24 Travel Quotes to Give You A Little Inspiration

by Lindsay Shapka in ,


“The great difference between voyages rests not with the ships, but with the people you meet on them”
—Amelia E. Barr

“Perhaps travel cannot prevent bigotry, but by demonstrating that all peoples cry, laugh, eat, worry, and die, it can introduce the idea that if we try and understand each other, we may even become friends”
—Maya Angelou

“Once a year, go someplace you’ve never been before”
—Dalai Lama

“Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Devour old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, dreams, conversations, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. Select only things to steal from that speak directly to your soul. If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic. Authenticity is invaluable; originality is nonexistent”
—Jim Jarmusch

“Travel is rebellion in its purest form. We follow our heart. We free ourselves of labels. We lose control willingly. We trade a role for reality. We love the unfamiliar. We trust strangers. We own only what we can carry. We search for better questions, not answers. We truly graduate. We, sometimes, choose never to come back.”
—Author Unknown

“Anything that gets the blood racing is probably worth doing.”
—Hunter S. Thompson

“Travel often; getting lost will help you find yourself.”
—The Holstee Manifesto

Among travelers, talking about the past usually meant talking about the just passed. The expiration date on old experiences came quickly. What mattered most was where you were going next.
— from A House in The Sky by Amanda Lindhout & Sara Corbett

“Great travel writing consists of equal parts curiosity, vulnerability and vocabulary. It is not a terrain for know-it-alls or the indecisive. The best of the genre can simply be an elegant natural history essay, a nicely writ sports piece, or a well-turned profile of a bar band and its music. A well-grounded sense of place is the challenge for the writer. We observe, we calculate, we inquire, we look for a link between what we already know and what we’re about to learn. The finest travel writing describes what’s going on when nobody’s looking.”
—Tom Miller

“I don’t want to earn my living; I want to live.”
—Oscar Wilde

“Don’t wait until you know who you are to get started”
—from Steal Like An Artist by Austin Kleon

“If you are willing to do something that might not work, you’re closer to being an artist”
—Seth Godin

“Here’s to the crazy ones. The misfits, the rebels, the troublemakers. The ones who see things differently. While some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people that are crazy enough to think that they can change the world, are the ones that do.”
—Steve Jobs

“Let yourself be silently drawn by the strange pull of what you really love. It will not leave you astray ”
—Rumi

“We travel not to escape life, but for life to not escape us.”
—Anonymous

“It is a terrible thing, I think, in life to wait until you’re ready. I have this feeling now that actually no one is ever ready to do anything. There is almost no such thing as ready. There is only now. And you may as well do it now. Generally speaking, now is as good a time as any.”
—Hugh Laurie

“If you do nothing unexpected, nothing unexpected happens.”
—Fay Weldon

“It’s the possibility of having a dream come true that makes life interesting.”
—Paulo Coelho

“I would rather die of passion than of boredom.”
—Vincent van Gogh

“To live a creative life, we must lose our fear of being wrong.”
—Joseph Chilton Pearce

“I used to think I was the strangest person in the world but then I thought, there are so many people in the world, there must be someone just like me who feels bizarre and flawed in the same ways I do. I would imagine her, and imagine that she must be out there thinking of me too. Well, I hope that if you are out there and read this and know that, yes, it’s true I’m here, and I’m just as strange as you”
—Frida Kahlo

“We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful what we pretend to be.”
—Kurt Vonnegut from Mother Night, 1961

“Self-doubt can be an ally. This is because it serves as an indicator of aspiration. It reflects love, love of something we dream of doing, and desire, desire to do it. If you find yourself asking yourself (and your friends), “Am I really a writer? Am I really an artist?” chances are you are. The counterfeit innovator is wildly self-confident. The real one is scared to death.”
—Steven Pressfield from The War of Art

“If we were meant to stay in one place, we’d have roots instead of feet, he said.”
—Rachel Wolchin

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Reads For The Road: A House In The Sky by Amanda Lindhout & Sara Corbett

by Lindsay Shapka in , ,


I had heard that Amanda Lindhout's story A House In The Sky was a must-read (it has been hailed in Vogue, The Globe and Mail, Outside, The New York Times, and was a part of Oprah's Winter Reading List), but I was not prepared for the incredibly well written, shocking, heart-wrenching test of humanity that I would find within the book's pages. 

I don't know if it is because she is from a town only a few hours away from where I grew up, but the way that Amanda writes about travelling (especially travelling solo as a female) feels like she has put into words every unarticulated thought that I have had about my own journeys.

That is until she describes being kidnapped. 

People would say to me all the time, “It must be so hard to travel by yourself as a woman.” But I was finding that it was easier. I was sure about it. If you smiled, if you showed people that you were happy to be there, you were met most often with warmth. The swindlers backed off easily. The tuk-tuk drivers and beggars eased up and became more human, maybe even a bit protective.
— p 55 from "A House In The Sky" by Amanda Lindhout & Sara Corbett

Yup, I said kidnapped.

While working as a struggling freelance journalist, Amanda and her friend Nigel made their way into Somalia. On a trip outside of the capital city to take photos at a refugee camp, they were both kidnapped by a rouge group of men who immediately demanded ransom from their parents and from their countries, neither of whom who had any money to pay. 

Kept hostage for OVER A YEAR, this is the story of what she went through, how she stayed alive through horrific abuse, how she managed to retain her humanity, and how she was saved.

A warning though, once you get started, you won't want to put it down.




Travel Tales: Alone In Rome On My First Trip Abroad (Or, How I Awoke My Inner Traveller)

by Lindsay Shapka in ,


In January of 2004, I found myself alone in a hotel in Rome — my very first time alone in a foreign country. 

I was about to start a semester of university in Cortona, Italy and did not know a single soul who was going to be attending school with me. Not only was it my first time travelling alone, but it was my first time travelling in a country where few people spoke my language.

There were no smartphones, few students had laptops, wifi was not an option, my camera used film (no seeing what your photos looked like until you developed them!), and social media sites didn't exist. If I wanted contact with home, I had to buy a phone card and hope that the call would connect. And if someone from home wanted to contact me? They couldn't. 

This is the story of my first few days alone in Rome — taken from my journal and my memories — that have helped empower and shape my travels ever since. 

DAY 1 — I'm a huge wimp

It is six in the morning and the clouds are turning pink outside my window. I can just barely see the moon through the mist.

This is probably going to be the only view I see today.

I am terrified to leave my room. 

My hands are shaky and I can't stop crying. It would be easier if I could have a good, all-out sob and be done with it, but instead my tears are silent ones that steadily pour from the corners of my eyes.

I am scared and ashamed of it. 

Four floors above the foreign streets, all I can see is rooftops. Eerie, lonely rooftops with weathervanes standing out against the rising sun. There is no sign of life at this level and no sound of it either. 

My only consolation is the television that I have kept on all night turned to the only English station that I can find — a never-ending loop of BBC news. 

My room is a shoebox, not large enough for Italian leather boots though, more fit for bargain children's shoes. The door opens into my tiny bed, a closet, and a desk. The bathroom is almost bigger then the room, but it is clean and has a window with a nice view of, well... rooftops.

What was I thinking?!

I have never been outside of my country alone before and here I am on an entirely different continent, alone in a strange hotel!

On top of the emotional goodbyes I made to family and friends just a few hours ago, I have lost and found both my bag and passport already, which, now that i think about it, may be part of the reason for the shaking. 

DAY 2 — Feeling brave(ish)

This morning I am determined to leave the hotel.

I wake up early, shower and go up to the breakfast room on the eighth floor. The continental breakfast looks more like dessert — platters heaped with pastries and strong black coffee bolster my confidence (or at least give me a much needed energy boost).

About thirty minutes later, taking a deep breath, I take my first step out of the hotel and into the cobblestone streets of Rome. It is sunny and surprisingly warm for a January day which helps life my mood almost immediately.

I am walking along a street that borders the ancient city wall and am so busy looking at the map and trying to figure out where I am that it is there before I can prepare myself for it — the Colosseum.

I don't know why, but I can't hold back my emotions and without warning I burst into tears. It suddenly hits me how real the world is and I get a sense of how real I am for being a part of it. This incredible part of history is not on a slide or in a textbook, but directly in front of me.

I sink down on a pile of old stones in a park across the street from the massive monument and just look at it for awhile while I let the tears run down my face. 

Slowly coming back to reality, I take a few pictures (and a few deep breaths). The true blue sky is the perfect backdrop and the morning sun is carving deep shadows into the ancient stone and revealing secrets that can only be seen at that certain time of day. It is early on a Sunday morning, and there is hardly a soul in sight.

I cross the street, walk right up to it and touch it.

I touched it!

The rock is rough. Worn from battles, wars, erosion, the subway cars that pass below it, the smart-cars that pass beside it, and the millions of us that reach out and touch it in our need to confirm that it is really there. 

In a trance, hardly breathing, I walk around the outside of this incredible piece of history, letting my fingers create an invisible trail on its ancient surface. 

.     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .

The sun is shining on the facade of the Trevi Fountain, but where I sit is in shade. The once pure white marble seems to glow in all the right places, while the deep cuts in the statues are in perfect shadow. The water is loud, blocking out the noise of the modern world as it falls majestically over the strategically carved and well worn caverns.

It is perfect.

I could not have asked for a better day. I have spent the last few hours wandering from the Colosseum to the Roman Forum, through twisting winding streets to the Pantheon and finally to this famous fountain. 

Though it is one of the most popular tourist sites in Rome, there are only a handful of people milling around on this January day. Some are posing for photos while others are throwing coins over their shoulders into the clear water to ensure their return. Like me, some are just sitting and observing while pigeons mill around our feet and men try to sell us useless trinkets. 

An image projected on a screen in art class is nothing compared to the experience of the real thing... nothing

For the first time since boarding the plane back home, I feel quiet, calm... relaxed. 

Ahhhh Roma...

.     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .

As my new bible, Lonely Planet Italy, predicted, I am drawn to the windows along the streets as much as I am to the historic monuments. Seriously, a girl with a shoe fetish should NOT be allowed to walk alone in Rome! I have managed to stay out of the stores today, but it is only my first day out — with so much delightful temptation (and no one to stop me) my plan to save money isn't going to last long. 

Other then realizing that travelling alone is not as scary as I thought, I have also discovered that in order to eat I will have to learn a few more phrases in Italian.

I figured out the hard way that I need to know more than "Ciao" in order to get a sandwich...

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Travel Quotes: Sometimes You Just Need A Little Inspiration

by Lindsay Shapka in , ,


“Never refuse an invitation, never resist the unfamiliar, never fail to be polite and never outstay your welcome. Keep your mind open and suck in every experience. And if it hurts you know what? It’s probably worth it.”
—Richard from the movie The Beach

"People travel to far away places to watch, in fascination, the kind of people they ignore at home"
—Dagobert D. Runes

"A journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step"
—Lao Tzu

I feel about travel the way a happy new mother feels about her impossible, colicky, newborn baby — I just don’t care what it puts me through. Because I adore it. Because it’s mine. Because it looks exactly like me. It can barf all over me if it wants to — I just don’t care.
— Elizabeth Gilbert, from Eat.Pray.Love

"Not all those who wander are lost" 
—J.R.R. Tolkien

"Travel is glamorous only in retrospect" 
—Paul Theroux

"Art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable" 
—Cesar Cruz

"To awaken alone in a strange town is one of the pleasantest sensations in the world” 
—Freya Stark

"A good traveller has no fixed plans and is not intent on arriving"
—Lao Tzu

“The boy knew a lot of people in the city. That was what made traveling appeal to him — he always made new friends, and he didn’t need to spend all of his time with them [to keep them]”
—from The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho 

"Like all great travellers, I have seen more than I remember and remember more than I have seen" 
—Benjamin Disraeli

"Don't think about making art, just get it done. Let everyone else decide if it's good or bad, whether they love it or hate it. While they are deciding, make even more art."
—Andy Warhol

"If at some point you don't ask yourself 'What have I gotten myself into?' then you're not doing it right" 
—Roland Gau

“Twenty years from now you will more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbour. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”
—Mark Twain

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22 Quirky, Unique, and Wonderful Things To Love About Thailand

by Lindsay Shapka in , ,


There are so many reasons to love Thailand — many more than the 22 listed here — but these are some of my most favorite things about the Thai culture, and should give you some insight into why so many people make this country their vacation destination!

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Singing, Laughing & Hanging On: A Travel Tale About My Eye-Opening First Foreign Adventure In Honduras

by Lindsay Shapka in , ,


The sky was streaked with pink and a gentle breeze — causing the tall, golden sugar cane to sway lazily from side to side — had replaced the heavy, relentless heat of the day. I carefully shifted my position, trying to get comfortable without falling out of the bed of the blue, battered truck I was wedged in that was driving at breakneck speed down the potholed filled road.

There were 22 of us crammed into the back of the truck, covered in dust and tired from clearing land and digging the foundation for a community center in the small village of Ojo de Agua, Honduras. There was no electricity in the town to run power tools (not that we had any) so all of our work had to be done the old fashioned way. After a full day of chopping down thick weeds with a machete and swinging a pickaxe at the dry, hard earth, I could barely lift my arms. I was looking forward to crawling under the safety of my mosquito net and passing out.

The Honduran girls, clinging to the edge of the truck beside me, had broken out in song the moment we lost sight of the town, the bad voices and the good, blending together in a free and careless harmony of a well-known melody.

Though it was my first visit to a country where I did not speak the language, I was surprised to find that I wasn’t having too much trouble communicating. Because I didn’t know a word of Spanish, I was forced to really pay attention and silent interactions suddenly conveyed more meaning to me than spoken words ever had. I felt that I understood my new friends more deeply through watching their subtle movements and looking into their eyes than I ever could have through their spoken language.

After a few verses of the song had gone by, Yolani, a vibrant girl about my age, turned from the group, grabbed my hand, looked me square in the eye, slowly sang a few foreign words and motioned for me to repeat after her. Self-conscious, I half talked, half-whispered the unfamiliar words back to her while she patiently nodded along, smiling and squeezing my hand when I managed to pronounce one close to correctly. She started to sing louder and faster, so I followed suit until my voice was just as loud, and blending in with hers. The other girls smiled at me as the words tumbled out of my mouth and were carried away by the wind.

*     *     *

Three days earlier, stuck in layover limbo in Texas, my friends and I were passing the time by discussing our individual expectations and goals for our volunteer adventure. We called ourselves the ‘youth in action’ and were a group of eight young adults traveling to Honduras to bring supplies to those still affected by Hurricane Mitch, and to help rebuild a community center.

Prior to this trip I had never traveled outside of North America and the only image I had of the developing world was what I had seen in infomercials — sad, destitute children, their bellies swollen or ribs protruding, and eyes full of tears that stared vacantly at the camera while an emotional Sarah McLachlan song played softly in the background. The children always looked lost and alone, waiting for someone to swoop in and save them. These images had motivated me to spend most of my free time fundraising for the trip, and that night in Texas, all I could think of was the flocks of poor, unloved children in Honduras who would finally feel hope when I, a representative of the developed world, showed them that I cared.

When it was my turn to share my expectations of our adventure, thinking only of the infomercial children, I told my friends that if nothing else — my goal was to make at least one child smile.

I was such an idiot.

Roger, our contact in Honduras, met us at the airport in Tegucigalpa, which was packed with people holding signs and chanting “Hon-DUR-as!!” at the top of their lungs. It turned out that we were on the same flight as the country’s national soccer team returning home from an international tournament.

Despite the chaos and commotion we moved quickly through the airport and after collecting our bags Roger led us outside to a couple of rusted, beat-up Ford trucks. I hopped into the back of the blue Ford with its paint peeling off, fender bent and windows cracked. I was surprised to see a faded “I LOVE TEXAS” sticker stuck to the bumper. Roger explained that many of the vehicles in the country were cast-offs from the United States.  

After a sweaty two hours of driving, we turned off the rough dirt road onto an even rougher dirt road that led into Correl Quemado, our home for the week. Small one room shacks with rusted, corrugated roofs lined the road, and half-naked children splashed each other in the brown river that’s water was used to wash, cook, and drink. We pulled up in front of the sturdiest looking building in sight and were told we had an hour to unpack and freshen up.

The girls, clinging to the edge of the truck beside me, had broken out in song the moment we lost sight of the town, the bad voices and the good, blending together in a free and careless harmony of a well-known melody.

Too excited to stay inside, after throwing my bag on a bunk, I emerged from the dark stone building and almost ran directly into a small group of curious children that had gathered just outside the door.

I couldn’t believe that the infomercial children I had been picturing for years were finally in front of me!

Except... they didn’t look anything like the infomercial children.

The children in front of me were fully clothed, their stomachs were definitely not bloated from hunger and there were no flies circling overhead. In fact, they all had rosy cheeks and looked happy and healthy, not sad and hopeless. I was suddenly painfully conscious of my own appearance, realizing that after a full day of travel I was probably more disheveled than they were.

Looking into their curious faces, it hit me that I was not a ‘bearer of hope’ to these little people — I was simply a curiosity, a visitor, a potential new friend.

I had foolishly been equating poverty with a lack of self, power, humanity, and hope, and in my ignorance I had believed that my presence would somehow affect their very existence.  

Feeling silly and a bit ashamed of the misconceptions I had been led to believe, I found myself unsure of how to interact. The kids and I stared at each other shyly for a few minutes until the smallest of the bunch, a little girl wearing a powder pink tank top, walked over to my side, looked up at me with big brown friendly eyes, slipped her hand into mine and smiled.  

*     *     *

I tilted my head towards the growing darkness to take better advantage of the breeze, that was turning into a wind as our driver continued to gain speed. He must have been able to smell the dinner of grilled plantains and fresh tortillas waiting for us at the bunkhouse.

The wind felt amazing on my sun-scorched face and it sent my hair swirling around my head. But, I didn’t care how I looked and none of my new friends did either — we were too busy singing, laughing, and hanging on.
 

The story of my first international adventure

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the story of my first trip outside of North America, and the first time I went somewhere that completely shook up the way I viewed the world, my life, and myself. I went on this adventure in the winter of 2000, and can still feel how life changing it was for me. I hope you enjoyed the piece — thanks for reading!  

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