had just stepped into the community forum to speak about my experiences and lead a group meditation. We need to take more time to be grateful for what we have.

WanderlustMe

In celebration of reaching 1000 combined Facebook ‘Likes’ and Twitter ‘Followers’ I am hosting a contest/giveaway!

Finish this sentence in 250 words or less, “The most profound moment I experienced abroad was…” and send it in to me with an original picture.

I will judge submissions on photo quality, creativity, thoughtfulness, honesty and originality.

The winner will receive a $25.00 Gift Card to R.E.I.

I must receive your submission by Midnight on July 31^st 2012. The winner will be announced on August 1^st, 2012. All submissions will be posted on my blog.

To enter the contest, send an email titled ‘Photo Submission’ to wanderlustmetravelblog@gmail.com with the below information:

• Full Legal Name (Only your first name will be posted on my blog)
• Age
• Nationality
• Email Address
• Shipping Address (Must have an address for prize collection)
• Title of your Photograph
• Location of your Photograph
• Attachment of your photograph (it must be your original work in JPEG format)
• 250 word description of your most profound moment abroad

None of your personal information will be shared with the public. If you haven’t already subscribed by email or joined my community on Facebook and Twitter, please do, you ‘ll get updated on my latest whereabouts, future giveaways and contests!

WanderlustMe

I set down my heavy bags and searched the crowd for my host. Not a problem, he’s probably just a little late.

Half an hour later, I logged on to couchsurfing.org to find my hosts contact information. Maybe I made some kind of mistake? I opened up the message and called the number, not realizing that I had two couch requests, one of which I previously declined.

He answered right away. “Oh, I thought you weren’t coming until tomorrow, sorry, if you give me seven minutes, I’ll be right there,” he spoke quickly and with a thick Irish accent.

I looked at the date, he was right; I made a mistake with my declared train times on the website. I felt a pang of guilt; I was already being a bad guest and I didn’t want to be a burden. As I reflected on the conversation, I began to feel scared and uneasy, I didn’t like the tone in his voice– he seemed taken aback.

Five minutes later, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned and stiffened, I called the wrong host. I greeted him with hesitation and we began to walk at a brisk pace.

“Did you even read my profile? Or my messages?” he asked, tartly.

No. I didn’t even want to meet you.

“Yes, of course, but my only source of Internet is my phone and it’s hard to communicate with sometimes, ” I lied.

My palms were beginning to itch and I felt nauseous. Why was I having such a negative reaction to him? After three minutes of walking we reached a ramshackle building.

“It’s not much, but it does alright for me,” he said, opening up his arms to show me the structure.I forced a laugh and unzipped my bag to find my phone.

He stopped and turned to face me, “Trying to plan your escape already?” he asked, a little too darkly.

Yes.

I paused and mustered a smile, “No, I’m a blogger, I have to keep my followers updated on the developments of my trip.” I held his gaze with force. I sent my GPS location to my friends and family. I was not going to let him intimidate me. He insisted on taking my rolling luggage up the winding concrete stairwell.

“I can take that,” I argued, not wanting him to have any of my belongings. “No, no, I’ll carry them up.” He climbed up the stairs, leaving me no choice but to follow. My heart began to race, my thoughts froze and I couldn’t breathe. My jacket was stained with sweat. At the top of the stairs was a small landing. To my right was a thin wooden door and to my left was a faded orange sheet.

“I hope it’s good enough for you,” he said with hostility, as he pushed the sheet aside. The door to his flat was behind the sheet. Facing the door was a small open window, granting access to the roof. I didn’t want to seem ungrateful, because he had generously met me and opened up his home.

“Why don’t you put your phone down and go up to the roof while I make you something to drink?” His smile was tight and uncomfortable.

Not a chance. I hesitated, looking for the right way to stall him. He knew I didn’t like him; he didn’t like me either.

My eyes darted around the room, searching for a distraction. “Oh, this is cool, what is it?” I asked, pointing at a statue, knowing that it was a statue of the goddess Demeter.  

Every second counts. I have to get out of here.

I floundered about for another ten minutes, not letting him leave my line of sight. I watched him prepare my Irish coffee and I left it untouched on the table. He insisted I take a seat across from him.

“I don’t like Americans,” he stared straight into my eyes. I didn’t look away. I just nodded and smiled. “Or the French,” he continued, reflecting on his time in the Irish military. “They are the most brainwashed by the social mechanism, the most barbaric and the most unquestioning.”

I majored in Sociology and Gender and Ethnic Studies, I have no problem critically analyzing sociopolitical agendas. He just wanted a fight.

Time to bust out the big words.

I delivered a completely generic and exaggerated speech about the environmental and cultural damage caused by forced western occupation and laissez-faire economic imperialism.

He smiled for the first time, “Oh, you’re different, that’s good. You know, I only invite women from America and France to stay with me,” he replied.

Oh good, he likes me, now he’ll only sell me as a slave rather than harvesting my organs.

I was completely silent.

“I like to invite them to open their minds,” he added.

I have to leave this apartment before the sun goes down.

We heard loud voices and footsteps racing up the stairs. The noise eased my stomach– I wasn’t alone. He turned red and clenched his fists. We remained quiet, fervently listening to the racket. We heard them climb up to the roof.

He shot up and ripped open the thin door.

“GET THE FUCK OFF MY ROOF,” he threw out a pointed finger.

I saw a young man with a blonde mohawk and gaged ears turn the corner, his smile fading in confusion.

“Ay, mate, we don’t want no trouble,” he raised his arms up in resignation.

He screamed louder, “GET THE FUCK OFF MY ROOF,” and walked out of the flat, slamming the door behind him.

I used that time to quickly cross the room. I tucked both my mace and my knife in my front pocket. I heard more screams and knocking on the neighbor’s door.

“I told you not to let anyone in the building,” he said forcefully, but noticeably quieter. “Especially not on the roof.”

Time to go.

 He returned, panting and red. Neither of us said a word for at least a minute.

“Pesky neighbors, always causing trouble around here,” he lied. I didn’t even pretend to laugh.

I let the words boil in my mouth for what seemed like a lifetime before I was brave enough to spill them, “Those guys really scared me, I don’t want you to feel bad, but I am going to spend the night at a hostel, I think it would be better for the both of us.” I readied myself for a foul reaction.

“I think you’re right. You can leave now, if not, you can stay here, I don’t care.”

I began to thank him for his hospitality and the tightness in my chest started to subside.

“I will walk you to the hostel,” he said.

“No, that’s okay, you’ve already been through enough trouble today!” I was begging at this point. “I can find it myself.”

He carried my bag back down the stairwell, told me where to go, and turned to walk down the road in the opposite direction.

As I walked back to the station, my knees began to rattle. My whole body was trembling as I looked back over my shoulder. The only sound was that of my luggage, rolling faithfully behind me. Tears formed behind my eyes as I called my host in Dublin, telling him what happened.

I walked straight through the atrium, through the gate past the guard, and back on the same train I arrived on without stopping once.

WanderlustMe

I came across this folk story on the web and I loved it so much I thought I would share it with you all. It was written by Suzanne Neeley, who was told the story by her grandfather. Being half-Irish I feel like it is a part of my heritage . The Tuatha de Dannan are fae and silkies are half-seal and half-human creatures. Enjoy!

Long ago, when the world was young there were no white flowers in Ireland because the Tuatha de Dannan had wanted to fill the Earth with as much colour as they could.

Naisi wandered the hillsides along the sea and waited for his life to begin. He had no mother and no father, and the village people said that he was strange because of his gift of speaking to horses and birds and all living things.

People came from far off places to hear Naisi speak to their animals and to watch him heal them. He was truly kissed. He grew into a man, and when that day came, he was still alone.

No friends to encourage him and no family to please. But he was lonely and he searched for a wife, but the young women wouldn’t have him for his strangeness and the older women wanted more than he had to give, which was a hut, a few animals and little else, though all the women agreed that he was quite enough the most handsome of all the men they had ever seen.

Naisi grew in his loneliness. It filled him and grew outward until even the sea began to whisper to him of it. He began to go further from his home, seeking a wife. He closed the door of his hut and set out, not to return without a love to fill his heart. He travelled a long way from home, not knowing that he did not travel alone.

A raven travelled with him and thought of him and his trouble. Maaxa, who had seen warriors live and die, had tired of death and for this young man, felt some empathy in his lonely state. She considered his plight and found that she had some considerable sympathy for his heart of sorrow. So she went to the Queen of the Sidhe, and said, “Here is a young man who has never harmed man nor beast. Surely he deserves some happiness. Will you not search your garden and find a flower for him?”

The Fairy Queen was much surprised and replied, “Maaxa, you hag! Do not pretend to me, I know your ways. You are seeking to trick this fellow and you are up to no good.”

Macha, being practical, was not angry but said, “I am not only a hag. I too, have known desire and I would wish to spare this one.”

The Queen reluctantly agreed and set to make her bargain. “Give me the maiden’s third daughter and I will do as you ask.” She did not wish to be cheated out of not even one of her many admirers without recompense. Maaxa, knowing the Queen as she did, thought to herself that this was a good bargain. If the maid were sensible and pretty, he would never miss one of the many children they would have. She agreed and the bargain was made.

The Fairy Queen brought to Maaxa her prettiest and brightest maids and Maaxa, being shrewd, chose the one with the darkest hair, and the greenest eyes, for that would attract the boy, Naisi, who was fair and light with eyes of the sea.

Naisi, at this time, was walking down a road unfamiliar and marvelling at the green of the grass and the enchanting sway of the trees. They seemed to call to him and as he walked with his horse by his side, he began to grow weary and wanting of a rest.

So he took his horse, and laid down in the cool grass underneath a tree and soon he began to dream. In his dream, he saw a maiden so fair, that he lost his breath. She was small and with hair of the blackest night. When she turned toward him, he saw that she had one lock of white hair, as if she had been touched there by the goddess Maaxa, but she was young. And her eyes, of deepest green snared him.

He awoke suddenly and knew that it was not a dream, but that she sat beside him. Her name was Niav, she told him and that she had been brought to this world by the Fairy Queen. Naisi knew straight away that this woman had been sent for by the gods and so he put her upon his horse and took her home to the hut on the edge of the sea.

They were married soon after and the village people wished them every happiness. Perhaps, they thought, now that he had found his heart’s desire, the strangeness would leave him.

For nine years, they lived in love together. She with her children and he with his work with the animals.

But the Queen of the Sidhe had not forgotten her bargain with Maaxa, that she would take their third daughter, who was named Aisling. The stars came with the night, and the Fairy Queen stole Aisling away to the land of faery.

Niav wept and wouldn’t be consoled and Naisi searched and searched the hillsides and the shore. Niav searched while he slept and Naisi searched while she lay dreaming of her Aisling. It came about not long after, that Niav too disappeared while Naisi slept. A village man told Naisi that she had been seen walking on the shore and that a silkie had stolen her away.

Unconsolable, Naisi found homes for the children and left the village to search for her. Despair travelled with him and Maaxa also saw his sorrow. She felt that it had all been her fault, that Niav would never have gone searching for a missing child had she not made the bargain with the fairy queen. She heard Naisi cry out to the sea, “I would not live upon the earth without my Niav!”

So she cast him into the stars so that he would not live among the reminders of his lost love. And as he rose higher into the night sky, his tears fell upon Ireland, and became the sea campions. Small white flowers, white like the lock of Niav’s hair, that spoke of a love that haunts the shores of Ireland today, as a reminder, that all we have is Time.

WanderlustMe

“We are travelers on a cosmic journey, star-dust, swirling and dancing in the eddies and whirlpools of infinity. Life is eternal. We have stopped for a moment to encounter each other, to meet, to love, to share.This is a precious moment. It is a little parenthesis in eternity.”–Paolo Coelho

The blessings in my life are too wonderful to be real. I feel myself letting go, finally breathing. I feel like I might float away one evening, if I get any happier.

The colors outside of the tour bus window were bizarre to me. The vividness of the sky and sea were beyond my comprehension. It couldn’t have been real. I’m glad I could capture photographs, because If I didn’t I would be convinced I’d never been to these places.

There is just something about the way the hills roll and the rocks meet the waves. It’s too perfect; green is too green, blue is too blue. I booked the tour from my hostel, for 35 Euros. It was a big tour, which I regret, small tours are always more personal and informative.

I don’t know if people really live there. If I did, I would just sit on my front porch and do nothing but stare all day long.

Northern Ireland was more than I expected and worth every penny. Apparently one of the coastal towns is Prince Harry’s favorite place to visit, which is easy to understand.

I spent my time chatting with an enthusiastic American couple from Florida. The only damper to our tour was our guide. He was clearly less than happy to be working. He wasn’t genuine and his jokes weren’t funny.

Surprisingly, my favorite place wasn’t Giants Causeway. Carrick-A-Rede Bridge and Larrybane were the highlight of the tour.

Regretfully, I couldn’t get a photograph of the Giants Causeway without it being overrun by tourists, but it comes with the territory!

Look around you: heaven is here.

WanderlustMe

Ireland has been at the top of my list for a very long time. I have ancestry from the South and have looked longingly at pictures of Giants Causeway and Wicklow.

Standing on the edge of the ferry and watching the city of Belfast creep towards me was indescribable. The sun was reflecting off of the buildings, industrial cranes and crates lined the port. I liked the way Belfast felt– always a good sign.

I took a black taxi to my hostel, the Linen House, where I was to stay in an eighteen-bed room dorm. It was a relief to find it almost completely empty. Can you imagine the smell of eighteen people in one room? Unfortunately, I can. I can’t really be too choosy at this point, I’m happy to just be on the road. The shower was hot and the front desk attendant was nice, which means the hostel got a good review from me.

My first stop that day was the Titanic Museum. If you know me at all, you’re first reaction is probably, “Ah, of course!” The Titanic was built in Belfast and the building of the ship had a huge effect on the local economy and history.

Belfast is a happy city, walking down the road kept a smile on my face.

Most cities I visited prior to Belfast had ugly graffiti. Belfast’s graffiti was more tasteful and artistic, adding more color to the city, rather than taking away from the architecture.

After spending the afternoon in the museum I headed to the shopping center, where I refused myself entry to all the shops because It was too painful to bear walking out empty handed.

As the sun began to set, I stopped for some quick Chinese and headed back to the hostel.

Looking back, I wish I had stayed an extra two days in Belfast. I left early the next day for my tour of Northern Ireland, but I felt a pang of regret for not spending more time exploring the cities history and culture.

WanderlustMe

“The great difference between voyages rests not with the ships, but with the people you meet on them.” — Amelia E. Barr

It’s amazing that I have gotten this far.  I only Google my train times one day ahead, disregarding the fact that they might be full without a reservation. I’m not the most thorough hostel and tour researcher either. I have followed the wind. My good luck and ease of passage wasn’t infinite, which I would later find out.

The line at the Ferry Station was long. As I crept closer to the front, I saw the security checkpoint. Shit. I had pepper spray, a small knife and a small pressure point stick thingy in my purse, all of which are Illegal in the UK and most of continental Europe. Europeans are baffled by the fact that I travel with it, but I can’t imagine walking around unarmed.

I figured if I would have an easier time hiding my secret weapons in my carry-on luggage. I asked the woman behind me if pepper spray was legal in Scotland. She just gave me a scared look and shrugged her shoulders. I quickly shoved my pepper spray to my carry on and inched forward, wondering how I was going to sneak my knife into my bag in front of a crowd of people.

I was running through dumb excuses in my head. I decided I was going to say I was a camper/backpacker/hunter/rock-climber and that I needed those tools for the wilderness. It’s kind of a half-true statement.

“You, Miss,” a security guard, pointed at me.

“Me?” I froze.

“You can pass,” He gestured and moved the rope.

What was he suggesting? That I move to the side of the line to be personally searched? I was screwed. I walked past the line and stopped.

“You can just go on the boat,” he smiled cheerfully. He closed the rope behind me. I was floored but I wasn’t going to ask any questions, it was a damn good day.

The woman behind me in the line looked at me like I murdered her baby and was about to kill her dog too, but I kept on walking as fast as I could out of her line of vision. Luck of the half-Irish! The universe wanted me to have my mace, or the guard just thought I was cute, or both.

My over confidence and lack of planning has cost me some extra cash that I wasn’t expecting to spend. I expected to take a bus to the city center where I would walk to my hostel, except there were no busses, only taxis. That expense was only the very beginning of the unexpected events to come my way in Ireland.

WanderlustMe

Just a quick tribute to the amazing hosts and friends I’ve met along the way.

London, England– Laurent

Thornborough, England– Sig, Oliver, Cat, Alice, Chanty, Anthony, Lily, Tracey, Gordon

Oxford, England– Alex, Chris, Logan

Edinburgh, Scotland– David, Lucia, Chris

Glasgow, Scotland– Kevin, Mauricio, Daniel, Grace

Dublin, Ireland–Anthony

WanderlustMe