Category: be inspired

This is the sixth post in a series called The Versa-Letters where we feature travel stories from women around the world. Today we have a second post from Peggy, who is sharing her experience in Ecuador. You can read last week’s Versa-Letters from Chile here.

I walk down a dusty street against a steady stream of people, many of them pulling their pigs, sheep or cow with a piece of frayed rope. The animals know something is up, and they aren’t happy about it.

Directly across from the cemetery, the hillside is awash with color. The locals, with their traditional bright red ponchos, are gathered for the cattle market. It feels like their own version of the NY Stock Exchange. People cluster in groups to check out the animals and haggle over prices. It’s a sort of controlled chaos — that quickly becomes uncontrolled as a randy bull decides he wants some action.

Much shouting, struggling and running ensues as the owner tries to get the bull under control and away from the object of his desire.

This is the weekly market in the small town of Guamote, located along the “Avenue of the Volcanoes” in the Ecuadorian Andes. One thing’s for sure, it’s definitely not a tourist market. The local Kichwa travel for miles every Thursday to barter, sell and buy vegetables, animals, fruit, clothing, and basic supplies. The market spreads into many areas throughout town, including the railroad tracks.

The crowds are thick as I am pushed through the market stalls. They’re filled with vibrant colors of fabric, fruit and traditional felt hats. I worry that I’m in everyone’s way, but no one seems concerned.

The women are hunched over with huge bags of carrots or grain, often almost as big as they are. There are women carrying children on their backs while toting bags of produce or pulling animals behind them. Yet they don’t hesitate to smile and take time to chat with their friends. Their strength amazes and inspires me.

Their way of life seems difficult to me as an outsider. But their culture is rich, their way of living so connected to nature and their community incredibly strong. I know they have something I can’t possibly begin to understand, so I immerse myself in it fully and hope to absorb just some of their amazing energy. {r}

Peggy lives a pretty unusual life where every day is really awesome. A few years ago, after a five week trip to Southeast Asia, she returned home to her normal corporate life, and decided that was it. She quit her job, sold her house, and got rid of everything she owned to travel the world full-time. 

Peggy has been to five continents, 13 countries, yet still has a fear of flying. She has no itinerary, no backup plan, and no end in sight. She is currently living in Cuenca, Ecuador (as a cat-sitter), learning Spanish and looking forward to the next day’s adventure.  Keep up with Peggy’s travels on her blog.

This is the fourth post in a series called The Versa-Letters where we feature travel stories from women around the world. Today’s story is written by Bridget, who is sharing her experience while living in Spain. You can read past week’s Versa-Letters from Salem, MA here, from France here and from Ecuador here.

Its been over a year since I moved from Brooklyn, NY to the green and lush province of Galicia, Spain. Over a year since I began learning Spanish, adapting to a life with a midday siesta, and beginning a job very different from my career in advertising — teaching English.

As a teacher, I find it very useful to empathize with the students, “I, too, am learning a language,” I often tell them. And in order to learn, you must make mistakes… you will make mistakes.

I tell them about the time I asked the shopkeeper for the “drunkest wine” instead of the cheapest wine. Or the time I thought a guy was flirting with me, but he was just trying to tell me I sat in something wet. The main point: laugh at yourself, learn from it, and move on.

If you’ve ever spent time immersed in learning a language, you’ll understand the frustration, excitement, and overall confusion that people go through in the process. Over the weekend, I put down my Spanish books, and set out on an adventure with a group of 15 people for total English immersion!

We stayed in the town of Pepín, a tiny pueblo with 40 inhabitants. There were four native English speakers and 11 Spanish speakers willing and ready to learn. Pepín is full of old stone homes surrounded by a beautiful countryside complete with a castle overlooking the town.

After everyone calmed their nerves over a glass of Galician wine, we began. Our leader, a very proper English man who brought scones, told the group they could not speak a word of Spanish. If you didn’t know how to say something, then you had to find a way. Describe it, act it out, draw it… you could do anything but say it in Spanish.

This led to a lot of learning and a lot of laughing. Over the weekend, I taught the group that lesbians are not the same as Latvians, the word homeless is not the same as homesick, and that it’s true (much to the group’s shock), Americans do like to eat eggs for breakfast!

We went from being complete strangers on Friday to a tight-knit group of friends on Sunday, sharing laughs  over the difference between our accents and traditions. Upon returning home, I was inspired more than ever to continue my quest of becoming fluent in Spanish. But — as much as I immerse myself within the culture, I will never stop eating eggs for breakfast. {r}

After working for five years in New York City, Bridget packed up everything she owned to teach high school English in Spain.

She lives in A Coruna, a city known for its nice people and extremely good seafood. Bridget plans to live on boquerones, cervezas, and cafe con leche in her long, hard quest of becoming fluent in espanol. She blogs about her experience at www.bridgetnoentiendo.tumblr.com.

This is the third post in a series called The Versa-Letters where we feature travel stories from women around the world. Today’s story is written by Kelly, who is sharing her travels within the U.S. You can read last week’s Versa-Letter from France here and from Ecuador here.

I always wanted to be a witch for Halloween. Bright orange and black striped socks, a raggedy, dismantled dress, a pointed black hat. I dreamed of flying over my neighborhood on a broomstick, casting spells and conjuring brews… on ex-boyfriends.

It shouldn’t be surprising, then, that I found myself in Salem, MA just a couple of weeks before Halloween. There I was, standing on the very same cobblestone streets of a town that spent decades condemning witches.

I begin my visit by browsing through witchcraft shops, where signs scream, “NO PHOTOGRAPHY OR VIDEO.” I slowly crouch down next to an old bookcase and run the palm of my hand across spell books with titles that read, “A Century of Spells” and “Encyclopedia of Magical Herbs.”

The store is filled with candles, crystals, made-to-order herbs for potions, tarot cards, and incense that fills the air with the scent of rosemary. The smell consumes me, but I’m most interested in the sounds that whirl around my ears as psychics read the lines of stranger’s hands, and futures are laid out on the line.

Grabbing a hot apple cider, I walk up to an old house. I soon discover that it was a second home to Hawthorne, the famous writer. I hold onto the worn out wooden fence in the back of the house and gaze up, feeling its age and imagining what life must have been like back when it was filled with people and not stained in silence.

Continuing on my path, I come upon a cemetery that imprints in my mind like a Polaroid snapshot from the past. My heart jolts as a breeze runs up and down my back. Touching the hard, cold tombstone I let my eyes rinse over the words…

SARAH GOOD
HANGED
JULY 19, 1862

I have my first tinge of realization – the truth, the devastation, and the history of Salem, Massachusetts, hanging in the air.

I take one look back on the town as the moonlight streams from the sky and I say goodbye. Before I drive off, I reflect on what I’ve learned, and what other haunting history lies in this eastern corner of the United States that everyone calls New England. {r}

Kelly is a full-time lover of Baptiste Power Yoga, creative writing, and traveling to new destinations. She values her ability to creatively express herself through fashion — and with anything that requires a paintbrush or a glue stick. She is a spiritual wellness warrior who strives to be surrounded with inspirational people and wisdom, while following a healthy diet and gaining the courage to kick fear to the curb.

Kelly is a Health Advocate at a community health center in Rhode Island, where she currently resides. You can get to know Kelly more on her blog!

This is the second post in a series called The Versa-Letters where we feature travel stories of women around the world. Today’s story is written by Joanna, who is traveling through Europe. You can read last week’s Versa-Letter from Ecuador here.

There I was, on a clear autumn Friday, covered in caked orange mud. I was being carried on four teammate’s shoulders through the streets of Paris — with a picture of David Hasselhoff propped on my belly. Stylish Parisians stared up from their lunches, and I couldn’t help but laugh at how amazingly crazy I must appear. I also grinned with unabashed happiness.

A GORUCK Challenge is an unconventional, but truly fantastic, way to see a city.

I have always had a wanderlust. But like many I didn’t feed that ache and for years, I chalked it up to a lack of motivation. It was a surprising turn for me to fall in love with race and challenge events as a way to give a sense of purpose — and direction — to my travels.

Long bike rides in neighboring towns progressed to 10Ks in other states. Eventually, I flew to Wisconsin for a half marathon and then across the country for a double century ride (200 miles in 24 hours). Now I’m in Europe, and traveling from Florence to Paris for my second GORUCK Challenge just seemed like something I had to do.

A Challenge is based on a military training course that winds its way through a city. Through the highs and lows of 10 hours and 20 kilometers, my teammates and I saw most of the main attractions of Paris — wearing weighted rucksacks on our backs.

We watched the sun rise opposite the Eiffel Tower while doing pushups and flutterkicks on the lawn. We snapped photos on the marble steps of Napoleon’s tomb before crawling through construction mud in the adjoining lot. I felt pride at the shocked and impressed stares of those who watched me buddy-carry a male teammate across the Seine to Notre Dame. When we walked through the great arc, I felt an added sense of triumph for what I had accomplished.

After a solid hostel sleep, I set out to explore the next morning. Ignoring my sore feet, I revisited Notre Dame and walked along the beautiful Seine. As I sat for for an espresso and crepe in the Latin Quarter, I took a moment to appreciate being clean, dry and relaxed — and to give thanks for the very reason I was sitting in a Parisian cafe. {r}

Joanna June has a wanderlust figment constantly whispering “go.” An advocate of being IN your life, she intentionally enjoys meandering sojourns to see how others live, play and — most of all — eat, while living as an information technology graduate student and academic librarian in Florence, Italy.

She has spent many-a-daydream in exotic locations, taking late-night runs or daybreak rucks, and many-a-happy-birthday on an airplane. She blogs about her adventures, musings, and “Be IN” advocations at coffeebooksbeer.com.

This is the first in a series called The Versa-Letters where we feature travel stories of women around the world. Today’s post is written by Peggy, who is backpacking through South America with a charcoal Versalette.

A Spiritual Cleansing

She’s a beautiful indigenous woman, her face creased with deep lines, her eyes full of strength and wisdom. A long, thick braid hangs down the middle of her back. Her smile is warm, and I’m drawn to her immediately.

She’s a curandera, a traditional healer of Azuay, a province of Ecuador.

She smiles kindly as she gestures for me to sit in front of her. She selects a bundle of fresh herbs and flowers, among them the Angel’s Trumpet (Brugmansia), known for its hallucinogenic quality. She crushes them between her hands, releasing their pungent fragrance. I inhale deeply as she holds them to my nose. She chants softly “shi, shi, shi” as she sweeps the cluster of herbs over my body. Small pieces of leaves and flowers rain down on me as she performs a limpieza, the cleansing of my spirit.

There’s a basket of fresh eggs of various colors – pale green, browns and white – beside the mound of herbs. She chooses a beautiful pale green egg and rubs the shell over my face, arms, belly, and back. It’s believed to absorb any negative energy or harmful spirits.

She gently cups my hands and pours a clear liquid, smelling of pungent herbs, into them. I rub them together, inhale the fragrance and pat the mixture onto my belly. She chooses another bottle, takes a mouthful and sprays it over my head; another mouthful onto the back of my neck; another onto my belly; and finally onto my back.

She breaks off a small piece of a charcoal-like substance and smudges a spot onto my forehead, back and belly. This symbolizes the end of the ceremonial cleansing and is protection for my spirit. Her gentle smile warms my heart as I sit basking in the calmness I’m feeling.

The clean, fresh smell of the herbs stays with me throughout the day and I feel a bit different, my spirit a bit lighter, each time the subtle fragrance drifts by. {r}

Peggy lives a pretty unusual life where every day is really awesome. A few years ago, after a five week trip to Southeast Asia, she returned home to her normal corporate life, and decided that was it. She quit her job, sold her house, and got rid of everything she owned to travel the world full-time. 

Peggy has been to five continents, 13 countries, yet still has a fear of flying. She has no itinerary, no backup plan, and no end in sight. She is currently living in Cuenca, Ecuador (as a cat-sitter), learning Spanish and looking forward to the next day’s adventure.  Keep up with Peggy’s travels on her blog.