Festivals and Reasons to Be Somewhere

Yeah, it's been awhile.  Mostly cuz, well, I moved.  And things got crazy.  And I haven't really BEEN anywhere for awhile.  I know, no excuse.  And I also know that I've been exploring this new city I live in and haven't recorded any of that here.  However, my summer job of teaching children ALL DAY has now come to an end, and in my epic quest to become a time millionaire, I hope to devote some new found free time to getting this a little bit more up to date.

One exciting new life event: The travel magazine that I provide online content for made me a Richmond "Local Expert" and contracted me for a freelance gig about the best of RVA.  Check out my "expert" Richmond picks here:
http://www.afar.com/travelers/kerry-mcgee/wanderlists/a-locals-guide-to-the-capital-of-the-confederacy

And - just as a source of inspiration, my alarm went off this morning, and NPR treated me to two travel stories, both about one day festivals or events that transformed a place.  First was a children's circus taking over the streets of Kabul:



http://www.npr.org/2013/08/19/212659070/in-kabul-a-juggling-act-that-offers-joy-for-afghan-kids

And also - apparently today is beach day in Paris - the city brings in a bunch of sand and turns a half mile stretch of the Seine into a Boardwalk.



http://www.npr.org/blogs/parallels/2013/08/19/212384535/sun-sand-and-the-seine-the-beach-comes-to-paris

I love how festivals can make your home town feel different and cool, and lets you look at it through new eyes - and you notice that everyone else is doing the same, and having a real ball doing it.  It really reinforces the sense of community in a place.  I know I've seen this during The Folk Festival in RVA, the County Fair in Mt. Pleasant, and even with more structured events like the National Boys Tennis Tournament in Kalamazoo.  It gives the feeling of a holiday in your home town, and it's great seeing how many people regularly play hooky to take part in the local festivities.

So, until I catch you up to date with my new life in yet another Capital city (The Northern one, this time), enjoy the holiday spirit in Paris and Kabul.

Unlikely Street Art in Prague

Shockoe Slip, RVA

I know it isn't somewhere different for me - but it sure looks different with a little snow! Photo courtesy of Becca Muhleman.

Shadows in the Night

I don't get to travel much.  Money gets tight when you constantly freelance.  But I couldn't be a part of this blog without saying something about my trip to Boston, Massachusetts a couple of years ago.  So, sorry for these stories not being current or anything, but it was an amazing trip so here ya go!

My boyfriend at the time, now husband has traveled the world.  Literally.  So when we try to find places to go on vacation or just for a weekend away from home we try to go and do things that he has never done before.  And that's how we ended up picking Boston as our fall trip in 2009.  Now, me being a (at the time) self proclaimed Southern Lady, I thought I would find the trip just marginally interesting.  An experiment in social behavior foreign, and ultimately inferior to my own.  Completely wrong!  Was so shocked to get there and see what a phenomenal, beautiful and inspiring city Boston really is.  And I wish I had pictures but sadly the camera that I used on that trip broke, killing any hope of me sharing some of my favorite spots on film...so apologies there.

We were in the city for just over 7 days and as I mentioned in my previous post, my husband is a walker.  So he wanted to canvas the city, exploring what seemed to me to be every alley and side street available to us in order to really get a feel for the energy of the city.  At the time, my feet were screaming at him, but now I'm really glad we did because we saw and heard and experienced so much of the history and life of the city in such a short time; it was all worth it.

On our second day we decided to walk the Freedom Trail www.thefreedomtrail.org which takes you in the footsteps of Paul Revere, to the oldest cemetery and church in the city, through the beautiful Boston Common, to the site of the Boston Massacre and ending with the USS Constitution.  And yes we walked the whole thing.  Amazing amounts of history.  And let me tell you, if you are into haunts and local lore, this is the place to be.  The Granary Burial Ground (resting place of Ben Franklin's parents, Paul Revere and Sam Adams) was probably the most active cemetery I have ever set foot in.  Not to sound weird or anything, but you know that feeling that you are being watched?  Even possibly touched by something you can't see?  I'll just say that there is more than just history to be experienced there!

In fact, the entire city is full of local lure, if you will, and for those interested in getting a good, entertaining look at the spooky side of Boston's night life, I highly recommend the Ghost and Gravestones Frightseeing Tour www.ghostsandgravestones.com/boston.  Costumed ghouls take you on a trolley tour through Boston's most haunted streets and graveyards---I laughed, I was spooked, I think I even yelped once.  Top notch.

In the middle of our trip, we took the T out to Salem.  It was October, the leaves were every color of fall imaginable and as we pulled into the train station early in the day, the sun hit the hills and illuminated the bright pallet of nature's radiance making it seem like I was looking at a Monet.  The town is home to the Salem Witch Museum www.salemwitchmuseum.com explaining the history behind the events of the 1609 witch trials.  The Museum, although quaint and a bit theatrical, took you on a journey through history, looking at how the term "witch" has been and continues to be viewed and used today.  There was even a section on modern Paganism and the ways that Hollywood and the media have portrayed witches---it was actually very cool, I learned a lot.  And their gift shop had a number of books and resources, historical to Harry Potter, to satisfy any amount of curiosity one might have.  I fell in love with Salem that day.  The charm of the little clap board houses, the witchy feeling of the city center, the Halloween decorations in every window, every niche.  If I were to move up north, I would move to Salem.  I feel like life would be beautifully calm there.  That there would be lots of time for reflection, spiritual and emotional, and even when the cold winters cycled through and blanketed the town in white, there would be warmth and cheer and a cozy peace to the city.

One more thing before I wrap this up.  I can't talk about this trip without mentioning the one show we saw on this trip:  Sleep No More.  Based on Shakespeare's Macbeth, the innovative company Punchdrunk takes you on an immersive, interactive experience through a world that seems familiar but somehow skewed.  It was like looking at slides from an old family album that were stained with what you thought but hoped wasn't blood...strange, beautiful, exciting, terrifying, mesmerizing...I can't tell you anymore because it is different for everyone and needs to be experienced to be understood.  Changed my artistic life and vision.  If you ever get the chance to see one of this company's shows, or this one specifically (it is playing in New York now www.sleepnomore.com) DO IT.

Amazing trip.  One of my favorite to date.  Again sorry for no pictures, but hope the weblinks help!    

Scotland, once again

AFAR magazine recommended this blog post, and as it talks about finding a sense of love and of place in Scotland, I thought it may be of interest to Rebecca at least (considering your post is of a similar nature).  The photos are beautiful, so I suggest everyone check it out.

Aviators and Camera

A Rememory of Berlin

People go on vacation for lots of reasons.  To get away, take a break, see something new, etc - but mostly for the romance of it all.  And I'm not talking specifically of Capital "R"  Vacation Romance, like in Before Sunrise (not that any of us would turn it down if it came our way, I'm sure) - but the romance of adventure, and change, and seeing things of great beauty that we may never get a chance to see again in our lives.  the romance that if we just change our location and daily routine, endless possibilities suddenly open up to us.

I took a trip to Prague this fall with a brief stopover in Berlin and Istanbul.  The German part of my vacation was . . . stressful, to put it best.  I was supposed to meet my friend Dave in a bus station outside of Berlin.  After waiting for about an hour and a half I paid a Euro to use the internet and found a Facebook message from him saying that he couldn't make it.  Sorry!  Have fun in Berlin!  The only reason I was traveling to Berlin was to meet Dave.  Otherwise I would have stayed in Prague.  Dave was also in charge of making all the arrangements in Berlin because he lived in Germany, been there several times before, and knew about those kind of things.  Including how to get me from my bus station into the city.  I debated getting on the next bus back to Prague (in four hours) but instead, decided since I was so close, why not try to figure it out myself, huh?  It would be an adventure!  Ah, the romance of it all!

Finding a train into Berlin, a cheap hotel, the internet, and a money exchange was . . . well, not romantic.  Difficult, in fact.  I wandered around the streets surrounding the Bradenburg Gate for hours seeking information (FYI - the information station by the Gate is useless).  Finally, I squared everything away just in time to shower, grab a bite to eat, and make my show at The Berliner Ensemble.  I was exhausted.  I slammed an espresso in the theatre lobby just so I wouldn't pass out during the second act.  Tres Romantic!

The show was inspiring.  And the theatre was a landmark to one of my theatre idols.  I left the theatre in a trance, it was dark now, and I wandered up and down the streets around the river in an artistic haze, looking into every cafe window, and admiring the way the lights reflected off the river.  I finally had the opportunity and desire to really look at Berlin.  I picked a cafe terrace along the river and to sit and have a glass of wine. I jotted down ideas in my little notebook and poured over my travel guides, deciding how I would spend the half day I had tomorrow.  And I just stared at the river, and thought about the play.  I was, well, I was wrapped up in the romance of the city, and the art, and the travel.  Part of me wished that I had someone with me to share the pure romance of it all, but the other part of me understood that that longing added to the romance of the whole thing.  I've never been to Paris, but I assume that what I felt that night in Berlin was the same romance that I hear permeates the air there.

The rest of my time in Germany was lovely.  I'm glad I went.  And as much as I would have liked to see Dave, and avoided the stressful hours he caused me, I never would have had that moment if we'd met up.  Or if I'd taken the bus back to Prague.  So, here's to the moments we travel for.  The perfect moments of romance.

It was my first time...

I know that's sad to say considering I've talked all my life about how much I wanted to travel the world, but yes, this was my first time overseas.

This past August.  And it changed my life.

It had rained all day and night before.  So our first REAL look at Edinburgh, Scotland was the next morning.  And oh how glorious it was!  The streets, stones, alleys they call closes all seemed washed and polished just for our little visit.  The town seemed to surge energy, happiness, revelry.  We were there at the height of tourist season, with the Fringe Festival just finished and only the tail end of the International Festival of Theater remaining.  Everywhere I looked there were people.  And not just Scottish or English, no, there were people all around me speaking dozens of different languages and wearing their finest and pushing their strollers and laughing together and having a pint or a coffee.  There was even this very impressive street performer, probably left over from the Fringe, with this unicycle act that honestly had my heart racing!  It was like something out of a movie.  The excitement, the newness of it all.  I stood agape just trying to take it all in.  And as I looked down the hill to the bottom of the Royal Mile I saw her.

Majestic.  Picturesque.  Massive sat the Crag.  Salisbury Crag, an ancient volcano long since silenced, is now a glorious park overlooking Holyrood Park and mirroring the castle's own mound on the other side of the city.  I wanted to go, I HAD to go, don't ask me what that means I just HAD to get on those hills.  I felt drawn to them in a way I have never felt before, it was...magical.

So my husband and I set out.  Now with him, you don't just walk up to something and go do it, no, he wants to meander and think and take it all in.  That was ok.  I could deal with that.  So we set out finding a "less beaten path" to the Crag through lovely residential areas, parks, churchyards.  But always I kept that Crag in the corner of my eye.  I was going to get to her that day.  Had to.

We found our way to a winding path that led around and up the side of the Crag.  Oh it was a glorious day, the sun and the clouds playing catch with the wind; it made you feel like you could just take wing and fly.  So up we went.  The hillside was not so steep on that side so the start of the climb was very pleasant and rather easy.  We would stop every 100 steps or so and admire the view from our perch, looking at the heather, the rock face or just the clouds and the city below.  Magnificent can't even begin to describe it and thankfully I didn't have my camera because the pictures I would take would pale in comparison to the glory I was taking in as we climbed.  And the further we went, the further I wanted to go.  Further up, further into the heart of the hills.

We reached the peak of our little path about an hour into the climb.  You could see the entire city from there.  Tall spires of sandstone buildings dating back centuries, Edinburgh Castle, the Firth of Forth and green and tan checked pastures in the far distance.

But there was another path.  Straight up the side of the next massive hill.  And that is the path we had to take.  Down to go up.  Then straight up toward Arthur's Seat (we were told was named for the God Thor, not for the fabled king), the highest point in the Crag.  That part of the trek seemed to take forever.  And it was steep.  So steep that many times we were balancing hand and footholds at the same time to make the climb.  I remember that we got to a plateau about half way up and we stopped again to look around, and I saw this girl running up the hill.  Like, jogging, like it was her daily jogging route.  And as she bound up that hill that had taken me so long to climb and as she gracefully danced on the tops of the sharp footholds of the ridge she looked to me like a sprite.  Fairy.  Whatever.  But it was then that I realized that by doing this trek I was becoming one with this land.  Like its people.  Like my people generations back.  Like this was my heart's home.  These hills, these stones, the heather.  I felt different from then on.  I was home.

We made our way up to Arthur's Seat and viewed the panorama and as we stood there on that narrow rock at what seemed the top of the world, clutching onto each other for fear of the wind knocking us off of our footing, I had one of the most powerful sensations of my life.  I belonged to that place.  My heart would always belong to that place.