I have spent much of my life first 17 years of life dreaming about the boulevards of Provence and street cafes of Paris. I ended up instead as an exchange student in an industrial town in the coal and steel region of in Lorraine, France. But that didn’t daunt my love of travel.

I’ve returned to Europe a couple dozen times since, returning nearly every year to add a new country or destination to my list. In the spring of 2023 I hit a personal goal: to visit every sovereign country in Europe. The last one on the list was Portugal (via the island of Madeira).

Now that I’ve hit the 4 corners, I’m trying to fill in the blanks. I’ve never been much of a London-Paris-Rome kind of guy, and would much rather find himself amidst the natives of an end-of-the road Dutch village or roaming through the border regions of Slovenia. With Paris, though, I generally make an exception.

Join me and my friend and photographer, Vanja, as we explore the culture, history, cuisine, as we fill in some of the blanks in Croatia, Hungary, Slovakia and beyond.

Varaždin, Croatia

Varaždin is a relatively small city with a population around 46,946, spread over 13.21 sq miles in Northern Croatia, close to the Drava River. It’s about an hour’s drive north of the capital city of Zagreb and best known for its baroque and rococo architecture, music and food. Its size was a perfect match for my off-the-beaten-path theme

Varaždin City Museum

Varaždin City Museum was founded around 1925 in the premises of the fortress called ‘The Old Town.’ The basic items of the first permanent exhibition were the objects given to the Museum by Varaždin families.

Budapest, Hungary

Straddling the Danube River, Budapest is Hungary’s illustrious capital. It is a treasure trove of history, culture, and natural beauty. Renowned for its remarkable architecture, relaxing thermal baths, and flavorful cuisine.

Hungarian dishes often include fruits, such as plums and apricots, cooked with meat or in piquant sauces/stuffings for game, roasts and other cuts. Various kinds of noodles, dumplings, potatoes, and rice are commonly served as a side dish. Hungarian dry sausages (kolbász) and winter salami are also widely eaten. And then there is Goulash, or as Hungarians call it, gulyás, means “herdsman.”  Its origins date back to the 9th century Magyar shepherds as a simple meat and onion stew prepared in heavy iron kettles known as bogracs.  The national drink of Hungary is Pálinka, a very strong traditional spirit made of many different types of fruit.

In the 15th century, invading Ottoman Turks introduced a new spice to Hungary, paprika.  While the rest of Europe remained lukewarm towards this red chili pepper from the New World, Hungary embraced it and paprika has since become a defining element of Hungarian cuisine. Made from peppers that are locally harvested and then sorted, toasted, and blended to create different varieties. The Hungarian paprika marketed in the US  is usually the édesnemes variety, which is “noble” sweet, slightly pungent and bright red.  

Ptuj, Slovenia

We detoured to Ptuj and Ehrenhausen, then back to Varazdin.

Ptuj, the oldest recorded city in Slovenia, has been inhabited since the late Stone Age and developed from a Roman military fort.

Attractions include, the Ptuj Castle, home to the Ptuj Ormoz Regional Museum which features everything from instruments and arms to traditional masks and striking tapestries; the Dominican and Minorite Monasteries; and the Orpheus Monument, a well-preserved Roman tombstone.

Ehrenhausen, Austria

The mausoleum in Ehrenhausen might be the most significant mark that the Eggenbergs left in the city. They are several buildings where you can spot the family’s coat of arms. Most importantly, Ehrenhausen is also the site of the Eggenberg’s main fortress. The 16th century building was one of Austria’s numerous fortifications that secured the South and the East of the country against the Turks. Beyond mausoleum and fortress, don’t miss out on the parish church, a typically Austrian mix of styles. The charming market square invites visitors to stroll around and explore the village.

Back to Varaždin in time for dinner

Varaždinsko zelje is an autochthonous variety of cabbage traditionally grown in Varaždin County. The most important property of this cabbage variety is that it can withstand cold winter weather.
It has a bitter and sharp flavor and pungent smell. Because its leaves are durable and elastic, it is traditionally used in recipes that require longer cooking time, such as cabbage soup or braised cabbage with bacon or beef.

Brno, Slovakia

Brno is a stately city and lies in the Moravia region. It is the country’s second largest city and serves as the traditional capital of Moravia. It feels very cosmopolitan after sleepier and more rural Slovakia.

Despite the ravages of past wars, many of Brno’s historic buildings have survived, including the churches of St. Thomas and St. James and the Gothic church of the Augustinian monastery. Tugendhat House (1930), designed by architect Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, was designated a UNESCO World Heritage site in 1992. The old town’s narrow streets are surrounded by an array of grand boulevards.

Prague, Czech Republic

Greetings from Czechia! We used to say ‘Czech Republic’ but it is now preferred we use the proper name Czechia. That’s ok by me.

Prague, capital city of the Czech Republic, is bisected by the Vltava River. Nicknamed “the City of a Hundred Spires,” it’s known for its Old Town Square, the heart of its historic core. It is nothing less than a Disneyland Fairy Tale city!.

The beer acquires its characteristic aroma of malt grains and a balanced caramel taste through triple mashing. The soft Pilsen artisan water lends it a unique, delicate taste, while the Žatec hops gives it a velvety bitterness. And the malt itself finishes the beer in a golden color.

Beer drinking is ingrained in Czech culture, society and history. So much so, that the beer industry is considered a part of the national heritage.

Zakopane is Poland

Zakopane is Poland’s main alpine destination and a major tourist center. It’s a festive place, teeming with happy visitors.

When we set off this morning, we had no idea we would find ourselves in Poland later that day. That was certainly not on the itinerary. But the gorgeous Slovak Tatra mountains pulled us in and we just kept going north. And suddenly we were in the equally stunning but much more lively Polish side of the high Tatras.

Žilina, Slovakia

Žilina is a city in north-western Slovakia, around 120 miles from the capital Bratislava, close to both the Czech and Polish borders. It is the fourth largest city of Slovakia with a population of approximately 80,000. The name is derived from Slavic/Slovak word žila – a “(river) vein. :Žilina means “a place with many watercourses.”

So, no Ukraine today. But the scenery in the extreme east of Slovakia and the Carpathian Mountains made for a nice excursion anyway.

The post Exploring the Balkans and Central Europe appeared first on Traveling Archive.

The enduring Celtic Cross. Photo courtesy Tourism Ireland.

Richard Carroll – T-Boy writer:

Sightless Fiji

Fiji has a profound long-lasting effect on my heart and soul. An island country deep in the South Pacific where nature comes miraculously alive with cloud rain forests, a lush tropical mountainous terrain, 333 islands, hundreds of islets, and sweeping views of a dark blue crystal clear sea, all of which seem to be suspended in time. Fiji’s dramatic setting of upscale island holiday hideaways offering pollution free skies, an unrelenting sun shimmering on glistening water, and palm-lined beaches, have attracted visitors from all parts of the world.

I experienced a heart-tugging dilemma on one of numerous visits this time with Dr. Beeve, a noted eye physician and surgeon based in Glendale California and his wife Dorothy an RN, that unfortunately this ideal scenario of sun and sea is also a huge negative for the Fijian’s creating blinding cataracts affecting a huge number of Fijians of all ages along with other troubling eye difficulties.

Fijians travel from island to island in canoes and boats, fish and farm the ocean, swim before they can walk, and are living an island lifestyle which from birth seriously affects their eyesight. The stinging contrast is the Fijians might not be the happiest people on earth, but are affable and forthcoming, welcoming visitors with open arms, regardless of personal difficulties, of which are usually overlooked or ignored by tourists.

I found this distressing and heart-tugging drama unbelievably touching. Men unable to work and support their families because they are sightless, children born with eye deficiencies, a grandmother who has never seen her grandchildren, Fijians unable to leave their island because of poor eyesight, and young mothers who see their offspring as a milky blur. I noticed that even most of the dogs had cataracts too.

Joyful Fijians in recovery after a Dr. Beeve eye operation. Photo courtesy of Beeve Foundation.

Since that visit in 1991 when the Beeve’s established the Beeve Foundation, Dr. Beeve and his staff quickly realized that the Fijians were receiving very limited eye care and medication, and had no access to modern medicine. On their first mission with a small staff which included an anesthesiologist, ophthalmic surgical technologist, a dental hygienist, and an assistant who helped with pre and post op care, and patient education and vision testing, set up a makeshift eye clinic in Bure 2 on upscale Turtle Island. The word quickly spread and hundreds of sight-impaired Fijians formed a long line patiently standing in the blazing sun, some arriving via canoes days in advance, the line of canoes stretching to the horizon. Many Fijians I spoke with could not remember when they had vision and were spellbound when the day after surgery they gazed at Dr. Beeve with better than 20/40 vision. The Beeve’s said, “When we complete a cataract operation it’s like resurrecting someone from the dead. It’s an incredible feeling.”

The Beeve Foundation Team in Fiji. Photo courtesy of the Beeve Foundation.

In 2017 the Beeve’s were honored for their more than 25 years of medical missions; 28,503 eye exams, issuing 27,714 pairs of glasses, 1,756 cataract extractions with lens implants, 55 corneal transplants, and 1,005 other procedures for more than 30,000 Fijian patients, the majority of whom were legally blind. Dr. Beeve and his wife Dorothy finally retired with Loma Linda University continuing the Fiji missions. In 2018 with a team of world-renowned cataract surgeons Loma Linda performed 137 surgeries in six days.

The Fijians live in a tropical paradise but with an ironic twist, but for a writer the unpredictability of travel can often leave a lingering memory, such as the Beeve’s and their Foundation successfully treating over three percent of the entire Fiji population.

Halina Kubalski – T-Boy writer and destination photographer:

A Memory of My Father

My father, Wiktor Surmacz joined the Polish Army in 1934. After a few years he was promoted to the rank of Lieutenant in the Polish 179th Infantry Regiment, working closely under the command of General Franciszek Kleeberg when defending the Polish city of Kock, a town in eastern Poland about 120 kilometers southeast of Warsaw with a large Jewish population at the time.

On September 9, 1939 the German’s dropped bombs on the town and a fierce battle with the Germans took place. The Poles were badly over matched by the German 13th Motorized Corps and 60th Infantry Division, but fought gallantly lastly running short of ammunition with both sides suffering huge casualties. The final battles were fought October 2 – 5, and on October 6th after bombardment by heavy German artillery and outnumbered by the thousands, General Kleeberg surrendered.

The Germans sent my father to the infamous Mauthausen Concentration Camp located on a hill above the market town of Mauthausen located 12 miles east of Linz. The Germans never released the accurate death toll at Mauthausen but it was calculated that between 130,000 to 320,000 perished in Mauthausen during the war years. My father never spoke about his five years as a prisoner but did say to his wife, my mother, Maria, “There was no food at Mauthausen.”

Survivors at the Mauthausen concentration camp. Wikimedia Commons.

He was later sent to a sub concentration camp, a farm labor camp that was bad if not worse than Mauthausen. Possibly the transfer took place due to the fact that dad spoke German. He was liberated in 1945 at the end of the war by U.S. troops weighing all of 80 pounds.

My father’s one and only visit to the United States, he was astonished at the boundless selection of food in the supermarkets. He passed May 8, 1984, age 73, after six weeks in a Warsaw hospital, his health badly damaged by his years as a prisoner of the Germans.

Fyllis Hockman – T-Boy writer:

One of the Most Impactful Experiences in my Travel-Writing Career

First a little background. As a teenager I had my first visual exposure to the horrors of the Holocaust in some newsreel depictions of the liberation of some camps after the war – the emaciated survivors with their sunken eyes, gaunt bodies and harrowed auras. I called my mother, who had told me of the Holocaust my whole life, and said: “Mom, I finally understand.” Now six decades later, I came to understand even more.

The International Monument at the former Mauthausen concentration camp reads,
“The living learn from the fate of the deceased.” Wikimedia Commons.

Mauthausen, one of the largest of the camps, was built high upon a hill in Linz, Upper Austria, where Hitler was once a resident, near a large quarry. The rationale behind concentration camps evolved over the war years from imprisoning people, enslaving them and engendering fear among the general populace to simply one of extermination. And that was carried out in so many ways. Mauthausen was considered a Level 3 Camp where the guiding principle was that no one left – everyone was to be killed in some way or other. The SS excelled at very efficient methods of mutilation and annihilation.

The roots of genocide, according to our guide, were fostered in anti-Semitism, an us vs. them mentality, a de-humanization of others who are seen as “less.” It was hard not to draw some parallels to today’s world…

The “Stairs of Death” at the Mauthausen concentration camp. Wikimedia Commons.

Other cases involved prisoners forced outside during winter over whom cold water was poured – a particularly appealing entertainment for the SS guards who delighted in “showering” people to death – outside the actual gas chamber showers, that is…. Because any SS who shot an inmate trying to escape got extra days off, a favorite party trick was to entice prisoners into situations where they might appear to be escaping – and then shoot them. Stomach cringing continues.

Starved prisoners pose in concentration camp in Ebensee, a sub-camp of Mauthausen, used for “scientific” experiments. Wikimedia Commons.

Others, sick and beaten, simply died during daily roll call, a grueling process of standing in the heat or cold for 4-5 hours at a time, and being forced to do exercises when most of them could no longer stand. It is hard to hear all of this – and my stomach clenched and my eyes teared and I was overcome by a sense of helplessness and disbelief that these things actually happened – and no one cared.

Reichsführer Heinrich Himmler of the SS at Mauthausen. Hitler authorized Himmler to create a centralized concentration camp system. Wikimedia Commons.

In the barracks hundreds were housed in such horrendous conditions the term unsanitary does not begin to describe the degradation. On the wall is a quote depicting the “wheezing, hissing, moaning, sobbing, snoring” that filled the night-time air in 20 languages. “The noise fused into a single, terrible sound produced as if by a giant monstrous being that had holed up in the dark.” Another quote: “Anyone who hadn’t been brutal when they entered the world became brutal here.” More gut-wrenching stomach-churning.

And then we went through the gas chambers where thousands were killed and then the ovens where their remains were buried, with a side visit to the infirmary where unspeakable “experiments” were carried out.

And yet the neighbors and surrounding community ostensibly didn’t know what was happening, despite being within earshot of the thousands of prisoners suffering and screaming. In fact, some complained about the noise – but not about why it was occurring. The grandmother of our guide, who was seven at the time, said she could smell the stench of the burning bodies; she knew something bad was happening but nobody talked about it.

Survivors greeting US soldiers at Mauthausen. Wikimedia Commons.

Of the 200,000 prisoners who occupied Mauthausen from 1938-1945, about half were killed. There were only 20,000 survivors when liberation finally came on May 5, 1945, with another 80,000 already too ill to benefit from the end of the war. Not surprisingly, the liberators were shocked at the condition of the prisoners. I imagine so too were the community members when they were finally exposed to what was really happening in their backyard. At this point, my stomach was in perpetual decompression mode.
There were signs on walls from visitors in multiple languages: RIP, Never Again, and You won’t be forgotten. A simple drawing of an eye with a tear coming down was the one I most related to.

Most of the guards went home after the war suffering no consequences and little was said about what they had done. No one talked about it. According to our guide, it took Austria four decades to acknowledge its part in the Holocaust.

The Mauthausen Thought Area of today. Wikimedia Commons.

There were multiple school groups of teenagers at the camp and I felt thankful they were learning of the atrocities they otherwise would probably have no knowledge of. I wished I could understand what they were saying about their experience. History will now change as there soon will be no survivors, no one to say this is what actually happened, and the Holocaust will be relegated to the status of other historical occurrences which the young will learn about in school but will not relate to. Who really cares about the Crusades? There will be no visceral understanding. It will have nothing to do with them. There will be nothing to keep it from happening again. I only wish I could call my mother and tell her once again, that now I REALLY understand.

Stephen Brewer – T-Boy writer:

On the Lasithi Plateau

I saw Bartholomew for the first time when I was traveling around Crete twenty years ago. He was standing placidly, shyly almost, a fine long neck slightly bent beneath a mop of thick shiny black hair, sturdy legs planted firmly in the grass of a meadow on the Lasithi Plateau.

Lasithi Plateau in Crete. Photography by Stephen Brewer.

No, this was not a starry-eyed meeting with an Adonis. Bartholomew is a donkey. I have no idea what his real name is. The only other donkey I have ever known was Bartholomew, so that is what I call this one, too. I’ve been back to the Lasithi Plateau at least a dozen times since I met the Greek Bartholomew, who’s usually grazing outside a modest white house at the edge of Tzermiado, a village of just a few streets. I’ve encountered him plodding along the lanes that lace the fields, with bundles of earth-covered vegetables hanging from either side of his back. The cargo looks light and the weathered, bearded man leading him never seems to be in no hurry to get anywhere. I’ve also passed Bartholomew on the road that skirts the edge of the plateau. He’s been pulling a little cart driven by an ancient-looking woman dressed in black, a shawl around her shoulders despite the heat, and a kerchief concealing her hair. Bartholomew has been sauntering lazily and it’s always looked to me as if his companion has nodded off to sleep.

Bartholomew is a noisy animal, and I’ve become accustomed to listening for his hee-haws when I walk on the paths that skirt his pasture. If motorbikes aren’t idling in the broad intersection that passes as the village square, I can sometimes hear him when I’m sitting in the Cafe Kronio late in the evening. The homemade raki is usually taking effect by this time, and I can almost mistake Greek Bartholomew for the Bartholomew of my youth.

The first Bartholomew belonged to Franny, an artist friend of my mother’s who lived on a rose and holly farm her Dutch stepfather established back in the 1920s. Franny liked to throw parties on summer holidays. My parents and their friends would drink cocktails on the trim little lawn in front of Franny’s house as Bartholomew snorted from the other side of a hedge and my brother, sister, and I and any other children who were around ran through the fields and explored the two huge barns. Occasionally my father and a few of the other men would hitch Bartholomew up to a cart. They were unlikely farm hands in their white shirts and dress slacks, and I doubt they had any idea of what they were doing. They managed, though, probably because Bartholomew was docile and patient. We youngsters would clamor aboard and Bartholomew would pull us up and down the long gravel drive that led from the house and barns to the road.

Taverna Cafe Kronio, Tzemadio, Crete. Photograph courtesy of Christine Kargiotakis

One evening Vassilis, who runs the Kronio with his French wife, Christina, handed me a napkin on which he’d sketched a map. “Tomorrow you should make this walk,” he said. “I can’t go with you, but you should be fine.” He poured me some more raki and rummaged in a bookshelf to retrieve a reprint of a scholarly article about Karfi, a Minoan settlement in the Ditka mountains high above the village.

“It all uphill. Am I fit enough for a hike like this?” I asked Vassilis, who is a skilled mountaineer. “Probably. You are not as fat and lazy as many men your age.” I assumed he was implying American men. Over the years he and Christina have told me stories of Americans who have come into the Kronio, usually involving their size and peculiar culinary habits. An exceedingly large American woman on one of the bus tours that brings tourists up from the big resorts on the north coast made an impression when she asked Vassilis to top her baklava with ice cream. “Of course I told her ‘no.’ One does not eat ice cream with baklava,” he reported, shuddering theatrically with indignation. “Incroyable,” Christina added from the desk where she does the accounts.

A historic paved road on the edge of Tzermiado in the Lasithi Plateau. Wikimedia Commons

The next morning I walked past Bartholomew’s pasture so he could bray at me and soon I was picking my way up a steep, stone-strewn path that climbs a shoulder of the mountains. The mind wanders when you’re struggling up a hot hillside, and I thought again of the first Bartholomew. One of my early memories was being thrilled to see his picture on the front page of the newspaper when Franny lent him to the Adlai Stevenson presidential campaign for a photo-op during a whistle stop. I don’t know what became of Bartholomew. Franny sold the farm when I was still in grade school, and I remember being embarrassed because I burst into tears as my dad and I drove around the cul-de-sacs of split-level houses in Holly Hills, the subdivision that replaced the familiar fields.

I was now high enough to see the plateau spread out below me, a tidy patchwork of fields, comfortable and welcoming, enclosed within an unbroken circle of mountain peaks that keep the outside world at bay. White sails of windmills that pump water through irrigation channels moved with the wind. After leveling off a bit the path rose again to the crest of a rise. Just across a gully was a jumble of rocks that are the remains of Karfi, cradled in a fold of barren terrain and indistinguishable from the gray landscape. Far below, the Sea of Crete appeared as a bright blue expanse on the horizon.

Karfi was a sanctuary for the last of the Minoans, who took refuge in these heights about 3,000 years ago, and the civilization that built vast palaces and painted fanciful frescoes of dancing ladies died out on these barren slopes. I could make out faint traces of their single-story houses and gridlike streets, and I could almost see the phantoms of Minoans among the rocks. It was easy to imagine the mountainside humming with the chatter of human souls who no doubt laughed, told stories, shared meals, fought and made peace with one another. Residents out for an evening stroll must have scrambled up to the knoll where I was standing and gazed out to sea.

The return was on a longer route, across a high ridge then a gradual descent on a stone-littered track that herders use to goad goats up and down the mountainside. I’d been picking my way across the rocks for at least half an hour when I began to hear the tinkling of bells and bleats that grew louder as I neared a tall, wide tree. My thoughts of resting in the shade were dashed when I came close enough to see a large herd of goats crowded beneath the branches, sheltering from the sun.

The stunning landscape of the Lasithi Plateau.  Photograph by Stephen Brewer.

A little farther along the scrub gave way to dense, unkempt olive groves. I heard him before I saw him, a loud hee-haw from the overgrowth. Then Bartholomew appeared, grazing in grass almost as tall as him. I noticed he was saddled, and the bearded man I’d seen with him before was working a neatly plowed patch of earth tucked away among the trees. I sat down against a gnarly trunk, not far from Bartholomew, who raised his head to acknowledge my presence. There I soon dozed off, thinking about donkeys and those Minoan ghosts floating around on the mountainside above me.

Tammy Skinner – T-Boy writer:

Rediscovering my Heart and Soul

Expectation burnout. Oh, it’s a thing my friends. A very real one. Which is why when I was asked to ponder the theme of Heart and Soul travel and what that means to me, I instantly knew where I had to go to rediscover my heart and soul which has most definitely been squeezed out of me like a tired dirty mop that has barely any drips of water hanging from its threads. Point blank. I was slightly… just a little teensy OKAY a whole lot depleted. I know I’m not the only one by any means. Who of all of us hasn’t found themselves stretched with oh too many expectations over the past year and counting? Whether it was the expectation of pulling internet connectivity out of thin air when in midst of a zoom call that goes dead or the 40th call from your kids’ teacher that they were falling behind on their fractions and division… we were ALL in some way, shape or form in survival mode. And all of that on top of playing the game of KEEP AWAY with a deadly virus.

For more than 80 years the Little River Inn has been welcoming guests to experience the beauty of the Mendocino Coast. Photograph courtesy of Tamara Skinner.

As my husband and I drove up the Mendonoma Coast after dropping off the kids at their grandparents at Sea Ranch, I could feel a little bit of an exhale coming on. Then we got to Mendocino and the azure blue ocean waters started to cry out my name. TAMMY it called…YOU’RE FREE LIKE THE SEA. Soon we caught glimpse of the spot we had picked for our refuge from incessant expectations – the Little River Inn which is an inviting 80-year-old hotel that has a restaurant (with a full bar) on site and hospitality like no other. It’s been in the family over five generations and the warmth of the owners trickles down to every single employee who seem intent on doing only one thing-to nurture you back to well-being.

Central Californian coastline looking south, with the McWay Rocks in the foreground, and McWay Cove in the center. Photograph courtesy of Diliff.

We also specifically picked Little River Inn for its’ special rooms that come with a hot tub on the deck along with a built-in special back rolling massager (I can’t even talk about this without rolling my eyes to the top of my head). Because of the covid craze, I hadn’t been comfortable getting a human massage so I couldn’t wait to get in the tub and get my machine massage. Oh boy! I don’t know how to describe the pure bliss of sitting in a hot tub overlooking the deepest blue majestic water, soaking in the negative ions and having my muscles pounded releasing the tension which felt like a thousand rocks settled into the river inside my body. As I sat in the tub longer and felt more and more of the rocks dissipate, slowly my own flow started coming through as I was able to hear my intuition again. It had been a while! I missed that trusty guide of mine that I used to be able to access so easily. Turns out over a year of incessant snack demands and frustration tantrum sighs coming from my “zoombies” from their “bedrooms/classrooms” had drowned out that melodic voice of guidance.

Mendocino, California. Photograph courtesy of Jef Poskanzer.

Mother’s Day upon us, newly restored and with exploration vibes drawing us out of our heavenly room, my hubby and I got in the car and drove to the picturesque Mendocino village to see what my heart had in store for me there – revelation wise. Found in the backdrop of many films due to it being established in the 1850s and filled with New England styled Victorian homes (which have been restored into shops, inns and restaurants), we lazily strolled up and down the streets of this peninsula/bluffs surrounded land and wandered into the shops that called to us.

There was one in particular that summoned me in by its décor alone. I seemingly floated into Loot & Lore and found myself instantly surrounded by my favorite things-jewelry, tarot decks and books. I glanced at a beautiful Saints and Mystics deck that begged me to pick a card and picked a message from St. Paul who (according to this deck) was the Patron Saint of writers and spiritual searchers! The synchronicity was not ignored by me who had just told my husband that I’d like to get an intentional sign of a way to release my writer’s block. Finding two intriguing little zines (one on making vision boards and the other entitled GETTING OVER IT: Move on from the Bullshit That is Holding you Back) I decided to buy them along with a pen that had a quartz attached to the end of it with “Be the Light” etched on the side of it. At check out, I befriended the lovely store owner, Cynthia, working the register who told me this pen would cure my writer’s block. Yes please! And thank you! Enchanted by the flow and feeling of effortlessness languishing type roaming my soul told me I was healed.

Animals on display at the Little River Inn. Photography courtesy of Tamara Skinner.

I have often pondered on the fact that like machines we as Americans specifically are programmed to produce. Produce results. Produce good grades. Produce promotions. Produce babies. Produce retirement funds. But what if all of that is just one really really long inhale? What if the answer involves us also concentrating just as much on the exhale? For our waves to recede back in the waters after thy maniacally crash onto the shore? What if we just want to talk? To laugh? To have fun? Be known and understood? Feel the sun on our bare legs, drink champagne, embrace for too long? Mendocino healed me and it didn’t take much. Okay maybe it did. Ocean view+hot tub+negative ions from the waves crashing+genuinely caring employees concerned with my needs+magical stores offering guidance and hope. Most important, this stunning coastal wonder found me in the silence and without interruptions long enough to sneak its guidance in, and voila just like that I find myself back on California’s Highway 1 heading south to pick up our children, eager to practice this new mantra of “producing” less while “allowing” more.

Weave Cleveland – Travel Guys cinematographer:

Super Cool York

It’s surely timing and serendipity that set any particular place in our reverie forever. For me I will forever say that York, England is the most fascinating and enchanting place I have ever visited. You can instantly get lost in history at the walled city of York, and I mean instantly!

York’s city walls (circa 1890 and 1900). Wikimedia Commons.

You can stand in one spot and see Medieval, Gothic, Roman, and Edwardian architecture each direction your eyes are drawn… and more. Not the oldest part of town but the most compelling part is ‘the Shambles.’ Named so for the meat shelves and hooks where butchers and sellers displayed their meats for sale. Those were days long ago. Nowadays it is the ‘must see’ area of the city. It looks like a movie set. You can even spot Turkish architecture mixing in with the Tudor stylings. These narrow, tangled cobblestone streets also have something unique which I have never seen or heard of before – Snickleways. A Snickleway is a narrow tunnel-like passage to get you over to another street without having to walk around the block. An ‘enchanting’ short cut. I think there’s five of them.

Five Snickelways lead off the Shambles in York. Wikimedia Commons.

York has some serious Viking history and I learned something there that now makes sense even in my own city. The Viking word for road is gata. In English, gata gets translated to gate. So, even though I have spent my life imagining a garden gate or front yard gate, etcetera, in this case it actually means road. Bathgate, Helmsgate, Fossgate, Coppergate, Newgate, etcetera. I think that’s cool.

Another fascinating fact was how much time the Romans spent there and all the work they did. Constantine the Great was in York when he became a Roman emperor in 306 A.D. and started his rule from there. He was pretty great, he had a city named for himself – Constantinople (now Istanbul). The magnificent York Minster Cathedral has underground excavation of Roman ruins going on right now since workers in the 1960’s discovered them when trying to shore up the foundation of the Minster.

Bronze statue of Constantine the Great outside York Minster, looking down upon his broken sword, which forms the shape of a cross. Wikimedia Commons.

Now, here’s something really special, especially because I am Canadian and have grown up with these: KitKat, Rolo, Aero, Smarties, York Peppermint Patty… and the list goes on – they all came from York. Terry’s and The Rowntree Family and a few others all started in York. In fact. Mr. Rowntree even helped MacIntosh financially to keep his toffee business going. MacIntosh is still on store shelves today. Not to be confused with the MacIntosh raincoat maker or the Glaswegian designer/architect. The giant firm Nestlé may own them now but these candy bars all came from York.

If you visit York you can see the National Railroad Museum or the birthplace of Guy Faux or visit an old English pub smaller than your current bedroom and even learn all about the horse thief and notorious criminal Dick Turpin… but most of all it will be tangling your way through town that will steal your heart. What a super cool place York is.

Brom Wikstrom – T-Boy writer and mouth painter:

The real voyage of discovery consists, not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes. – Proust

It was a revelation to me when visitors to our Seattle home would marvel at our views of Mt. Rainier, the Olympic Mountain Range and Puget Sound. Likewise, guests from other parts of the country would delight in the majesty of towering cedar trees or the red flash of a robin’s breast. These are common sights to us and register appreciation but not the awe-inspiring experience that we have witnessed in others.

View of Mount Rainier National Park from Dege Peak Spur Trail. Wikimedia Commons.

The abundant natural beauty along our shorelines, in our national forests and even the arid portions on the eastern side of Washington State have always moved my spirit in ways that are renewing and I’ve always considered myself fortunate to live in the Pacific Northwest for that reason.

With that in mind, my wife and I began taking winter trips to be with family in St. Petersburg, Florida several years ago and were equally inspired by what to us is exotic wildlife and natural beauty. Because of my wheelchair, I am always in search of accessible trails, promenades and boardwalks where I can engage with nature and Florida offers many such opportunities. We stayed near two local parks that became regular destinations and offered wheelchair accessible trails that highlighted nature and native history in unique settings.

Weedon Island Preserve. Wikimedia Commons.

Sawgrass Lake Park and Weedon Island Park have miles of accessible boardwalks and trails and kayaking options and are treasures of natural wonder. I have enjoyed many peaceful hours in rapt wonder watching the diverse wildlife that call them home. Alligators ply the placid waterways along with turtles, lizards egrets, herons, and pelicans and though these are relatively common sights for residents, I am continuously amazed at the diversity and abundance present at these and other public parks in St. Petersburg.

Salvador Dalí Museum at St. Petersburg, Florida. Wikimedia Commons.

St. Petersburg is equally renowned for its beautiful beaches and the iconic Salvador Dali Museum along with the newly reopened pier and those are surprising, beautiful and culturally dynamic, but give me a few tranquil hours among mangrove swamps and leaping mullets and my heart will sing.

James Boitano – T-Boy writer:

Slovenia

As a geography buff, I’d always wanted to go to Slovenia. Its relative obscurity made vis-à-vis its better-known and more war-torn former constituent republics of the former Yugoslavia made it all the more appealing. I like obscure even more than well known Why go to France when you can go to Luxembourg or better yet, Andorra? And what was this little country of 2 million people like there tucked at the crossroads of the Germanic, Italic and Slavic worlds? I just had to wait for my chance.

Slovenia’s capital city of Ljubljana. Wikimedia Commons.

So, in 2002 while attending the Eurovision music event in Riga Latvia, I met Samo. He was a rumpled, brilliant, and kind high school teacher, a fellow Eurovision fan, and the first Slovenian I’d ever met. We so hit it off as friends, spending hours until late at night, engrossed in conversation at the hotel bar after the events and day’s rehearsals. We met again at Eurovision in 2005 in Kiev and again at Eurovision in 2007 in Helsinki. And each time, he invited me to stay at his home in Slovenia’s little capital city of Ljubljana. I finally took him up on his offer in 2011 for a 10-day visit. And you know what? I returned for another 10-day visit in 2012, And another in 2014 and my 4th x 10-day visit in 2017 (Covid prevented my last trip in 2020). Needless to say, Slovenia won my heart. During my 40 days of visits, Samo showed me every corner of the small country: from the mighty Alpine valleys to the Venetian Adriatic Coast, the rolling hills of the wine region, the little villages of the Pannonian Plain. For a small country, you can reach any region within 2 hours of Ljubljana. But most of all I met Samos friends and family.

Lake Bled, Slovenia. Wikimedia Commons.

Every night we would sit at a café and a crowd of a dozen would join us. The bar we went to was one owned by the father of the most famous Slovene, the father of Melanija Trump and they ironically called it the ‘First Lady Café’. I felt like so accepted by the people, the opposite of a tourist. Small countries so appreciate the attention, they are so often overlooked. And in small country, even a high school teacher is bound to know many people.

A traditional double straight-line hayrack in Slovenia. Wikimedia Commons.

During my visits I was a guest on Slovenian National Radio (during the coveted 1:00 am to 2:00 am spot!). Samo just knew the guy there and when he heard there was captive foreigner, I was invited. And during my 4 visits I attended several birthday parties held by his relatives and a wedding, at each being made to feel like a guest of honor. One day, I got to go on rounds with his friend who picked up produce at local farms and delivered them to grocery stores. We spent all day and crossed half the country. Imagine doing that as a ‘tourist’? And so, after all this, Slovenia has a big place in my heart…and I will return as soon as this post-Covid world allows.

Ed Boitano – T-Boy editor:

Ireland’s Romantic West Coast

My wife and I woke up to the smell of rich morning coffee. It was to be part of our breakfast on our first day in Ireland’s wild west coast. It has been said that all Irish homes become a bed and breakfast during the summer, and this Donegal County cottage with one spare room was no exception.

Full Irish breakfast. Wikimedia Commons.

The owners fussed over us at the table as we enjoyed a full Irish Breakfast: eggs, bacon, sausages, black and white pudding, fried potatoes and homemade rolls with marmalade. They told us of the area’s attractions and educated us on the Irish Potato Famine, that began in 1845 and lasted for six years, killing over a million men, women and children and caused another million to flee the country. The owner explained, the Irish in the countryside began to live off wild blackberries, nettles, turnips, old cabbage leaves, seaweed, roadside weeds and, towards the end of the Famine, green grass. The owner added you could always identify a Famine victim by the green grass stains around their mouth. He suggested that we read his favorite book about the Famine, The Silent People by Walter Macken.

To this day no one knows who these people were and how they were able to move such mammoth rocks. Photo courtesy of Nicolas Raymond & Brin Kennedy Weins, Wikimedia Commons.

We followed his instructions and found a Famine Pot in the middle of a forest, where some locals placed food for the displaced victims. It felt like we were walking through history.

We had already anticipated a trip to Slieve League Cliffs on the far west coast of Donegal, and were not disappointed once we arrived. Towering over 2,000 feet from the Atlantic Ocean, it is one of the highest sea cliffs in Europe. Its visual splendor gets my vote for the most striking site in Ireland.

We headed down the road to County Sligo for a pilgrimage to the gravesite of our favorite poet, W.B. Yeats (1865-1939), and soon found ourselves stuck in the car, avoiding a heavy downpour. We didn’t mind, we read Yeats and listened to an Altan CD, our favorite traditional Donegal music group, while basking in awe at the stunning green countryside. We read where the lyrical name “Emerald Isle” arrived from William Dennan, an Irish physician, poet and liberal political radical, in his poem When Erin First Rose in 1795.

Carrowmore Megalithic Cemetery. Wikimedia Commons.

Once the weather cleared, we stumbled upon Carrowmore Megalithic Cemetery, the largest burial site of Megalithic tombs in Ireland, built around 4600-3900 B.C. To this day no one knows who these people were and how they were able to move such mammoth rocks. We both could feel the power of the setting and something came over us; before we knew it, we were renewing our wedding vows. After a Sunday pub meal of  Irish fjord lamb, potatoes and Guinness we found another B&B, where (once again) we were the only guests. We wanted to take the owner home with us, and to this day remain in contact. From her window we could see cattle swimming across a river.

The striking ‘terrible’ beauty of the Connemara. Photo courtesy of Chris Hood, via Wikimedia Commons.

The next day, it was a drive through the sweeping Connemara in County Galway, a stunning landscape where author Charles Dicken once described as a place of “terrible beauty.” We pulled off the road to study a Famine Trail named for the Doolough Tragedy of 1849. Scores of destitute and starving people staggered through horrendous weather for 15 miles to a manor’s house in the hope of food, only to be turned away. Apparently, the owner was too busy having lunch to be bothered. Later, corpses were found by the side of the road with grass in their mouth, while others desperately crawled to a local church where they could die on consecrated ground.

The annual Doolough Famine Walk. Photo courtesy Tourism Ireland.

Once a year a famine walk takes place on the trail to commemorate the victims. As we departed down the road, we both commented that we had not seen a single car for over half an hour. A second later there was a rumbling on the road. We had a flat, not unusual on these rock-strewn Irish roads, but faced with having to unpack our little rental’s cram packed trunk just to find the spare tire was a daunting thought. Before we knew it, two cars, each arriving from the opposite direction, appeared out of nowhere. The drivers both hopped out and quickly changed our tire. They barely stuck around for a handshake. Such is the hospitality of the Irish.

It was pitch black when we arrived at our next bed and breakfast accommodations, and laughed in wonder on how the owners managed to get the bed into our little room. But where were we? In the morning, with the blazing sun illuminating this piece of paradise, we realized our B&B was nestled on the banks of a breathtaking fjord. We were in the town of Liane, where the film, The Field was made. In one of the local pubs a huge painting of the film’s star, Richard Harris, hangs above the fireplace. On our dinner plates was lobster caught that very day in the fjord. A tablemate explained to us that in pre-EU Ireland there were no taxes on food, books and children’s clothing. Upon hearing this, my wife literally held back tears.

A traditional music session at the Gus O’Connor Pub in Doolin.
Photo courtesy of Chris Hood, via Wikimedia Commons.

Eventually we made it down to the musical town of Doolin, a coastal fishing village in County Clare on the Atlantic coast. Coined the traditional music capital of Ireland, this was an adult Disneyland for us where a number of pubs specialized in Irish session music each night. We joined in with locals and like-minded tourists, had big pub meals of more lamb and potatoes, bacon (think ham) and cabbage, then nursed pints of Guinness as we listened to reels, jigs and haunting ballads, many about the Famine and emigration.

Our daytimes were spent on trips to the Aran Islands, a landscape once so cruel and unforgiving that it consisted solely of solid limestone rock, where rugged locals actually had to produce their own soil, made of seaweed and smashed rocks to grow potatoes, their only source of subsidence; then the windy, yet curiously tranquil Cliffs of Moher, standing 702 feet with a stretch of five miles, featuring panoramic views of the Atlantic as far as the eye can see; a massive Dolomite burial site located on a livestock farm (its only explanation, a note from the farmer, “Mind the Gate”); exploring additional archaeological wonders in the Burren as well as its castles, some now converted to private residences. We carry the memories with us wherever we go. Yes, Erin Go Bragh!

Postscript:

The Hand of Human Kindness: The Irish and American Indian Tribal Nations

In 1847, the Choctaw People in the U.S. collected $170 – the equivalent of several thousand dollars today – to send to the people in Ireland who were starving during the Potato Famine. The senseless deaths and struggles  experienced by the Irish was familiar to the tribal nation: Just 16 years earlier the Choctaw had embarked on the forced 5,043 mile-long Trail Of Tears, due to tyrant and American President Andrew Jackson’s illegal Indian Relocation Act. Thousands of their own succumbed to death from starvation, disease and freezing temperatures. Though the Choctaw People had meager resources, they gave on behalf of others in greater need.

A dignified Choctaw family. Photographer unknown. Wikimedia Commons

The Irish have long felt a debt of gratitude to American Indians. When current news broke that the Navajo and Hopi tribes were being ravaged by the coronavirus, Irish journalist Naomi O’Leary tweeted that now would be a good time to return the favor. That tweet went viral, and soon donations were pouring in from the Irish people, along with messages of gratitude and support.

In 2017, the Choctaw Native American Monument was erected in Midleton, Ireland, to honor the American Indian tribe that aided the Irish during the Great Potato Famine in 1847.

Kindred Spirits sculpture in Ireland, dedicated to the Choctaw Nation for their aid during the Great Irish Famine.
Credit: Photograph courtesy of ChoctawNation.com.

The post Places in the Heart appeared first on Traveling Archive.

The T-Boy Society of Film & Music’s latest poll is dedicated to our Favorite Island Destinations.  Like last month’s World’s Friendliest Destinations we’ve decided to continue with another uplifting theme to counteract the horrendous news of today. You’ll find members’ selections to be personal, reflective and educational. I know I did.

Tom Weber — T-Boy writer:

Procida: The Postman’s Island, Southern Italy: Adored for its simplicity, panoramic views and natural beauty, Isola di Procida, one of a group of five islands that make up the Partenopeo Archipelago out in the Tyrrhenian Sea, just off the coast of Naples in the Campania region of southern Italy, has served as the narrative and backdrop for novelists, screenwriters and moviemakers alike.

Hollywood and Italy’s counterpart Cinecittà (Cinema City) have both yelled out, Lights. Camera. Action! as this little island has routinely been chosen for location shooting on a number of films due to its pastel panoramas and traditional Mediterranean architecture.

The most famous feature-length movies shot on Procida to date are The Talented Mr. Ripley (1999), starring Matt Damon and Jude Law, and Il Postino (The Postman, 1994).

Il Postino tells a fictional story in which real-life Chilean poet and devout Marxist Pablo Neruda is exiled to a small Italian island for political reasons in the early 1950s. An unemployed son of a fisherman is hired on as an extra postman to exclusively hand-deliver the deluge of mail arriving daily to Neruda’s residency.

Over time, the two form a relationship and soon the simple postman begins to love poetry.  The postman, falling silently and madly in love with Beatrice, a barista at her aunt’s cafè, enlists Neruda’s help and guidance to express his feelings.

Il Postino stars French actor Philippe Noiret as Neruda, and Italian thesps Massimo Troisi as postman Mario and Maria Grazia Cucinotta as Beatrice.

Sadly, writer-actor Troisi postponed much-needed open-heart surgery so that he could complete the feature, and the day after filming wrapped Troisi suffered a fatal heart attack and never saw the director’s final cut.

Fortunately, Troisi’s capolavoro in Il Postino left behind a memorable and endearing performance for movie fans everywhere to enjoy again and again. He was posthumously nominated for a best-actor Oscar at the 1995 Academy Awards.  Il Postino is must-see cinema and ranks right up there with Cinema Paradiso (1989 Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film), another small budget, Italian classic.

And what about the tiny island of Procida? It’s situated between Capo Miseno and the island of Ischia. Spanning less than 4 sq. km. (2.4 sq. mi.), it has a very jagged coastline. Terra Murata (Walled Earth) is the island’s highest point, topping the horizon at 91 m (300 ft.).  Geologically, Procida was created by the eruption of four, now dormant and submerged, volcanoes.

Mycenaeans, Greeks, Romans — who made Procida a patrician resort — Normans and the French laid claim to the island over the centuries. Legend has it that the all-powerful Greek god Zeus exiled two misfits — Cercopes from Ephesus — who enjoyed playing pranks on the gods, to the islands of Ischia and Procida, turning them both into monkeys along the way.

Today, Procida remains an uncomplicated, simple, laid-back picturesque dot in the sea when compared to its vibrant, larger and more popular neighboring islands of Capri and Ischia.

Flourishing gardens, vibrant colors, the fragrance of lemon trees and postcard-perfect views beckon travelers to Procida and its quaint ports. It’s just the kind of charming retreat where a simple postman can while away the days writing poetry to impress and win over the woman he loves.

Sarah Greaves-Gabbadon — Jetsetter-in-Chief at Jet Set Sarah:

JAMAICA, LAND I LOVE: I lived in Jamaica for about half my life, but I can’t say I ever loved it the way I do now, from hundreds of miles north. Sometimes, to see a place more clearly you have to venture far away, to put some distance between you, as you would a lover or a childhood friend. But now, after living Miami for 17 years, I feel the thrill that first-time visitors surely must, as the undulating emerald carpet of Jamaica’s dense interior, Cockpit Country, fills the aircraft window. The plane banks to the left to reveal a scalloped coast fringed with talcum sand, thick bush and gray ribbons of highway that have replaced the winding two-lane country roads I used to drive when I lived in Montego Bay.

So, as we begin our final approach, and my memories of the island and its people come flooding back, I wonder what people who’ve never been here before think the country to be like. And I know that whatever their expectations, their experience will be so much more.

That’s because, even among its 30-something other Caribbean siblings, there’s nowhere on earth quite like Jamaica. This tiny island of just over 4,000 square-miles and 2.5 million people has had such a global impact on the world in so many spheres, it’s nothing short of astonishing. I challenge you to find a place in the world where the face of Bob Marley or the strains of “One Love” aren’t instantly recognized and met with a smile. Beyond rum, reggae and coffee (our Blue Mountain brew is acknowledged as some of the finest and most expensive in the world), we’ve given the world our Olympic bobsled team, jerk chicken, and the planet’s greatest sprinter, Usain Bolt.

But it’s what Jamaicans have kept for themselves that’s even more precious. And it’s something I imagine that new visitors, most coming from developed countries where they’re better off materially than many of the people they’ll meet on the ground, don’t anticipate. It’s the magnetism of Jamaicans – an asset that far outweighs the majesty of the 600-foot cascades at Dunn’s River Falls, the mist-crowned Blue Mountains or the seven-mile sweep of sand in Negril.

I saw a T-shirt in an airport duty-free shop once. Printed on the front was the phrase “It’s a Jamaican thing; you wouldn’t understand.” But I understood immediately. Because to be Jamaican is to possess an innate confidence and pride that has nothing to do with your station in life. I can’t explain why, but it seems that every Jamaican is hard-wired with an irrepressible lust for life and unwavering confidence whether they’re living high on the hog or barely making ends meet.

And even though I wasn’t born there, I know that that much of the confidence I possess as an adult comes from growing up in Jamaica, around people who are loud and proud (and yes, as a friend says, sometimes “wrong and strong”) but never ashamed to make their presence felt. It’s a rock-solid sense of self that, like my passport, I take with me wherever I go, a sort of “confidence visa” that can never be revoked.

Ringo Boitano — T-Boy writer:

Crannogs, Scotland & Ireland:  I couldn’t help but notice the stunning tree-filled islands that dotted Scotland and Ireland’s shimmering lochs. Known as crannogs, they are artificial fortified islands, constructed in a lake or marsh, originally in prehistoric Ireland and Scotland. Research revealed that they once contained Iron Age and even Neolithic dwellings, dating back before the advent of Stonehenge. The surrounding water was their form of defense. In case of an attack by raiders, the inhabitants could easily defend and repel such intrusion. In periods of calm, small boats could transport the crannog dwellers to their farms, while secret, strategically placed underwater causeways, known only to them, would do so by foot. Today, they are many reconstructed crannog dwellings thanks to the Scottish Crannog Centre, created to promote the preservation and interpretation of Scotland’s underwater heritage.

Dominica: There it was in bold print: “Dominica is the only island Columbus would recognize if he returned today.” I’m not sure how the author managed to land that quotation, but even from the deck of my arriving vessel, I could see that this tiny island nation was definitely an untouched paradise found. Located in the Eastern Caribbean, Dominica is blessed with rainforests, undeveloped beaches, cascading waterfalls, small coastal villages with broken sidewalks and the highest mountain on any of the Caribbean’s Islands. In 1493, Dominica was a stronghold of the Caribs, who are today the last indigenous people of the Caribbean. Situated high in the mountains,  the Carib Territory is a must-see destination in the northeast part of the country. It is also where some of the most spectacular vistas of the island can be found. With a population of 3,500, most of the Carib people live in huts that have changed little over the centuries. Unfairly categorized by the first arriving Europeans as cannibals, these are a gentle and shy people. Children would hide behind structures when my small group arrived by van. Young men, who were carving coconuts, offered us fresh coconut milk to drink. Today, income is derived primarily from crafts, fishing and farming. It’s a great place to purchase gifts or souvenirs to help the local economy

Church of the Assumption, Lake Bled, Slovenia: The secret to a successful marriage is for a husband to carry his bride up all 99 steps to the Church of the Assumption on the island in Bled, Slovenia. If only someone would have told me  about this Slovenian tradition 30 years ago. But after stepping off a Pletna – a gondola-like boat known only in Bled – and staring up the sharp vertical incline, I could see that this would be easier said than done. Located in the Balkan nation of Slovenia in Central Europe, it was once part of the former Yugoslavia, now divided into six autonomous republics. Bled has long been a popular local and tourist destination. Former Yugoslavian head of state Marshal Tito had a getaway constructed on the mainland, overlooking the lake and island. Historians believe that the little alpine forested island probably had a special meaning during prehistoric times as a sanctuary. In the early Middle Ages, it was an Old Slavic cult island, where 124 graves with skeletons were found at the site of the church.

Chloe Erskine — Educator:

Ilha Bela, Brazil: Imagine leaping off a boat, with two dear-to-the-heart friends (made in New York but who are South American natives) at the helm, and gliding through sapphire water in front of a waterfall flowing from the jungle down a cliff into the sea you are swimming in. Welcome to Ilha Bela, literally, Beautiful Island, off the Sāo Paolo coast. This is where Brazilians come to vacation. Let me say that again. This is where. Brazilians. Come to. Vacation. Load your car onto the ferry Seattle style and float 40 minutes off the coast to this abundance of natural beauty, hiking, swimming, standup paddle, feijoada galore, plazas that never quiet, and outdoor clubs with the ocean on the left, pool on the right, and mountains in front. Rent a house or cottage in a hotel on the west side near enough to the beachfront restaurants (which you oh rough life that it is, must frequent if you want beach access but cold beer and fresh grilled seafood all day is a fair and equal price I’d say) and get up around 11, pack the coolers with your own Antarctica beers too in case (light enough for all day sunshine) and get a spot at in the sand in by noon. Stay. Swim. Sun. Flirt. Wander. Rest.

Ed Boitano — T-Boy editor:

The Aran Islands, Ireland: In Robert Flaherty’s brilliant 1934 documentary film, Man of Aran, we see a man smashing limestone rocks to bits, while his wife gathers seaweed below the island’s windswept cliffs. Meanwhile, their young son scavenges for particles of dirt that have blown from the mainland. These three ingredients will be used to create soil to grow potatoes – the family’s main source of subsistence. This is the Aran Islands; a landscape made entirely of solid limestone rock. It is a landscape that is so cruel and unforgiving that this poor Irish family must manufacture their very own soil in order to survive. When Flaherty heard of these stoic people, he knew that someday he would make a film about them. When I first viewed his masterful documentary, I knew that I too would someday set foot on the islands. Twenty years later, I finally did. Located off Ireland’s west coast, the Aran Islanders today no longer create their own soil and tourism is now their largest form of income. Visitors come from all over the globe to experience their living history of primitive stone forts, weathered churches and dramatic scenery. The best way to begin your exploration is at the Ionad Arann Heritage Centre on Inishmore, the largest of the three islands, which takes you back two thousand years in the life and times of the Aran Islands.

San Juan, Puerto Rico: San Juan was a bustling metropolis 100 years before the Pilgrims landed on Plymouth Rock. The island was home to the Taíno Indians when Europe colonization began with the arrival of Columbus in 1493. The Spanish soon established the strategically placed fortress, Castillo de San Felipe del Morro, at the entrance to San Juan Bay. With its 20-foot-thick walls towering 140 feet above the sea, El Morro proved ideal in keeping enemy ships out of the bay. Today this dramatic structure hosts over two million visitors a year who come to explore the fort’s sweeping vistas, tunnels, dungeons, barracks, outposts and canons. Declared a World Heritage Site in 1933, El Morro offers a unique opportunity to experience Spain’s 400 years of history in Puerto Rico.

Stromboli, Italy: Ingrid Bergman plays a displaced Lithuanian World War II refugee in Roberto Rossellini’s 1950 masterwork, Stromboli, who marries an Italian POW fisherman she met in an internment camp. They relocate to Stromboli, her husband’s volcanic island home. Unable to adjust to the harsh environment of the hostile people and landscape, she attempts to flee, by walking to the other side of the island to a waiting boat. As she climbs the active volcano, she is awed by its power and furry, losing her battered suitcase and then her pride, eventually breaking into tears and calling for God. Seeing the little island of Stromboli from the luxury of the 360 feet long and five mast vessel Star Clipper was a slightly different experience. I could see smoke pouring like clockwork out of the crater, and the two small villages below, with Sea Gypsies hugging the shoreline. Located off the north coast of Sicily in the Tyrrhenian Sea, Stromboli has been in almost continuous eruption for the last 2,000 years. Eruptions typically result in a few seconds of emitting ash and lava fragments, but lava flows do still occur. The last major one was in 2002, resulting in closure of the island. As Stromboli began to disappear in the distance, I stared in awe at the villages of islanders who refused to leave their homes as the black smoke filled the sky.

James Boitano — T-Boy writer:

Subarctic: Iceland – A cozy Viking civilization built upon amazing volcanic and glacial geology

Temperate: Vancouver Island – High Tea in Victoria. Raw Pacific Beaches in Tofino

Tropical: Dominica – Caribbean culture, welcoming people, volcanoes and black sand beaches.

Weave Cleveland — Cinematographer Travel Guys TV:

Vancouver Island, British Columbia, Canada: I grew up on Vancouver Island (Sooke) and I am not trying to be prejudiced. I have travelled to a fair amount of locations on this planet and if I told you what I have seen on Vancouver Island you would not believe me: Bears • Salmon Runs • Sharks • Orca • Blue Whales • Grey Whales • Sperm Whales • Abandoned Gold Rush Towns • Caves • Impressive Waterfalls • ENORMOUS Douglas Fir Trees • Ship Wrecks • Mining Towns • Gorgeous Beaches • Rainforest Glory • Military Exercises in the mountains • Deer in the cities • An abundance of eagles- Bald and Golden • Immense sustainable logging and smart forestry management – trust me, the loggers I know, know more about an owls habitat than you would ever suppose, these are smart educated people • The best camping you will ever experience • The best hiking trails –  make your own trail – me and my dog did plenty of that • Feral cats in the deep woods • Warm lakes, deep lakes, cold lakes • Hippies – I mean real humans still living off the land raising their families (paying no taxes) • US draft dodgers living in the woods growing quite old, untrusting of amnesty • Skates washed up on the beach • Shark jaws to take to class for show ’n tell • An Indian midden (indigenous) • Fishing industry culture • Race tracks • Soccer leagues • World-class educational institutions • Celebrities • and as much to offer as any other home on the planet.

But let me tell you this: what you see above the surface of the water is nothing compared to what is immediately below. Whatever you think you like about the BC Coastline; well, just wait until you get a look at what is underneath. I am dead serious, if you could see what I have seen you would think you are on a different planet, one of immense colourful abundance. I ain’t even gonna’ start. Coral reefs, eat your heart out!

Moorea, Polynésie Françoise: This island is just north of the island of Tahiti. It is the most beautiful place you could imagine. We swam with black tip sharks; they don’t bite people. The sting rays are as gentle as puppy dogs and as trusting as a child.

Huahine, Polynésie Françoise: Paradise. Mārō’ē Bay. Amazing and gorgeous.

La Digue, Seychelles: The Seychelles has shown up on Viking maps as the Garden of Eden. (Those Vikings sure went a long way). A century ago, it was a place they used to dump prisoners. It seems like paradise, which it is, but I recall sitting on a beach, looking out to sea feeling like I was on the very edge of the earth. It was the loneliest feeling you could imagine. A very far away feeling. Can you imagine having a white sandy beach all to yourself with just you and your lover, for an entire day – absolute paradise? It is shockingly lonely. I went out into the bay and when I was at chest level, I noticed hundreds of small white fish swimming all around me, I hadn’t noticed they were there until… all of a sudden. I swam out into the deeper water and let the swells take me way up and way down as I watched the shoreline. What a place! It has to make my list because I can never forget it.

Haida Gwaii, Graham Island, The Queen Charlotte Islands: I spent a month in Massett playing music in a bar. It too, felt like the edge of the earth but with the capability of being much more violent from mother nature. Golden eagles the size of your house. Clams the size of a catcher’s mitt. I watched eagles in the trees above a wide cove takes turns diving down to try and catch a fish. What a show. I went to the northern tip of the island and walked out on a rocky edge only to see nesting seabirds freaked out that I was there intruding on their nesting place. Wow!

Brent Campbell — Musician & composer:

Orcas Island, Washington State: When I was seven or eight years old, and for the next two summers, I went door to door selling toffee covered nuts for $1 per can (delicious!). Once I sold 20 I earned a one week trip to YMCA Camp Orkila on Orcas. After all these years I still cherish those three “independent “ trips to one of the most beautiful islands anywhere. I have been back a few times over the years and Orcas Island remains a beautiful locale.

Rivillagigedo Island, Alaska: Home to Ketchikan. In my college years I spent a summer working on a few construction projects. Arriving at midnight on 7/4 I was introduced to 20 hours of light. I was introduced to the great state of Alaska.. (it remains much lighter in Fairbanks, over a thousand miles north). I learned to live in a place only accessible by sea or plane. I learned to love Alaska (where I was working before the pandemic).

Kauai, Hawaii: I have been to all of Hawaii except the big island and Kauai is my favorite. It’s been a few years but I will never forget the beauty of the Garden Isle. Great beaches and scenic diversity. Less tourism (I can’t vouch for today). I simply remember it as paradise on earth!

Great Britain: Need I say more. The island that is home to England, Scotland and Wales is probably the most important, impactful, influential island on earth. All other islands pale by comparison (sorry Australia you are a small continent by most measures).

T.E. Mattox — T-Boy music critic:

Japan: A cultural experience like no other. The people, the history, the architecture, the incredible train/subway systems. Inland you have mountains and hot springs (onsen). Nikko National Park is breathtaking. With so many things to try and experience, plan for at least two weeks when you visit.

Hawaii: Oahu will always be a favorite. I’m a history buff and Pearl Harbor stopped time for me. Standing above the deck of the USS Arizona, watching a silvery sheen of oil that continues to leak from the depths. Heart-wrenching and unforgettable!

Corregidor: Not an intact structure on the entire island. The most-bombed piece of ground on the planet. The Malinta Tunnel carved through a mountain on the island, had a 1000 bed hospital inside.

Hong Kong: Probably a little different today. But in the day, the food was outstanding on the floating restaurants. Great place to have clothes tailor-made. Sailing around the island in a Chinese junk is a lifelong memory!

La Maddalena: Off the West coast of Italy and a ferry ride North of Sardinia. Beaches are magnificent, terrain is rocky, but the seafood and pasta is to die for. Sambuca.

Allan Smith — Artist & T-Boy writer:

Memories of Okinawa, Japan: My favorite island is not a usual tourist destination. It is a distant memory of my youth. My father was a US military chaplain, and we moved about every 3 years. In 1961 (when I was eight years old) we moved to Okinawa, the largest island of the Ryukyu Islands, about 950 miles south of Japan. The inhabitants of Okinawa speak Japanese and have much in common with their neighbors to the north.

Some six decades have passed since I lived there, but I still have fond memories from the few years of my youth spent on Okinawa. Attending 3rd and 4th grade in Quonset hut classrooms didn’t really seem unusual to me; it was simply something you might expect for an Army dependent on Okinawa in 1961. I remember a couple of my teachers, and the school library where I volunteered to sort library cards, and the librarian with her shiny long red fingernails. I can remember an animated film my teacher showed near Halloween with dancing skeletons, and some how I know the music they were dancing to was Camille Saint–Saëns’ Danse Macabre.

I remember the village store down the hill from my home: a paradise for a young boy who had a dollar or two to spend. There were exotic candies some of which had edible wrappers that looked like cellophane, but must have been made from rice. My brothers and friends bought long thin firecrackers that didn’t have fuses; you struck the end on a matchbox, and then had 5 seconds to throw the “striker” as far as you could!

There were “butterfly” knives in which the blade was enclosed in a 2-piece handle which came in many different colors. You would undo the small latch at bottom and then deftly flip the top half of the sheath back under your thumb, exposing the blade. It was very exciting for a young lad of 7 or 8.

There were also strange slender playing cards called menko, which you would slap down next to your opponent’s, and try to flip his card over. With each successful flip, you won that card. On the way home from the village shop, I once remember seeing an old mamasan bathing under a waterfall. I admit now that I threw one of my firecrackers in her direction.  Of course, she was a far distance off, well out of harm’s way.

Then there were the occasional days off from school when the island was struck by a powerful typhoon, when the power would go out and centipedes would crawl inside the house.

I recall walking in a field of sugar cane, cutting a stalk and sucking the sweet juice. Then finding a clump of clay that I imagined to be an old WWII hand grenade.

I learned some Japanese from a native speaker who visited our elementary school class. I learned numbers and some basic greetings which I’ve never forgotten, such as: Ohayou-gozaimasu (Good Morning ) and ichi, ni, san, shi, go (1,2,3,4,5).

I remember seeing the locals squatting on their haunches as they waited for a bus. I remember hearing about a deadly sport which pitted a feral mongoose against a poisonous Habu snake. I learned how to make fried rice from our part-time Okinawan maid, and also learned to love the smell of incense and appreciate Japanese art and style. (I still watch the NHK television network from Japan, and I love Japanese cinema).

There were white sand beaches, like Okuma, on the northwest side of the island and slippery clay swimming holes surrounded by vines where the Okinawan children would dive and flip to their hearts’ content.

I remember listening to Armed Forces radio hearing the Beatles for the first time, and calling the radio station every half hour to request I Wanna Hold Your Hand... I would use my father’s fancy new Akai reel-to-reel tape recorder to make mix tapes from the radio.

There was also the dark memory of the night I slept over at a classmate’s home. I remember his mother coming into his room in tears, telling us that President Kennedy had just been assassinated. I guess we all remember where we were when we heard that grim news.

These are some my childhood memories of Okinawa. I don’t know if I will ever return there, but it is often in my thoughts.

Richard Frisbie — T-Boy writer:

An unknown island in Paraty Bay has to top my Favorite Islands list.

After the hedonism of Carnivale, my friends and I chartered a sailboat to relax for a few days and come down from the nonstop partying. While sailing in the Bay of Paraty, which is off the Brazilian mainland, in the state of Rio de Janeiro, we came upon an island — almost two islands actually — only connected by a sandy, palm tree dotted isthmus. We dropped anchor and I dove from the deck into the emerald sea, swimming toward shore as the color paled and the white sand rose beneath the water to meet my feet. I walked from the beach through the palms and across the green barrier to the opposite sandy shore. With the two hills of the island rising on each side of me I lay down in the warm sand, soaking in the sun, embraced in the bosom of the bay. It was a psychedelic moment.

Sardinia — Sicily’s little sister off the Italian coast — is a windswept isle of history, rugged people, and great food & wine. The Bronze age stone shelters, or nuraghi as they are called, dot the landscape. And the last holdout of those ancient builders lived undiscovered for decades high in an old volcano in what looked like a pueblo from our Southwest. There are fine beaches and sailing, and an unexpected warmth from the insular population that I really enjoyed.

After that would come — in no particular order — Macau, Ibiza, Tenerife, and the Thousand Islands of the St Lawrence River.

Richard Carroll — T-Boy Writer:

Catalina Island — Catalina Island is an exhilarating 22-mile journey from Southern California to an untrampled paradise. The sea and sky frame a magnificence horseshoe-shaped bay hosting everything from yachts to crusty row boats with fishing rods. Small wooden cottages are surrounded by geraniums, hibiscus, begonias and bougainvillea that seem to be growing out of every nook and cranny. Spanish-style buildings with red tile roofs and stark white walls built in the 1920’s and 30’s and the historic Casino, like a sentinel standing guard, are Catalina landmarks. Strangely, not a single wager has ever been placed in the Casino. William Wrigley Jr. of chewing gum fame who took control of the island in 1919 designed the Casino for dancing. Also, as  owner of the Chicago Cubs baseball team, Catalina was their spring training camp from 1921 to 1951.

A million thanks to Wrigley and the Catalina Island Conservancy who established guidelines that continues to keep Catalina free of blatant commercialism. The island is home to at least fifty endemic species and subspecies that occur naturally on the island and nowhere else in the world. Not one traffic light is to be found and generally the resident’s mode of transportation is via golf carts and bicycles. The city of Avalon more like a European village is about one square mile in size leaving 88 percent of the island to nature and miles of overnight hiking trails.

Ometepe, Lake Nicaragua — The volcanic island of Ometepe tucked away in Lake Nicaragua, is the largest fresh water island in the world, dominated by two towering volcanoes, one active. Colorful villages, fields of sugar cane, and fresh-water lagoons where white-faced capuchin howler monkeys hang out is the essence of Ometepe, though those up for a mighty challenge a variety of steep all-day volcano hikes are a lasting memory. The island residents remark, “If the volcano blows jump in a kayak, paddle like heck, and don’t look back.” I found on this remote island in the heart of Nicaragua a bit of Spanish is helpful but a smile and a handshake works every time.

Stephen Brewer — T-Boy writer:

Capri, Italy  “Twas on the Isle of Capri… Shall we just get the pleasantries out of the way? Capri is a lovely little island that floats in the turquoise waters of the Gulf of Naples and where the air is scented with bougainvillea that tumbles in wild abandon over the garden walls of white-washed villas. Blah, blah, blah. Not that I’m immune to the natural beauty of this island, and I have enjoyed many long walks beneath pine trees out to Punta Tragara and refreshing dips beneath the sea cliffs at the Faraglioni, but on this rock it’s the human fauna, warts and all, that I find to be especially intriguing.

Capri, you see, has long attracted bohemians, libertines, and the outright scandalous. The novelist D.H. Lawrence grumpily complained that the island was “a gossipy, villa-stricken, two-humped chunk of limestone that does heaven much credit but mankind none at all.” I lean toward amused fascination, not despair, about humankind when I sit in the Piazzetta, the main square of Capri Town. Day trippers troop through, water bottles in one hand, iPhones at the ready for selfies in the other, and alongside them are leggy models who strut around as if on a Milan runway, a scattering of lotharios, easy to spot in rumpled linen, and many well-dressed, cappuccino-drinking bon vivants who might be accountants and marketing execs in real life but in this setting become flaneurs and flaneuses.  The writer Joseph Conrad also got carried away with the island’s undercurrents when, quite possibly sitting at a cafe table in this square, he wrote, “The scandals of Capri — atrocious, unspeakable, amusing scandals, international, cosmopolitan, and biblical flavored with Yankee twang and the French phrases of the gens du monde mingle with the tinkling of guitars in the barber’s shops.”

Capri has been synonymous with licentiousness since the Emperor Tiberius took up residence in a cliff-top palace in A.D 26. According to contemporary reports, he engaged in “depravities . . . so flagrant one can scarcely bear to report or hear them.” But since no one can resist passing on some good dish, especially about a public figure, news soon spread that the dark and mercurial emperor was having lovers of whom he’d tired hurled off the cliffs. Another dissolute, the Baron Jacques d’Adelsward-Fersen, took up residence in a villa a little way down the same hillside in 1905. He came to the island after some time in prison for an episode involving schoolboys, and he brought with him his lover, Nino Cesarini, a model for erotic photographs and paintings. The baron spent his time writing really bad verse and almost unreadable stream of consciousness prose, but he excelled at taking debauchery to extremes. He died while sipping cocaine-infused Champagne in a room he had designed to resemble a Chinese opium den. Nino did well for himself after the baron’s death and opened a bar and newsstand in Rome with the money he inherited.

Probably the island’s most famous scandal is the one associated with Friedrich Alfred Krupp, the German steel and arms manufacturer. Money and power could not silence reports of Krupp’s orgies and other dalliances on Capri, and he committed suicide in 1902 when faced with a trial and many years of hard labor. He’s lent his name to the beautiful Via Krupp, a steep lane of switchbacks that connects the Giardini di Augusto, designed and financed by Krupp, with Marina Piccola, where he moored his two yachts. Amidst the garden’s lush greenery stands a statue of Vladimir Lenin. The revolutionary and first premier of the Soviet Union seems a bit out of place in such luxuriant and hedonistic surroundings, but he admired the island when he stayed here as a guest of his co-patriot, the writer Maxim Gorky, in 1908.

It would be easy to go on and on gossip-mongering, but it seems only fair also to mention some island residents who have been above reproach, or almost. Axel Munthe, a Swedish physician and ornithologist, is still the island’s golden boy, having settled into the airy and enchanting Villa San Michele in 1887. Oh, you could dig up a few skeletons in the doctor’s closet, like his lifelong devotion to Princess Victoria (later Queen) of Sweden, to whom he prescribed spending a lot of time in his company on Capri. All in all, though, Munthe is an uplifting character, and he was beloved for some truly altruistic acts, like treating poor islanders for free, coming to the aid of Neapolitans during a cholera epidemic, and taking in a menagerie of stray animals. Plus, he penned some pretty memorable thoughts, like “The soul needs more space than the body.” That will make perfect sense when you take in the views of this legendary island from the airy and light-filled rooms where Munthe spent most of his life.

John Clayton — T-Boy writer:

One Foot Island, Aitutaki, The Cook Islands: Have you ever had one of those dreams where you’ve fantasized about a gorgeous South Seas Pacific island beach that’s surrounded by pristine, crystal clear waters so beautiful it makes you wonder if such a beach might REALLY exist somewhere in the world? Well, dear friends and fellow adventurers’ let me assure you that YES, a beach like that DOES exist. With its breathtaking and idyllic landscape, powdery white sand, warm azure waters, and the gently swaying palm and coconut trees, the intriguingly named One Foot Island is my all-time BEST BEACH in the world. One of the 22 islands in the Aitutaki atoll of the Cook Islands, it is only 2,000 feet long and about 689 feet wide. One Foot Island was, in June, 2008 in Sydney, Australia, named, by the World Travel Awards Organization, the title of “Australasia’s Leading Beach.”

Jim Ferri — Editor of Never Stop Traveling:

Back in the 70’s, I was a freelance photographer/writer trying to eke out a living plying my craft.

Competition was tough, of course. But there was one big benefit – I could come up with a story idea and, if I got the go-ahead, I’d usually wind up getting a free air ticket (First Class, mostly) and free hotels.

As I began getting better known, a few editors began coming to me, asking if I’d go on a trip here or there to do a piece for them. Later, as my work got better known, hotels and airlines asked if I’d join them on a trip now and then.

One day the PR department of Air France called. They had launched a new route to Mauritius, a spec of an island in the Indian Ocean, and wanted to know if I’d join a small group of media that would be traveling there.

I knew it would be a really long flight – New York to Paris and then onward to the other side of the world – but I was always open to travel anywhere. I also knew I could get an open ticket and route myself back on Air France wherever I wanted to go. I went.

Mauritius was okay, nice but nothing really special, and after four days our little group dispersed to head home. I stayed around and took a flight to nearby Réunion Island, a French department in the Indian Ocean, just because it sounded cool and exotic.

When you travel a lot, and I mean a LOT, you don’t tend to remember the nuances of the many places you visit, only those where something special happened. That’s what happened to me on Réunion.

I was moving around the island for a couple of days, photographing and carrying my normal 40+ pounds of camera gear. I don’t remember where I was, or where I wanted to get to, but I do remember it was about 10 miles off and across the middle of nowhere.

I wasn’t having much success with local transportation, so I set off walking down a wide dirt road. I was about three miles out, when under a blazing Indian Ocean sun, I realized what a stupid idea it was. Nevertheless, I kept plodding on since there wasn’t any other alternative. Then I heard a car coming up behind me.

I turned and saw it trailing a plume of dust 15 feet in the air. I braced for the worst, putting the crook of my arm over my nose and mouth, and shoving my camera under my shirt.

The car stopped and a woman with a young child pulled up slowly next to me and asked if I wanted a ride. At least I think that’s what she said since I didn’t speak any French and she didn’t English.

I hopped in her car quickly and during the next half hour we each attempted to converse as best as possible…she asking me where I was going and where I was from…me inquiring about the age of her little girl…she answering three with her fingers…

That half hour on an island on the other side of the world was one of the most memorable in my life since it opened my mind to the kindness of others.

A week earlier I had left an America in turmoil… our president had resigned… there was mistrust of others… and always, as they had for years, people worried about their personal safety… always lock your doors… don’t accept rides from stranger…be careful wherever you go.

And here, on a road to only God-knows-where, a young woman was so trusting of me… something I would never see back in my native New York.

It’s my only memory of Réunion, but it’s one that’s stayed with me for my entire life.

Roger Fallihee — T-Boy writer:

Secret Beach, Maui: We heard about this spot from friends. It’s called Secret Beach, also known as Pa’ako Beach. As you drive there you need to watch for a stone wall with a narrow passage. Park on the road just south of the more popular Big Beach, and continue walking south until you find a break in the wall – that’s the beach’s unofficial entrance.  Walk through the passageway and about 30 yards to the beach. When we were there it was just us and a family. There are no restrooms or food. About 1/4 mile before you arrive there’s a food truck.

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This installment of Three Things About Slovenia is courtesy of Aleksandra Jezeršek Matjašič of the Slovenia Tourist Board

1. Question: What are some of the “things” or activities that Slovenians do for fun?

Answer:

A “true” Slovenian has to do and does several things. It is expected from him (her) that at least once in his (her) life time climbs the Mt Triglav, the highest peak of Slovenia. During the spring and summer he (she) has to climb other mountains, too, and hike around the hills, forests and natural parks. In the winter time, he (she) skies in different Slovenian ski resorts. Slovenians are very sporty, they like to cycle, play golf, try different adrenaline sports such as paragliding, canyoning and rafting. They love to pumber themselves with the thermo-mineral waters therapies in different natural thermal spas and wellness centres across the country.

It is also expected that a  “true” Slovenian at least once in his (her) life time visits the Slovenian  hidden world. In Slovenia, there are over 10.000 karst caves with the mysterious limestone stalagamites, stalactites and halls. The most famous are Postojna Cave and Škocjan Caves. He (she) has to visit the birth place of the elegant, amazing, world-famous white Lipizzaner horse in Lipica, too.

The Slovenians love to meet with their friends, colleagues and parents for a cup of coffee or for a glass or two of amazing Slovenian wine such as traditional red teran – and talk for hours about the current politics situation and their neighbours. The Sundays are usually reserved for a lunch with the family. The plates have to be traditional and made of plants and vegetables grown in their own gardens, terraces or fields. Or at least bought from the trusted farmer.

2. Question: What’s one thing the public probably does NOT know about Slovenia?

Answer:

The identity of the Slovenian nation is inseparably connected to its culture and the Slovenian language. The traces of the cultural creativity on the today’s Slovenian territory leads us several ten thousands years back in the history. In the Slovenian museums, there are amazing artefacts such as 60,000-year old flute, 30,000-year old needle or 5200-year old wooden wheel which is the oldest known in the world.

Slovenians are proud of its language, too. The proof of its existence take us to the  9^th–10^th century to the Freising Manuscripts (Brižinski spomeniki). The manuscripts are not just the oldest known  text in the Slovenian language, but they have wider importance, too. They are also the oldest known written proof of any language from the Slavic linguistic group.

Although the Slovenians got their own state just in 1991, they are in fact very old nation with the rich history. And a big secret how did they survived thorugh the rough history lead by different foreign masters.

3. Share some aspect of what Slovenia has contributed to the world.

Answer:

Technical legacy:

The first report on skiers of Bloke is from 1689. The skiers of Bloke are considered inventors of special skies and the oldest skiers in Central Europe. Their legacy is continued today by Slovenian ski brand Elan.

Lovrenc Košir (1804–1879) reformed the post system in Habsburg monarchy. He invented the stamp in 1835, but he never got the credit for it.

Janez Puh (1862–1914) was inventor and pioneer  in the motorcycle and automobile industry. He obtained 13 patents and made several inventions and improvements regarding the vehicles and even for the typing machines. As founder of motorcycles and automobiles manufacturing company in Graz he was one of the most significant vehicle producers in Europe, developing different types of cars, lorries, buses, military and some other special vehicles such as limousines for the imperial Habsburg family.

Baron Anton III von Codelli (Anton Freiherr Codelli von Codellisberg, Sterngreif und Fahnenfeld; 1875–1954) invented several improvements for the automobiles: an ignition device, a miniature in-car food refrigerator, rotary engine etc. But he didn’t limited himself on the cars, he also invented mechanical mower, wireless conection of different devices, high-frequency telephon, mini radio … He is considered, too, a pioneer of television technology.  He even produced and shot the film The White Goddess of the Wangora in Togo, the first feature film ever to be shot in Africa.

Herman Potočnik Noordung (1892–1929) was the first architecture in space, one of the first rocket engineers and pioneer of cosmonautics. His work was focused on the long-term human habitation of space. He is the author of the revolutionary book The Problem of Space Travel – The Rocket Motor (1928). It served as an inspiration for the International Space Station and for the wheel-shaped space station in famous Stanley Kubrick‘s film 2001: A Space Odyssey.

The genious ancestors are succeeded today by different individuals and companies – as Robert Lešnik, the director of Mercedes-Benz passenger cars’ exterior design, Akrapovič, the leading international company in inventing and producing the exhaust systems for motorcycles and performance cars, or Pipistrel, constructor and inventor of advanced light and zero-emission aircraft.

Cultural legacy:

Slovenia is the birth place of Jurij Slatkonja (1456–1522), who became the bishop of Vienna and in 1498 the first director (in some sources he is consider the founder, too) of the boys’ choir that is know today as Vienna Choir Boys and as one of the  best of it’s kind in the world.

In Slovenia were born the late Renaissance composer Jacobus Gallus Carniolus (1550–1591), who is famous for his motets, and Baroque composer and violinist Giuseppe Tartini (1692–1770).

Maks Fabiani (1865–1962) left his home land for Vienna to became personal advisor of Franz Ferdinand, the heir to the Austro-Hungarian Empire throne, professor at the University of Technology and author of interesting architectural projects – such as noticeable observatory Urania, placed by the river Danube.

Ljubljana was the first city in  the world to establish an industrial design biennale in 1964 (BIO) and one of the first to organise a biennale of graphic arts in 1955 (Biennal of Graphic Arts Ljubljana).

Slovenians are making many contributions to the contemporary art and culture and to the philosophy, too. The most famous and notable person is Slavoj Žižek,  continental philosopher, Global Distinguished Professor of German at New York University, international director of the Birkbeck Institute for the Humanities of the University of London and critic of capitalism, neoliberalism and political correctness.

Country of powerful women:

Through the history, different powerful and famous men were attracted by the beautiful and smart Slovenian women. One of the examples goes many centuries back in the history of Europe. Barbara Celjska (Barbara of Celje; 1391/92–1451) was married to  Sigismund of Luxemburg, king of different lands and Holy Roman Emperor. Barbara was involved in politics, negotiations, administration and economy, too. Among different assignments, she was also the regent of Hungarian kingdom and the co-founder of the royal Order of the Dragon.

In the present times, another Slovenian woman is married to a powerful man and gets a lot of international interest. After the last presidential elections in USA, ex fashion model Melania Knauss (today Trump) has become the USA First Lady and one of the world’s most famous women.

Thanks to her hard work, creativity and skills, another Slovenian woman is rocking the word. Ana Roš was seeking perfection in the kitchen for years so that she was finally declared the World’s Best Female Chef.

Additional Information

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The secret to a successful marriage is for a husband to carry his bride up all 99 steps to the Church of the Assumption of Mary on the Island in Bled, Slovenia. If only someone would have told me about this Slovenian tradition five years ago. But after stepping off a ‘Pletna’ – a gondola-like boat known only in Bled – and staring up the sharp vertical incline, I could see that this would be no easy task. Plus the bride must remain silent for the entire 99 step journey. Perhaps it was better for me to have just left well enough alone.

Located in the Balkan nation of Slovenia (pop: 2,007,711) in Central Europe – part of the former Yugoslavia and now long-time member of the European Union – Bled has long been a favorite tourist destination. Situated 54 km northwest from Ljubljana, the capital of Slovenia, former Yugoslavian head of state Marshal Tito had a lavish summer villa constructed on the mainland, overlooking the lake and island. Historians believe that the little alpine forested island probably had a special meaning during prehistoric times as a sanctuary. In the early Middle Ages it was an Old Slavic cult area, where 124 graves with skeletons were found. According to legend, the temple of the ancient Slavic goddess Živa, known to her worshipers as the heavenly bride, once stood in the place of the renovated 17th century Baroque church. Resting next to the church, is the 11th-century Bled Castle, which houses a museum, chapel and printing press.

As I caught my breath at the top of the stairs and entered the church I could see examples of both its beauty and renovations. A wooden statue of the Virgin Mary rests on the central altarpiece, adorned with rich gold-plated carvings. Like the church and monumental staircase, the island’s other buildings and walls have been painstakingly preserved to maintain their 17th century authenticity. Another tradition is for visitors to ring the ‘wishing bell’ above the church nave three times. Legend has it, if you can hear the bell’s three echoes in the distance; your wish will come true. My wish? To return to Bled for a week, of course.

After your tour of the island, church and castle, and still in need of a religious experience, it is essential you devour a heavenly Bled cream cake. The iconic cream cake, known in Bled for decades, is considered by many one of the very symbols of Bled. The birthplace of the original Bled cream cake is thought to be the Park Restaurant and Café, which is nestled on the shore of Lake Bled with stunning views of the lake and surrounding Alps. The cafe is popular with day visitors who simply come to Bled for a cream slice.

A stroll around the lake takes approximately an hour. A stop at Marshal Tito’s stunning summer villa is also worth a look. Vintgar Gorge is located a few minutes by car from Bled, and offers a mile long forested nature walk of boardwalks and bridges, crossing over several waterfalls. The Karst region, an hour from Ljubljana and close to the Italian border, features an amazing network of caves and underground rivers.

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