I have been in Guanajuato at Casa Palma for almost a month now. The house is beautiful, with walls of tiles and murals, and a veranda that offers a view of the city. There is something special here, the colors and the kindness and, of course, the sounds. Guanajuato is the noisiest city on earth! But it’s the good kind of noise. Dogs and roosters, music, children laughing, music, fire works, dogs, church bells, goats, whistles, sheep, and music. More music. Dogs. Continue reading
Martin Luther King said “We are not makers of history. We are made by history.” I’m not sure about the first half of this quote coming from history-maker Martin Luther King, but I am good with the second half. And for me travel is one of the best ways to learn about what we are made of. Some places are especially good for understanding a little bit about world history, and feeling the past and how it has influenced our world today.
It’s 3am and the sky is lit by moonlight. A dog barks down the hill. And then another dog barks a little further up the hill. Another dog barks and another dog barks. Within 30 seconds, the sound becomes a 6-part harmony of dog barks moving toward the top of the hill like a canine version of The Wave. Continue reading
Three years ago, I went to Greece and my life changed. So I wrote about it.
Sometimes in my travels, I learn a little more about a place than meets the eye. The small town of New Iberia is one of those places. It is one of Louisiana’s oldest and most historic. Straddling both sides of the beloved Bayou Teche, it is the center of the state’s sugar cane production. Locals are friendly and affectionately call their town “Da Berry.” Visitors come to tour the elegant plantation house called Shadows on the Teche, New Iberia’s charming downtown, and the jungle garden on Avery Island.
On Tuesday, I got hit in the head more than a couple of times with green or silver beads but, unfortunately, not a coconut. Coconuts are what you want the people on the Zulu parade floats to throw at you.
I am not a shopper. But when I travel, I love shopping — not at Zara or Desigual — but at local markets, where members of the community sell what they grow or make. Every market visit is an education in local culture and every market is a place to feel connected to the local community. People are happy — or at least hopeful. And that kind of shopping doesn’t require you to buy anything to make you feel good.
It has been more than two years since I first arrived on the Greek island of Lesvos where overloaded boats brought refugees to the island’s windy beaches. The people in the boats were mostly young and many were children — wet, cold and hungry, escaping war and persecution in their home countries. Continue reading