The TGV
© Sebastian Terfloth; Wikimedia Commons
There’s a reason college students and budget travelers go “backpacking” and not “suitcasing.” Big suitcases without wheels are awkward…very awkward —especially when you are running through the Paris metro trying, ultimately, to get to Gare de Lyon to make it to France’s fastest train, the TGV.
At the Denpasar Airport. No car seats
© Stephanie Glaser
No kid car seats. I convinced myself this was no big deal as I looked in the eight-passenger seat van that had arrived to pick us up at the Denpasar Airport. Calm down. This is Bali and things are a bit different here. I asked the driver, Waylan, if there were some seats lying around that needed to be set up.
“No, I am sorry, we don’t have car seats for the little ones,” Waylan said as he hoisted up my three-year-old daughter Kasey and tickled her chin. He then leaned over to give her five-year-old brother, Eddie, a high-five.
“They will be fine,” he reassured my husband Kurt and me with a smile displaying the most reflective set of white teeth I’ve seen aside from a Crest White Strips ad. “I am an excellent driver.”
Uluru’s watering hole. © Stephanie Glaser
As anyone who travels knows, there are missteps, mishaps and misadventures, but then there are those perfect moments when we say: “Yeah, this is why I travel.” A Travel Ahh…
The many sides of Uluru
Most people will recognize the iconic scene of Uluru (Ayer’s Rock) from afar and its glowing aura that absorbs and reflects a sunset. However, when you visit Uluru, what is truly surprising are all the nooks and crannies and unexpected offerings of the monolith that you will see up close. When people say, “It’s just a big rock,” they, clearly, have no idea of its magnificence. There are so many wonderful stories about its creation and significance to the Pitjantjatjara. A magical, spiritual place, Uluru has many sides to its story.
Using Embarrassing, Inappropriate or Offensive Words
“I am very pregnant; I do not like beans.”
It’s easy to say the wrong thing when you’re in another country and dealing with a language barrier. Suzanne Miller, director of Nursing for St. Luke’s Wood River Hospital in Ketchum Idaho, knows this well.
While in college, Miller studied in Guadalajara, Mexico, where she had a mix-up with the Spanish word “embarazada,” which of course, sounds like embarrassed. However, it doesn’t mean embarrassed — at all.
“For two weeks, I didn’t eat my meals because they always included refried beans. Finally, my host mother asked me [in Spanish] “Do you not like my cooking?’ So then I said [in Spanish], ‘I’m so, so embarazada, because I don’t like beans.’ My roommate, Jen, was fluent in Spanish and told me, ‘You just told Señora that you are very, very pregnant.’ Senora was stunned at first but Jen eventually cleared it up.” — Suzanne Miller.
To avoid issues with communication, many US travelers head to the UK, Australia and New Zealand because these countries share the same language as the US. Or do they? Can you say the wrong thing in your native tongue when you are traveling in an English-speaking country? Absolutely! Slang varies from dialect to dialect.
© Edward Schuck
Cows, silos, barns, and cornfields. Count these as the main sights of a trip I took in 2006. One would think this place was Iowa, Wisconsin or my home state of Minnesota. Nope. I was in Ukraine looking at fields of corn and pastures of cows. Lots of fields and lots of cows.
Ukraine has long been considered the breadbasket of Europe, and so is the region from where I hail. While it was a nice coincidence, being in breadbasket turf, even in another country, was not necessarily what I wanted to experience. One of the main ideas behind travel is to visit places and appreciate cultures that are different from your own.
© Stephanie Glaser
As anyone who travels knows, there are missteps, mishaps and misadventures, but then there are those perfect moments when we say: “Yeah, this is why I travel.” A Travel Ahh…
The Scaffolding Series: These photos are of the Basilica di Santa Maria del Fiore or more commonly known as the Duomo in Florence, Italy. What a beautiful building it is. The reason I’m posting these photos is not because I think I’m a brilliant photographer, but because I think they turned out reasonably well. The reason for capturing these various angles?
A magpie flies over its rightful turf — the Alberton Oval, home of the SANFL Australian Rules Football Team, the Port Adelaide Magpies.
Magpies, it seems, are iconic and demonic at the same time. In the past, they have been viewed in Chinese culture as birds who bring good luck and joy. In many Western cultures, the magpie has had more sinister qualities and has even symbolized evil like its cousin the raven.
This good vs. evil framework works well in sports. Magpies are often mascots for athletic teams (e.g. the Australian Rules Football teams, Victoria’s Collingwood Magpies and the South Australia National Football League’s Port Adelaide Magpies just to name a few.) Scavengers and survivors, magpies are quite intelligent and definitely deserve a certain amount of respect.
On our way to the market in Naxos.
© Stephanie Glaser
“What do you want?” a small voice asked from somewhere near the deli counter where I was standing in a 7-11esque convenience store in Naxos, Greece. The question was definitely more a demand for information than an exercise in customer service.
I peered over the counter and spotted a skinny eight-year-old Greek boy in neon board shorts and a faded tank top with “I’d Rather Be Surfing – Greek Isles” peeling off the front. He emerged from behind the counter because a shelf topped with various sausages and soft cheeses obscured his view.
I looked around for an adult proprietor. An older woman with a tight bun, dressed in a loose-fitting floral sundress, sitting by the cash register seemed to fit the bill. A young girl wearing the same patterned sundress counted change next to her. Meanwhile, the proprietor read what appeared to be a Greek tabloid.
The boy, however, moved directly in front of me. Despite the fact that I could have placed my beach bag on the top of his head, he was an intimidating presence with his arms crossed against his chest. Tapping his fingers along his tiny bicep, he waited for my response. It didn’t take body language fluency to figure out that this kid was irritated. Indeed, it was evident — he would rather be surfing.
Even holy men need a break!
© Stephanie Glaser
As anyone who travels knows, there are missteps, mishaps and misadventures, but then there are those perfect moments when we say: “yeah, this is why I travel.” A Travel Ahh..
When we visited Tanah Lot, a sacred Hindu temple in Bali, Kurt and I were excited to get a rice blessing at the site of a holy water spring below the temple. The Hindu holy men brush water on your forehead and then they adhere a few rice grains. After the rice cluster is secured, the priests place a plumeria behind your ear. It’s lovely event. I snapped the top photo while waiting for our turn. Even holy men need a break! The bottom photos are of our kids Eddie and Kasey getting their blessings.
© Stephanie Glaser
There’s a problem with stating that you need to learn how to drive on “the wrong side of the road” when you are a visitor in Australia, Great Britain, India, Indonesia and in many other nations. The main issue is that for the residents of these countries, it is the right side of the road — meaning correct — despite the fact it’s the left side of the road.
However, even if you state correctly that you are learning to drive on the left side of the road — it feels wrong. Very, very wrong.
My first attempt at driving on the left side of the road in Adelaide, Australia, was when my family needed groceries. We had no food except for Vegemite and crackers. That is a motivating factor in giving driving on the left side a go.
Backing out of a garage was bewildering. I had to have my husband Kurt do that since I kept looking the wrong way and moving the steering wheel in the wrong direction. The next confusion came when preparing to turn on to a main street. I moved my left hand to hit the turn signal. Wwwwipe…wipe…wipe (actually it was more like a sssscccrrrape since there was no rain to lube up the windshield wipers.) Turning on the windshield wipers instead of the turn signal would plague me up until about five months into our stay in Adelaide.
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