Journeys of a Lifetime in October

I welcome you to a new monthly series on Nomadderwhere, one which highlights the incredible trips one could take in that current month - thanks to a vibrant book called Journeys of a Lifetime by National Geographic. Every month I will pick out a couple adventures from each section in the book in order to provide you inspiration for 365 days from now. Read the brief description to whet your appetite, and click on the trip name for further information (links provided by National Geographic...of course you could be a gritty backpacker and make it on your own).

Across Water

Yangtze River Trip to the The Three Gorges: A trip in early fall through some incredible, mountanous landscapes could coincide with October 3rd and the Chinese Harvest Moon Festival.

The Mangoky River: Madagascar's baobabs and the "slowly-slowly" mentality of the land give me two reasons to desire floating in an inflatable raft across the tip of the big island. October is the last month of reasonable weather before the ghastly heat sets in.

By Road

The Fall in Vermont: Does my longing to going on a fall foliage drive make me an old lady? Either way, I don't care if it means I get to log miles around a beautiful chunk of America and potentially camp out in the cool nights between drives.

The Dolomites: Northeastern Italy gets great weather and less tourists than usual in October, which is perfect if one desires to see sky-splintering peaks, Alpine pastures, and still speak l'Italiano all the live-long day.

By Rail

The Reunification Express: After reading Catfish and Mandala, making the 1,000 mile jaunt across Vietnam seems like a trip worthy of filling numerous journals and marking off loads of "once-in-a-lifetime" experiences from the list. This train would make this trip possible, that is if you're not a crazy/cool cyclist relying on your two wheels.

Trans-Siberian Railroad: Fall colors, warm days, and cool nights - that's quite a list of benefits for traveling from Moscow to Beijing in October via a world famous train ride. The trip takes one week

On Foot

Greenwich Village: True, this area can be enjoyed any time of year, but the crispy atmosphere of fall makes pleasant a couple days of perusing galleries, visiting Edward Hopper's house, and eating at former speakeasies, like Chumley's. Maybe you'll get inspired to "keep moving" while taking in Figaro Cafe, a hang-out of the "beat generation".

The Inca Trail: Dry weather meets the hearty soul that wants to trek through the thin air of the Andes in October. Machu Picchu, Huayna Picchu, and loads of misty sights are calling you...

In Search of Culture

Treasures of Jordan: October is just as great a time as any to hire a car in Amman and hit up some ancient relics of the past in the Middle East. Fancy yourself an Indiana Jones as you bound around the ruddy sandstone of the Treasury of Petra.

India's Golden Triangle: I can attest to the fact that going on this trip in the heat of summer is just plain mean to your boiling spirits, but alas, the relief that comes in October! Agra's Taj Mahal at sunrise, Jaipur's Amber Fort and Rajasthani culture, and Delhi's urban jungle are real experiences to be photographed, reflected upon, and absorbed into the mind forever. Read my blogs from the Golden Triangle here.

In Gourmet Heaven

Bourbon Trail: Another prime opportunity to see good fall color while sipping some classic American spirits. Even though we Hoosiers are supposed to make fun of Kentucky, I've always been a fan of the horse farms and Appalacian foothill country, and I'd imagine pumping some whiskey into the equation wouldn't hurt it!

Central Valley Wine: Go from fall to spring, harvest to planting season, with a trip to Chile for some grape guzzling. The Andes are supposedly visible from every vineyard in this region, which has a unique climate sure to cause some exciting fermentation to occur. Go skiing, walk along the beach, and then go find some good wine in the hills.

Into the Action

Polar Bears in Canada: October marks the start of a great bear-watching season annually, and Churchill is known for their outsized bears. Not as elusive as the tiger, but apparently just as easily camouflaged into their surroundings; a couple days looking for polar bears sound like thrilling days well spent.

Sea Kayaking off Baja: I know I'm going to be taking full advantage of being around Baja in October by partaking in a gorgeous and exciting activity: sea kayaking. Rocky cliffs edging an ample marine world in the blue Pacific waters; it's the stuff of dreams. Check back for upcoming blogs on this very activity.

Up and Away

Flying High in Paradise: Take a heli for a spin (don't worry, you're not driving) around the volcanic islands of Hawai'i, where you'll be dumbfounded by how green and undulating the converging ridges appear. Great weather and better prices will please you in October. I've experienced this flight and loved it.

Fly the Coral Route: Tahiti, Rarotonga, Samoa, Fiji, Auckland, Dreamland - it sounds like purging your wallet for an aerial island-hopping experience in the South Pacific couldn't disappoint if it tried. And with October providing some drier conditions, you'll be able to see the blue silk in 360 degrees around you.

In Their Footsteps

On The Road after Kerouac: Though my opinion on Kerouac's instant classic novel is still unformed, I can't deny the pulsing urge inside me to hop in a car and take I-80 as far as it will take me. Maybe that makes his work a success in that it instills the desire to move for the sake of moving. From New York to San Francisco, such a road trip would be quite a thrill to take while reading the novel and hitting up Denver and Chicago along the way, not to mention the great weather October would bring across the entire stretch.

The Silk Road: Avoid the extreme weather conditions by traveling in October through western China to Turkey and some of the world's oldest inhabited cities. The spanning cultures are sensory-linked with landscapes that could slap a yak with amazement.

How's that brain? Spinning with innumerable desires to traverse continents and climates? Pull out a pen and prioritize your life by putting one or more of these trips at the top of the list. And by planning a year in advance, you'll be quite able to save, prepare, and anticipate the rigors of your adventure in every way. Check back in November for the Journeys of a Lifetime you could partake in next year!

As this is a new series, I'd love to hear your feedback on the effectiveness of this concept. Leave a comment and be my new friend.

Video of the Week: Ireland on a Budget

Stay in hostels with free internet. Buy food to cook in the kitchen. Save your money for the pints of Guinness and ice cream you know you want. Occasionally have a pub meal, but remember all the things you can buy with a 20 Euro restaurant bill. And always be on the look-out for fun, free cultural activities that will make you feel like you're seizing the moment. To read my Ireland blogs, click here.

There's no doubt Ireland is expensive, and I'm just here to reiterate that it can also be done on the cheap. http://nomadderwhere.com

Consume and Update: Life, Tolerance and Free Guides

If you're always learning, hopefully you're never bored. Here's my attempt at bringing you the quality information I'm learning by this week. Christine created a series this month on what she knows best: giving a lifestyle some massive alterations to become one's dream life.

This series seeks to give you the practical, real world steps you need to take to get from wherever you are, to exactly where you want to be– traveling the world and living the lifestyle you want.

Today marks her 20th day in the series, and even if you don't harbor a desire to drop what you're doing to live at large in the world, reading her steps toward being location independent can uncover whatever dormant lifestyle shifts that are begging to be released in you. I personally enjoy Day 16: Becoming a Digital Nomad, The Freelance Edition as well as some assorted tips from Day 15: The Not-So-Secret Trick to Finding Cheap Airfare.

Brave New Traveler's Ian MacKenzie brings to our attention a video about tolerance and diversity that is worth the 8 minutes of attention.

https://www.patreon.com/theramintrees closed-captions in the following languages: -Arabic [anonymous] -Bulgarian [by EstrangedEstranged] -Croation [by Mladen Culic] -German [by Patrick Mächler, bCurious2 & Vasco] -Hebrew [by RoeyTNT] -Hungarian [j0hnnyj0ker0] -Italian [by saintpine] -Polish [by Maciej Ślęczka, McDonough22] -Portuguese [by AcidZero] -Slovak [by Peter Ščigulinský] -Spanish [by ArmandoXIII] -Russian [by ‪sol3michael‬] -Turkish [by an anonymous translator] ---- piano score written/performed by QualiaSoup, available at: http://qualiasoup.bandcamp.com/track/instruction-manual-for-life Qualia's YouTube channel: http://www.youtube.com/QualiaSoup ---- For those critics who read this video as an 'attack', or commentary on one specific religious/political/ideological group, a message: look deeper.

Christine Garvin continues to think philosophically about travel's influence on personal identity and self-respect. It's the underlying theme of it all, and there's no point in continuing whatever mission you have if you don't have a conscious emphasis on this in your life. It helps to read these works regularly.

l now feel in my bones something that has been said to me time and time again over those last 10 years: to have others look at you with appreciation, you must first appreciate yourself. And the way to attain that appreciation for the self and connect to spirit is to gain some understanding of all those other people out there roaming the earth.

Other Discoveries This Week

Elance.com and Guru.com: As I'm beginning my freelancing career, it's important to know there are websites like these making it easier to bridge connections between suppliers and demanders.

Kayak Buzz: I've been looking for something like this. It's almost like having an eject button.

The Happy Planet Index: An independent think tank that believes in economics as if people and the planet mattered.

Phoenix: Four French dudes that make up a quality band

Update on Nomadderwhere

Speaking Engagements: On Thursday, October 1st, I will drive to Northern Indiana to present my travels to interested Hoosiers. If you're a friend of my grandparents, you'll be seeing me in a Peabody conference room, chatting about travel photographs and the dramatic stories behind them. If you live in Wabash, Indiana, be sure to reserve your space at the Honeywell House fast, because the room is already filling to capacity for my later presentation. But there will be no lectures, because in the spirit of lifelong learning, I won't for one second pretend I'm not there to learn from the audience as well.

Free Guides: I receive e-mails fairly frequently from friends and family asking for tips on certain travel destinations. In an attempt to offer what I know to those who may benefit, I've created free guides to cities and countries I've visited, which will continue to grow in number as I continue to get those kind of e-mails. Thus far I've offered my city guide of Florence, a first timer's guide to India, and some pointers and background for the Greek isles. With each guide, there is the option of the pretty or the printer-friendly version, depending on how you will read and enjoy the material! Email lindsay {at} nomadderwhere.com if you have a request for a free guide!

Video of the Week: Edinburgh Fringe Festival

The Fringe festival in Edinburgh has an atmosphere that would tantalize any arty, expressy person in this world. Constant performances in hundreds of venues. Street performers clogging the main thoroughfares. It's a grand ambiance and worth visiting over and over again. If only I had more time to do this festival justice.

The world's largest arts festival in one of the world's greatest cities. http://nomadderwhere.com

Hey, Ireland, Nice Craic! Day 75

"Nice craic" Why, thank you!

This phrase took me some time to understand. This wasn't a severely misspelled compliment towards my derriere but a charming little catch phrase about good times in Ireland. Having a blast at a pub, cheers-ing to good friends, good Guinness, and swaying to the pipe of a Irish folk musician? That's some darn good craic right there.

I assume most travelers come to Ireland to enjoy the scenery and some good ol' fashioned craic. Our white and green bus shot to the west side of the country, down to the south, and around again to Dublin, with every stop centered on the pursuit of lovely views and some lovely good times.

Each time we stopped along the path towards the Atlantic, the more I believed the weather in Ireland is truly confused. Standing in the rain amidst sheep poop on the Hill of Tara, I thought, "This is really lovely. If only my toes weren't wet and ...messy." Walking around the Trim Castle, I thankfully basked in the sun of a surprisingly clear sky while meandering around the massive stone structure. And as the mist that coated my camera lens outside the Locke Distillery had me finally uttering, "I don't get this damn barometric situation! Ah, to hell with it. It's whiskey time."

Every day we flew across the clouds and squeezed our big bus between pasture-lined country roads. Once in a while, the mist would cease, and an opening in the atmosphere would reveal St. Patrick's mountain or a field of white horses. It's hard to let Ireland's weather ruin a trip to Ireland, but when the weather is good, it's gorgeous. Nothing on the trip topped the ultimate vista at the most westerly point of our tour. Atop a cliff covered in purple flowers, I sat and stared at breaking waves and tiny uninhabited islands off the coast. A butterfly landed next to me. I laughed, because it was all so ridiculously poetic.

The cliffs of Moher luckily emerged from an intense cloud cover only a half hour before we got there, and we were able to see where land was sliced by an undulating knife before the Earth popped in the oven. It caused a little existential hiccup to hear we were standing in Ireland's most popular suicide destination, but thankfully we didn't witness any travesties of the sort, only the simple elegance of nature.

And with every evening, whether we tucked into a one horse or 2,000 horse town, it was a mission for Guinness, for three-time distilled Irish whiskey, for a moment's rest from a day of bumping on a bus. And when the mind is filled with the vibrant greens of the day, one can easily conclude Ireland is easy on the senses.

Neon chlorophyll and Guinness...and don't forget the nice craic.

Video of the Week: Scotland

She's certainly hard to describe, but I've done so right here with my blogs on Scotland!

We need to come up with better words to describe the places we love. http://nomadderwhere.com

Where are all the Dubliners? Day 70

Some Irishmen say Dublin is not a city that reflects the true Irish mentality. "I've lived there for years before, but it's never been a home to me," said one of the Irish ladies I met on the internship. It's definitely got its touristy areas that overcharge and manufacture "authenticity," and these areas can become smokescreens for the actual intimate experience the traveler seeks. I anticipated not liking Dublin for its prices and supposed lack of charm. However, Dublin did not rub the the wrong way at all.

The capital seems to have a lot going for itself. Theaters scatter the city and definitely don't go unnoticed. The local free newspaper detailed cultural events ranging from free music and graffiti festivals outside to basement techno parties. And Dublin appears to attract a large amount of travelers who immediately take on the Irish personable nature upon getting to the little green island.

We arrived in Dublin early in the morning and quickly got to work on intern responsibilities and pressing health issues (Chris had a cough that just wasn't sounding too pretty). I sat in our hostel's common room with my laptop open, firing digital data into the universe. Within the first hour, I met two very interesting people without even trying. Sharing my power cord with a Canadian high school grad led to her recounting why she decided to take a year off to work and live in Ireland. And when the man nearby overheard me explain the details of the World Traveler Internship, we began chatting, and I eventually learned he was a fellow American on an around-the-world trip of his own. Both were incredibly willing to show me what they knew about Dublin and the world of travel.

A group of solo travelers and ourselves decided to make a night of it before the tour started in the morning. We ventured to the pub behind the hostel, which squeezed into the empty space between multiple buildings. And it was here that I tried my first pint of Guinness. I took photos. I told the bartender as if it was a monumentous occasion. I took a sip and sensed the microscopic bubbles flow down my trap. Unfortunately I was still recovering from the flu (still wondering if it was the swine...) and had no functioning taste buds, but I sensed the surprisingly smooth and creamy texture of the classic Irish stout and said, "Hey, not bad at all."

A night out in Dublin sometimes means a night amongst the streets of the Temple Bar area. This is a place I doubt Dubliners frequent, but it provides a large amount of venues for entertainment and debauchery and, most importantly, Guinness consumption. We found a bar with a band and nestled in a nook with the other French, Canadian, German, and American travelers. This was the first time on the trip traveler intermingling felt so organic.

Sometimes I forego the opportunity to submerge in the hostel world or traveler niche when traveling because I'd rather be looking for a gallery where I can chat it up with the owner or a pub where the local bartender has time to tell me the good stuff about where I am and who the locals really are. But there's true merit in speaking to the people you brush your teeth next to. We're all out there feeling like we've got a mission to accomplish, and it helps to hear about others' successes and mishaps. And sharing perceptions of a place can comfort weary bones or stale minds.

I don't think I met a single Dubliner. Maybe the Irish don't find Dublin home-like because its already packed with travelers and foreign workers. Whoever actually resides in the city though makes it an easy, fun place.

The Love of the Irish

I once loved Lucky Charms cereal. Back in the day, my mom would only purchase whole grain, non-sugary cereals for our morning bowls, so I would pounce at the chance to grab that box packed with clover and rainbow marshmallows at friend's houses. That leprechaun really hypnotized me with his marketing schpeal. They really were magically delicious. I realized not too long ago that the little leprechaun was the extent of my exposure to Irish culture, that is until I met some real Irishmen (and women) in the traveling community. Thank goodness, because I now find the consistency of the mallows to be rather putrid, and you'd hate to be turned off a country based on a non-authentic food association.

Some white-water kayakers chasing the rapids of the Nile in Uganda. A RTW-er taking a break from overlanding on the beaches of Zanzibar. A woman enjoying some time off while jetting across India. If I were to list all the amazing Irish people I've met in various circumstances, my brain would spin and hurl from overuse. The Irish get out there, and not only are they lovers of fun but make for great friends on the road. As a whole, they're immediately welcoming and seem to understand the comforts and personalities of others quite easily. And when you spend a lot of time away from home, loneliness is often a part of your daily emotional load...that is, unless there are some Irish around.

It wouldn't matter to me what time of year I visit Ireland or what activities I take part in; I would travel to Ireland just to be around the humor and mindset of the people who live there. Sitting in an empty pub, having a pint at the bar, and chatting with the bartender sounds fantastic to me. Falling into a conversation with the man next to me on the bus would probably leave me smiling. And we're darn lucky to be right across the pond from these guys, making it easier to pop on over for a quick break from work to be around a new culture that's impossible not to love.

It wouldn't matter to me what time of year I visit Ireland or what activities I take part in; I would travel to Ireland just to be around the humor and mindset of the people who live there. Sitting in an empty pub, having a pint at the bar, and chatting with the bartender sounds fantastic to me. Falling into a conversation with the man next to me on the bus would probably leave me smiling.

Video of the Week: Greece

There's the peaceful, picturesque side of Greece...and then there's the other side. http://nomadderwhere.com

Wild and Sexy Scotland: Day 68

We bolted for the Highlands. There was no stopping us. The bright yellow tour bus resembled the Coors Light Silver Bullet Train in my mind as it streamed like a beast across very green and steadily growing hills. When there was a need to stretch the legs, we stopped in a town that brings to mind the adjectives quaint, cute, and colorful. When our bellies grumbled, pubs and cafes appeared , and never did we leave the big yellow bus door without multiple recommendations for the best food to be had or the best church to be seen. On the bus, it was always learning time. If I were to pack in the amount of knowledge our guide Kyle had about Scotland into my head, surely geometry equations and verb conjugations would shove out my ears. Basically, his brain overfloweth with Scottish facts. He told stories, recounted mythical tales, and even played DJ by orchestrating an eclectic and authentic Scottish playlist. Bus time was never wasted time.

As the landscape got cooler, we began the side trips. The Battle of Culloden was apparently one that determined the fate of our future countries and cultures. Kyle explained the brutal slaughtering of the Jacobites as we stood on the very soil that soaked up the puddling blood. You can do nothing else in such a spirit-filled presence but wander solemnly and imagine mass fatalities occurring on this, currently, luminous land. Eerie.

After having a little cultural reenactment by a traditional Scottish clansmen (man, those clothes must have smelt rugged), Kyle made it possible to take an optional boat ride on the Loch Ness. We boarded as skeptics, thinking we were only there for the scenery and to joke about water monsters, but I returned to solid ground with squinting eyes and an odd sensation that I believed what the sailor aboard was telling us. There really may be a monster, or perhaps 18, in the Loch Ness. There's some pretty eerie "proof" circulating on the down low.

Day two pleased me to no end. The castle from the movie Entrapment?! Get outta town! We walked around what was once majestic, then terrorized and knocked to the ground, and is now rebuilt to its original splendor. Eilean Donan Castle is one famous little stack of rocks at the merging of three lakes, and I oggled the rooftop, trying to envision Sean Connery dropping his whiskey glass into the swampy abyss.

And with a subsequent visit to the Isle of Skye, I was then rocked by colors: slate blue ocean, yellow-green hills, pale blue skies, grey and mossy stones of yore. This day reminded me I see the Highlands permanently stuck in some medieval period, where stones are primary building materials, blood is shed in the most brutal way, and the oldest of English vocabulary is necessary for conversation (though Highlanders usually only spoke Gaelic). It's funny to think where we get these ideas, to suspend a culture in a time we never really knew or witnessed firsthand. I guess Scotland lends to it with the preservation of its medieval castles (as does Florence with the Renaissance architecture or my grandma with her 70s style furniture). We all reminisce about the good 'ol days, I guess.

I was never untouched by the view out the window. The soil of the hills held stories I'd cringe hearing, and the clouds were ever-present to keep the landscape new and changing. Glencoe was no exception to the beautiful Highland rule: this spot on the Earth is towering and begging to be hiked. And when a leisurely drive around the open land brings you past cows with teenage boy hair, you can't help but think the Highlands are hilarious. One may even call them Wild and Sexy.

Deep Scottish Love: Day 67

I owe my desire to romp in the Scottish Highlands to one Mr. Bear Grylls. Watching him parachute into the rolling terrain and crunch through icy grass got me all sorts of giddy to do those things myself. So when I heard we were darting around the Highlands via bus tour during Scotland's best weather month, I was thrilled to finally see for myself the land I desperately wish was my back yard. But here's the thing: buses make me sleepy. And when you've just spent two months shooting across the globe, traveling on a budget, and getting battered by flus and Delhi belly, there's no hope for your energy level reaching anything above a half-conscious zombie state. I tried to fight it with coffee and music, but the eyelids refused to remain lifted. I missed half the landscapes, half the photo opportunities, half the historical tales told by our amazing guide, half the Deep Scottish Love one acquires from being in the Highlands, and this made me feel like an awful ambassador to STA and to the USA.

I feel like Aussies have the stamina to travel like this for long periods of time, but when I cannot stay awake for an entire destination, I know I'm not meant to cover lots of ground in little time. I once spent 30 days seeing 15 countries in Europe...and then had to take another month to recover from the trip. I refuse to take for granted the travel opportunities I get, but when your body is working against you, saying, "You cannot appreciate this place like you want to because I'M TIRED," you learn the way you're meant to travel.

Of course, the World Traveler Internship is no regular vacation. I knew it was going to be a wild and action-packed experience that would rock me to my core. I tried to rest as much as possible throughout the journey to always remain on my A game, but the World is so awe-inspiring and over-stimulating that it can easily cripple the mind and body with exhaustion. Though I prefer staying in one place for a longer period of time, I loved the act of going out into the World, documenting my experiences, and creating passion-fueled material to inspire other travelers. It's an awesome job, but you have to be a toughie to do it.

All that anticipation for the Highlands, and I slept through the best parts. Asking around, I discovered a bus tour like ours is the most economical way to get around the Highlands in a time-efficient manner. Apparently, the trains are very expensive and buses aren't what you hope they'd be. Though a three day bus tour is perfect for someone on the go, I did not want to be a passing breeze through the mountains.

I now know that natural, rolling terrain is as beautiful as I imagined, and one day I'm returning during the summer months with a tent, a skillet, and some friends in trekking boots. We drove by unbelievable campsites, surrounded completely by green, mammoth Earth mounds that made my mouth salivate. Some day I'll know the Highlands and the extent of their serenity. I'll know that Deep Scottish Love from the bottom of my soul. And before I go, I'll be resting up for sho.

Free Nessie! Day 66

Would you take me seriously if I told you I believe in Nessie, the Loch Ness monster? Crazy thing is I actually think I do. At least the old sailor on our boat trip made it very easy to imagine such a creature existed below us in those deep and murky waters of Scotland.

A few of us from the Highland bus tour decided to spend an hour of our first evening aboard a boat in one of Scotland's most beautiful settings. This lake, or loch in Scottish Gaelic, is a natural body of water created on a fault line, its depth reaching 260 meters at points. The temperature of the water is frigid, and it's hardly transparent enough to see your hand dipped in two feet deep. We were told, "If all the water in all the lakes and rivers of Scotland was poured into an empty Loch Ness, it wouldn't be enough to fill it." Water pressure is intense when people or unmanned remote vehicles submerge. The conditions of the water have made it extremely difficult to really investigate the possibilities of massive creatures in the water, but there are some, like our boat guide, who make it their life missions to prove this animal exists.

I met a few fun individuals from the tour that shared my dreams of having Nessie recreate the quintessential Free Willy moment over our heads. We even took a picture to later be photoshopped with that effect. But soon, the boat guide brought us down below to hear his tales and be convinced, not just amused.

Multiple TV monitors displayed the activity going on below the boat. One could map out the depth and appearance of the lake bed, and another illustrated the wildlife with massive blots of color. Twenty-five years of this man's life have been dedicated to finding Nessie and her pals, as they believe there are possibly 18 "monsters" in the loch. And when he began showing photos of the TV monitors picking up 3-ton creatures, our eyes opened a little wider. When a remote-operated vehicle submerged to the lake bed, they found a skeleton of mass proportions in the shape of our Nessie assumptions. Whoa.

The biggest shock came when he showed us a photo he captured while kayaking years prior. NASA confirmed this photo hadn't been altered digitally, so he claimed. And if that's true, holy cow, there is something with a huge, scaly neck in Loch Ness.

I love running into these passionate people around the World who find one thing they would die for and spend their lives pursuing one goal. Though we Americans like to be skeptical of stories like those akin to Nessie's, it's fun getting pulled into these old mysteries by the people who bleed them.

Nessie's out there, man. Go check it out for yourself.

Edinburgh Charms: Day 65

Stepping outside after dropping my dirty and travel-worn bags, I noticed the cobblestones, the old building fronts, the charm that draws you in immediately without the need for double decker bus tours or guided walks following a man holding a yellow umbrella. Edinburgh is a city that makes you yearn not to be a tourist. All I wanted to do was find some grad student pub or old bookstore, sit in a wee corner of a medieval building or on a less-crowded city sidewalk, and soak the old and the new in through my skin and eyes. Edinburgh isn't stuck in the past. It seems the residents are in sync with 21st century life while loving the saturation of rich culture and history that surrounds them in this city. She reminded me of Florence, not in style or appearance but through the tangible beauty of sitting amidst the memories of diverse and exciting centuries.

I had the added pleasure of having a friend in town, a pal named Mary from my high school and college days who had lived in Edinburgh for about two years altogether. She had a passion for the Scottish and especially the fantastic culture to be found down each cobbly street. And Mary took me straight to the ambiance I was thirsting for: a bar by the local university, filled with young minds and cheap, local draft.

Within about 60 minutes of landing in Scotland, I fell for the country. It could be the quarter of my ancestry screaming out for its Scottish roots, but I don't think you have to be a Scotsman by blood to realize the joys of the plaid land. When every building speaks of a bygone era and every local seems to reek of humor, you feel satisfied with your destination...and to think I hadn't even laid eyes on the Highlands yet!

I highly doubt Edinburgh in the off-season lacks the vigor of its summer days, but we came at the absolute best time of year. August brings the Fringe, the world's largest arts festival, which means the city doubles in size, every nook is filled with artisan wares, and the energy of Edinburgh reaches all-time highs causing anyone to feel inspired and want to grab a mic or a paint brush. I felt the own artist in me jumping around inside, hoping to express something amidst a sea of purging souls. Part of me now feels there's no other place on Earth to be in August than here.

I think my friend, as well as the fabulous Rachel Rudwall, had it figured out: Edinburgh is a great place to study abroad. And if I'm lucky, I'll return to truly experience the grandeur of the Fringe Festival in August, as well as spend some quality one-on-one time with a city that now makes my top ten list: Edinburgh.

Things I didn't know before coming to Greece

Little old Greek ladies take queueing seriously by using their elbows and body weight
The beaches are sometimes difficult to reach on the islands and most are clothing-optional
You can't flush paper down toilets on the islands
The water on the islands isn't recommended for drinking, so get that money ready for all those bottles
The Greek and Italian languages are nothing alike
There's no avoiding cigarette smoke in Greece...It's everywhere
In Greece, the party starts well after midnight and can continue into brunch time
The water really is that blue
They don't have the greatest beer...and the wine is clearly superior in Italy
When you want to say "cheers" in Greece, you say "yamas!"
Ouzo tastes like sambuca...so, not good
Gyros are a lovely and cheap option for eating out, especially before or after a late night
Italians LOVE Mykonos
Going topless on a beach is quite common
Feta in Greece is served as a thick slab of cheese, not in crumbles, and it's delicious there
ATVs and scooter rentals are everywhere and seem like they're totally worth it

Sick as a Donkey: Day 61

Holy mackerel, Mykonos ripped my body apart and threw it to the seagulls. With every passing minute on the ferry, my head swirled against the motions of the waves and filled with pain. My cough was extreme. I went through three toilet rolls blowing my nose dry. And it's so sad, when your body becomes a victim to disease on the road, but I tried to wipe away my horrifying expression and enjoy as much as possible this most anticipated destination: Santorini. Here's what one can expect from Santorini... -All civilization lies at a high elevation on the island. It takes a while to get places. -Buildings really do cling to the cliffs and present those beautiful cityscapes. -The beaches are both calm and crazy and all are clothing optional. -Scooter and ATV rentals abound, making it very easy to get around and love where you are

Climbing elevations caused my head to throb. I could barely open my eyes to the gorgeous sunset falling over the rooftops. And without the ability to open my eyes, I couldn't rent a scooter and therefore discovered no beaches. Sadly, I did not see Santorini the way it was meant to be seen. But I did spend a lot of time in an air-conditioned room watch samurai movies and Major Payne.

My weary body did, however, muster up enough energy (after 18 hours of rest) to go on the optional tour with the group: to walk over the Santorini volcano, swim in hot springs, and ride a donkey from the water to town. Views were blue, rocky, and gorgeous at every glance, and luckily, the heavy smell of sulfur in the hot springs had no affect on me. I could barely breathe, let alone smell! We covered our faces in hot mud from the floor of the hot springs, and my struggling complexion caught a break with its healing effects. And finally, we boarded stubborn donkeys at the base of the cliff, only to laugh and scream all the way up. They would run, stop, bite each other, squeeze our legs against walls and other donkeys, and I couldn't help but make as many "ass" puns and donkey references as humanly possible. I laughed and was momentarily cured of my ailment. But I expended my days worth of energy and returned to shower, sleep, and watch amazing movies once more.

Santorini has the parties and the peace. I wish I could have experienced and loved both, but instead I dealt with the realities of travel: the occasional disease caused by exhaustion. It happens, and you can either ignore it (and suffer later) or take your vacation in sips, saving up energy for the moments that really make the trip. Now I know Santorini should be done...for next time...when I'm fit and ready.

The Reason for Red Bull: Day 59

The word "Mykonos" causes some people to involuntarily pump their fist and bite their lip with anticipation, knee jerk reactions to the thoughts of staying up until brunch time having cocktails while dancing on flashing platforms in your weekend best. My grandma body sighed at the sound of "Mykonos" knowing fully well it could not handle the pressure to party all night long...but it has to because that's the job. Go, grandma, go! Pump those fists!Our hotel sat about thirty seconds by foot from a curving beach covered in buff bodies. Face to face with the island's ways, it was quite obvious what a person does around here: wakes up for a late lunch, lounges by the beach or pool to perfect that bronze god/goddess sheen, and prepares for a full night amidst overpriced drinks and jazzed up bodies. I decided to give this lifestyle a chance and took my spot in the sun, occasionally taking a dip in the ocean and opening my eyes to watch several young Italian men rub oil on their friends.

Night fell. I emptied my camera bag and refilled it with water bottles and two Red Bulls. I threw a new dress over my head, blew my hair dry, and gave my mirror image a thumbs-up. Let's do this, grandma! Note to all: camera bags insulate nicely, so energy drinks stay nice and cool. Following some dude on stilts through downtown Mykonos Town, we eventually found our way to a big, ol', throbbing club that offered us VIP passes to avoid a hefty cover charge.

It took two hours, but the party started. Bodies filed in and ordered Red Bull and vodkas like fresh robots off the assembly line. Girls with feathers strapped to their glutes swung on poles and fanned themselves to the pulse of the techno. I couldn't help but bring that hand up in a fist and thrust it into the open, flashing air. The music carried me across expanses of time, even though my Red Bulls ran dry and sandals dug into my feet. And at every climax of the beats, the bartenders stood on top of us all and threw handfuls of napkins into beams of light. They scattered on sweaty crowds and mopped up every spilled drink on the ground.

My care pack served me well, and I lasted amongst the most dedicated night-dwellers until 5:30am, when I walked outside to a sunrise...and very afflicted eardrums. Getting back to the hotel at 7am, I passed a runner in my outfit from the night before. Couldn't help but giggle and started jogging myself. I wouldn't do it again for ages, but I truly enjoyed bouncing to ridiculous beats and the repeated scream of "My-Ko-Nos" for that one night only. Grandma pulled it together. And so can you.

An Island I Can Handle: Day 57

Weee! A beach! A warm beach! Without jellyfish, sharks, or boiling outdoor temperatures! The Greek islands were calling me while I was still preparing for the trip in America. Every island the ferry passed was a tease until we finally slowed and reversed into the port for Paros. Oh, sweet breezes and salty air! We made it to our relaxation portion of this year's internship, a much needed moment for sun-worshipping and getting rid of my wicked farmer's tan. Paros marked the first destination on a tour of three islands in the Aegean Sea, and she met almost every expectation. White buildings with strong blue accents made up the entire landscape, and windmills stood poised over the harbor. Restaurants lined the boardwalk, and the wind made my hair dance into happy knots. Maybe the only thing that strayed from my pre-conceived images of the Greek islands were the appearance of the beaches, not sugar white but more in line with their volcanic births.

The tour itinerary was something along the lines of "choose one or more of the following: eat, walk, shop, rest, beach, pool, tan, read, rent scooters, drink, enjoy your beautiful surroundings" and so on. Well, okay. That sounds darn near perfect. And the next day, when it came to a full day of experiencing Paros, our tour guide had something in store if we had no inspiration on our own. I took part in the optional day tour and found myself wandering picturesque fishing towns, running across wave-breaking walls, and at a lovely beach playing newly invented ball games with new friends and a very hospitable sun.

Nightfall in Paros had me dancing on a table. How'd I get up there? Oh, I know. Two days of soul-pleasing leisure and a Red Bull. And it did not take any convincing to get the other tour participants up on the tables with me. Flashing lights pulsed and free group drinks flowed to make smiles spread across our newly tanned faces. This was only the beginning. We all had energy. And to be in Greece during the high season when ferries overflow and funnel in mass amounts of tourists, we were there hassle-free, our only responsibility being to enjoy new company and atmospheres.

Paros left a good taste in my mouth. Made me long for even sleepier islands and the breathtaking beauty of an uncommercial destination. Greece could be a painter's dream, soul-quenching...but our next stop being Mykonos, we were about to have our soul's disgorged via thumping music and innumerable cocktails. Which sounds better?

Clicking with Athens: Day 53

I love Italy; therefore, I always thought I'd love Greece. It's easy to lump them together as Southern Europe/Mediterranean countries and call them similar cultures since they both claim responsibility for civilization as we know it. Ah, but driving into Athens, observing the surrounding barren hills, passing by the various eateries, hearing a language so dissimilar from the romances...Greece immediately broke away from Italy in my mind and thrilled me immeasurably. Things are very different here; however, there still seems to be that indescribable inspiration that pulled me to Italy years ago. I was bound for a good week in a new country. Athens knows no boundaries. I couldn't find the end to the buildings that crawled up the hill slopes and towards the sea. I was far too intimidated to venture anywhere in town other than my hotel's neighborhood, for fear of never finding my way back. Athens certainly wasn't a planned city by any stretch of the imagination, so streets rarely met at 90 degree angles or seemed as wide as they should have been. Instead, I took a few steps outside and found the Plaka scene, a.k.a. tourist haven at the foot of the Acropolis.

Steaming and juicy gyros in minutes. Artsy fashion shops amongst souvenir displays. Trendy joints for moussaka blowing misty wind at the pampered clientele. I found everything I wanted (sandals, dresses, and gorgeous alleys), and all the prime opportunities for people watching I could ask for. And in between the buildings rose the age old columns of the Parthenon, the gods probably chuckling at all the ridiculous t-shirt designs and ruin-themed shot classes.

As much as these areas of towns piss me off, they also satiate all desires of shopping, eating, and observing things you didn't expect to see. One of my favorite parts about Athens was the fact that so many vendors were trying to sell these squashing, gooey balls that flatten as they're thrown on a board. Sad thing is tourists buy those. We all get sucked into the culture catered for us at some point, somewhere.

And with every turn down an alleyway, I found a moment between building and vine, stray cat and doorway, iron rod fence and flowers that made me stop, pull out my camera, and sweat away in the hot sun for that picture of the "moment." I would have taken a photo of trash cans if they were next to a wall of fantastic graffiti. There's something about these Mediterranean destinations that pulls my eye in and makes everything seem more romantic, even garbage and vandalism.

A city of vast expanses, charm and grit, and constant inspiration rising from every crowded street and pile of rubble. Athens has a history that will forever express itself. I like this city.

Join Me for a Beer, Won't You? Day 89

To my exit from this country, I have to say it's a sad moment I am welcoming and thanking for its capacity and assurance to shock my system. I love being knowledgeable enough to say "Excuse me, could I have a beer, please?" From here on out, there's no hope. I can't even use my limited Tamil. From here on out, I'm an ignorant traveler. I won't know a lick of the insults and bad mouthing aimed at my turned back, and I think I'll have to recreate the Italian streets wherever I go.

I never could decide on one universal thing to do/see/buy during SAS, a nice material or photographic common denominator. I think it all sounded too showy and untrue to me. What a chore to find something similar in each country, continent, ugh. HOWEVER, my long-term goal of opening a neighborhood watering hole (chocked full of character, of course) has given me a mission to feel no shame in spending incredible amounts of time in bars. One needn't worry about any sort of "addiction" forming or possible vulnerable situations presenting themselves...I'm here to subtly participate and observe. During the day, these establishments seem like dark holes where dirty deeds go down. At night, we flock and hop to all within 10 blocks like moths to the neon Red Bull signs. Things are a little different in each country, and it gets more specific as you chop it up into cities. Florence is for imbibing...at all hours of the day. Romans enjoy a cold beer with their afternoon read, though if I apply my own reasoning on them, they're just utilizing some free AC in this 100•F+ weather. Croatians need no excuse; they will enjoy a beer at a bar any old time they please. And I mean that. 6 AM. Beers at a cafe. Unreal. Prague was all about the casual drink with friends...only a little, one or two maybe. What an ambiance, though. Maybe we were spoiled by a one Miss Huny Buny. Munich...if you weren't clinking liters, you weren't a part of the crowd. It's always beer o'clock in Germany, but I think I realized why everything is so clean and new there...price per pint. The Ukraine...ai yai yai. As soon as the bartenders talk to you, you're aware of the countries priorities. Drinking, smoking, and not smiling...which urges on more drinking. I could deal with the anti-hospitality thanks to the non-existent beer prices, though. Europe may be the last of my authentic bar experiences as Africa may not offer such accessible alcohol [HA!]. However, the Dragoman adventure includes an almost daily visit to the camp site bar. This is all research, pleasurable research for my future business ventures. How many places can be considered both a hell hole and an oasis? And since I just decided I find great happiness and thrill in doing what I shouldn't, what better way to solidify my existence by creating a place where even the most conscientious person can make an uncharacteristic decision, hopefully not to the detriment of their integrity. Of course not.

And so goes my opinion on bars. That's all I have to say a out that.

Goodbye, Europe.

The Anchor Doesn't Hold: Day 70

Two years ago, I met Evan Handler in this same piazza on the last night of my program. In that year of 2006, I held these locals so close to my appreciation of the city, with their bongos, drunken singing and lovable (by-night) resident homeless men. Yes, that year I watched the first World Cup matches with the Florentine public, sitting on the same dirty stones I am sitting on now. And today I was drawn here by familiarity and love; it's an unfortunate certainty that no one here will talk to me. I have no fear of making conversation with anyone besides the occasional drug dealer or Albanian posing as an Italian stallion. I see through all their games.

Much of this experience was aimed at stripping me bare of what comforts me: proximity to those I know, companions of any kind, plans, money, and expectations. The test was whether I could build something from nothing that was all my own doing, the active efforts and lucky chances accumulating into what makes a human being happy. How much of your life do you lean on nepotism, other people's earnings, easy but unfit relationships, and things you don't even like? And when you deprive yourself of everything you're used to, don't those overlooked facts of your life become surprisingly questioned. I've been confused and torn for life, unknowingly, and only aware of this fun, barely tolerable predicament for a few years now. I just saw the dog from a photograph I took in 2006. Time, you are one bag of tricks.

Via Blackberry, I know that afternoon is in full swing in the Western hemisphere, and my family is working and walking and selling cars. My dark blue sky showcases looming clouds the color of dry blood. Home, to me, seems tailored and young. Florence has deep wrinkles where plagues, prostitutes, wars, families, fanatics, and geniuses have and still leave their marks. The majority of the bulk in my little borrowed purse makes up the 750 pages of Michelangelo's biography, in which I read that his knowledgeable concept of the human form came from his illegal night dissections in the monastery dead room of Santo Spirito, the building that now lies to my left. He washed his body of the stale and caked bodily fluids and wretched innumerable times in this fountain to my right, where the previously mentioned dog is now bathing...and a Rasta is now washing his hands. Again...time...quit playing games with my mind, here!

I doubt I will ever feel more than a weathered stranger here, just as I do in my childhood town. I have abundant reserves of memories sprouting to the surface from each of the four optical images per second. But I'm still in the air, and I need blood, sweat, and tears to build a basement in this town.

Within a sniff and a face-off, two dogs unknown to each other can sense the extent of their compatibility. It would be helpful to meet a city in such fashion. One would know whether they were kidding themselves with fruitless efforts to make something in such a location or that all discomforts, mistakes, unwelcome sensations, dilemmas, and confused cries were making it possible to someday have the "cha-ching" of success. It's far more "journey-like" the way it is. Those who conquer such experiences are those who truly (and I can't help myself...) don't stop believin'.

My written monologues probably fail to have a unifying thought, start with a witty and interesting anecdote, relate to my true state of consciousness and so on, but I think, no matter what I write, I will feel so good holding onto this already tattered notebook, scribbled on and warped by my treasured reflections.

[Afterthought: After finishing this passage, I was approached by a kind local who found my journalling session charming. A half English, half Italian conversation ensued, followed by a reunion of an old friend in the panini business. It was a monumental step and a very pleasant evening.]