travel tuesday | a scene at a train station in japan

As a travel blogger it gets easy to rely on posts that provide itineraries, guides, tips, and "5 things..." about such and such. I like that format. I find it useful when I read blogs, and I aim to use my own blog to help others travel smartly, on a budget, and see and do the things that match their unique interests and talents. But from time to time, I try to remind myself that the reason I started this blog, have written a journal or even jotted words down on a napkin to capture a moment, and sought to publish occasional works, is because I love to write. Words on paper is the lens through which I see the world. So from time to time I want to get back to my roots and share some more journal-style entries, creative nonfiction, and even bits of pieces that never quite got there and found their way into a full essay.

Today's post is a slightly edited journal entry description of my experience waiting for a train on a rainy afternoon in a small southern town in Japan. Train stations became characters in my story and life in Japan. I do hope you enjoy it.  

March 2010, Tabuse Town, Japan 

 

It's raining on the train tracks. It's raining elsewhere - like on the stocky, gray-haired man who stepped out from under the awning to stomp out his cigarette butt. It's raining elsewhere, but in my line of sight - it's mostly just raining on the train tracks.

Five or six school boys sit on the weathered wooden seats to my right. Each holds a Nintendo DS and skillfully mashes every key at once. The boys rib one another all the while without looking up from their games - laughing at one comment and making a quick retort at the next. Maybe media doesn’t diminish human interactions; it just makes us all better multitaskers.

The contrast between the modernity of the technology and age of the tracks and the scene catches my attention, and holds my stereotypes of a sleepy, ancient Japanese town hostage. There’s room enough at this train station and in the mountains, rice fields, temples, and shrines around it to hold the old and new, to tell the stories of the past and create ones in the present.

The boys sport navy blue school uniforms. The tracks are dull brown, the pavement gray and the sound of the rain decidedly ash, if I had to say. It feels like it should be a lonely scene - a depressing day in a run-down, rural town - but it's not. It's simple. Sometimes it's not even simple really - in 20 minutes you can wait for a train for days.

Three high school girls walk into my line of sights on the platform, also to my right but not close enough to the boys or me to hear them speak. This is intentional, I gather, as they steal glances at the boys and giggle and animatedly lean in, whispering. Their umbrellas are pink, blue and orange. Combined with their yellow, blue, and red cell phones, they make up a complete rainbow.

Everyone's waiting, and we're all waiting in our own way. Some, like the girls and boys, with their phones and games to distract the time away, while the stocky man loses himself in his own thoughts or maybe the tranquil sound of the raindrops on the iron rails.

I'm waiting, too, with my pen and my journal, and my eyes alert. I shiver from the cold.

This is Tabuse Town, shadowed by the mountains in southern Japan - where today, it's raining on the train tracks.

riding in tubes with boys

I broke my arm when I was eight years old. I'm not sure that breaking a bone should ever be grounds for favored memory status, but somehow the time I did it makes the cut for me. Looking back, it seems like breaking a bone is a rite of kid's passage and a mark of a childhood well done. I didn't break it any old way, either. I broke it roller skating down a hill in my neighborhood. If I went back today, I might giggle at that hill's size, but at age eight, I might as well have been a mountaineer. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it!

My cousin Dee lived with us at the time. She moved up from Florida for college, and I got a built in roommate and sister in one. With a 10+ year age gap, she covered her side of our room in posters of movie stars and singers, and I still watched Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen movies (do you remember their mystery series? I. was. obsessed.) One afternoon, her best girlfriend came over, and they went for a walk to gossip talk. I begged to tag along. I had my roller skates on and laced, and I'd never skated around the whole neighborhood before. Dee relented but made me promise to stay behind them. They had boys to discuss, after all.

I practiced all my moves on that epic roller skating journey. I crouched low and rolled with my arms overhead, I skated on one foot and then the other, and I did that ultimate cool skating move where you cross one foot over the other on a turn. That one took me for. ever. to learn. You guys, I think I was wearing this red t-shirt with rainbow colored ribbons glued on to it. I was hands down the coolest.

My ego grew with every smooth move on my skates. And with that bomb t-shirt on, I got smug. I was invincible! So when we reached the neighborhood mountain, the behemoth stared me down and taunted me. I knew the best thing to do would be to take off my skates and walk down the hill. We were almost home. This was the last, final, terrible hurdle. Dee turned around, nearly at the bottom of the hill and shouted up, asking if I was okay, and shouldn't I walk down?

Walking is not as cool as roller skating, and I think I wanted to show off for Dee and her friend, too. So I got low and started rolling straight down that thing, at least 300 feet straight down, I'm telling you. I picked up speed, faster than I anticipated, more than I could handle, and I skated straight into... a mailbox.

I took out that mailbox. I hit it with so much force that it flew straight up out of the ground and across the yard, and I stared at it, wondering, How'd that get over there? And I didn't hear myself wailing for a moment or two over the sound of Dee and her friend screaming. They carried me home crying (them or me? really, it was about the same!). I broke my left arm so badly it had to be set, and have you ever had that done? It's pretty horrible. I'll just leave it at that.

The day after the doc put my bones back in place more or less and fitted my arm with a cast so big I think Homer could have signed it with The Iliad, we left for North Carolina for a camping and tubing trip with a big group of family friends.

I had been more excited about this tubing and camping trip than a new MK & A mystery VHS (this post is very embarrassing). It was my first time going tubing, and I was so excited and so adamant about not missing out, despite that pesky rule about not getting your cast wet that all the adults convened to discuss options and came up with this plan: tying a black trash bag around my arm and having me hold it in the air all the way down the river. (This was 1993 or so, has that casts can't get wet thing changed?)

I loved every single second. That is... besides vomiting my way up the windy mountain roads, taking out at least 3 branches with my nearly titanium arm, providing a wind rustling bag soundtrack the whole way down (I should've been famous with that bit), and learning to swim one-handed every time I flipped. Okay, I kind of loved those things, too. (Well, vomiting aside. I still get motion sick on mountains. And sea sick surfing. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?!)

When the story of the time I broke my arm roller skating down Newnan, Georgia's Mt. McKinley, taking out a mailbox, puking the whole way up a mountain, and tubing down a white water river with one-arm in the air covered by a trash bag comes up at family dinners, we all lose ourselves in fits of laughter. And every single time, Dee stops laughing first and looks serious and says, "I still feel so bad." And we all crack up again.

I was so happy when I got that bulky cast off, but I learned a few things from the experience:

The weird, bizarre, and painful situations often make the best memories if you make the best out of them.

I would never be a professional roller skater, if that's even a thing, and I should never dress myself.

Books are a safer bet for me... but I'll always be a little bit of an adventure-seeking daredevil.
 
I love tubing.

  

if you go...

river riders harpers ferry (there are many outfitters, but this is what we used)

read about historical harpers ferry, west virginia

white water or flat water tubing trip

cost: $34/person with tax for a tube & rides to and from the river

remember to bring: water shoes, sunscreen, canned drinks, a waterproof camera, picnic lunch

tip: when you exit the water (with river riders), take the short trail on your right to a beautiful waterfall

friday photo | trekking on the great wall

I think back, and I wonder what Callie said to me that day, her arms outstretched, our conversation animated. That day felt bigger than life, impossibly real, we're really here, surreal. To walk and talk on the Great Wall with a girlfriend, that is one of the best days I've ever had.

other things by me in other places... 

summer concerts at wolf trap national park for the performing arts

biking, hiking, and running along the c&o canal

tokyo summer festivals

visiting japan in summer

hiking overall run falls in shenandoah national park

Within the first mile, the rain came. It dripped on us slowly and steadily as we checked our steps on the open trail. A few hundred yards ahead, panting from the gradual incline, we entered a tree cover. The forest spread out around and over us. The trail rested damp and soft beneath us, pulling our shoes in and resisting our steps up. I heard the rain, soft and whispering, landing gently on leaves and rolling down their crooked edges before landing on my hair, my shoulders, my shoes. I tilted my face toward the branches above, spotting only slivers of the sky far beyond. I stuck my tongue out like a kid in a snow storm, and watched the trajectory of a raindrop before it landed squarely in my mouth. Theo shook himself off, stuck his tongue out, too, and ran again ahead of us, looking back only as if to say, "Aren't you coming, Mom?"

Overall Run Falls holds the title of the tallest waterfall in Shenandoah National Park. Like the majority of Shenandoah's waterfalls, you reach it by hiking down. Depending on where you start, the trail clocks in between 4.8 - 6.5 miles roundtrip. It can be done as an out and back or a loop hike. I always prefer loops so that's the option we chose. The first several miles vacillate between gradual decline and steep decline, with the final .5 mile to the falls themselves being a series of rock stairs and very steep decline. Zander and I joked, well, this'll be fun to climb back up. But really - it kind of was. That's twisted, right?

What started out as a planned 6.5 mile hike turned into an a nearly 8.5 mile hike. We went the wrong way and ended up here in Fern Gully. All in all, it was a pretty detour.

Zander recently saved a baby bird in my backyard. In the middle of an intense game of fetch with Theo, he yelled out to me inside, asking me to quickly bring him gloves. I tossed him a pair, scared he found a dead... or alive snake (it's always snakes with me). I watched him sprint to the edge of the yard, gently reach down and ever so carefully lift something up. He stood listening for several moments, his head cocking from side to side. A cacophony of chirps hit my ears at the same time they did his. The birds grew increasingly louder until Zan figured out from which direction they came. He walked that way and set the baby bird in his gloved palms on the grass above the rock wall at the edge of the yard.

He saved another baby bird on our hike. This time he spotted it on the trail and asked me to move Theo out of the way. His sniffing scared the poor thing. Zan put the little guy in the palm of his hand and waited again to hear his parents cry out. I hope they both made it home safe. And this tangential story is just one of the billion reasons I love that man.

We backtracked a mile and found the correct turnoff for Overall Run Falls. Within that mile, the indecisive skies finally chose sunshine, and the temperature rose 10 degrees in the next hour. The sun shone, light filtered through the trees, and by the time we reached the falls, we wished we could swim in them.

After 2+ miles hiking down and crossing a few streams, we arrived at the lower falls. There are two waterfalls on the Overall Run Falls trail - the lower and upper. When you near the falls, a trail sign point you in the right direction. At that point, the lower falls is within .2-.3 miles. Hike down another .2-.3 to see the Overall Run.

 

I handed Theo's leash and my water bottle to Zander and walked toward the rock cliff at Overall Run Falls. At the edge, I folded down until I was on all fours. Finding natural handholds, and gauging the distance from the cliff edge to the rock platform immediately underneath, I slowly descended. It was only a span of 10 feet, at most, but it felt like 40 in that moment. A small rush of adrenaline ran through me. Maybe this is a hint of what it's like to rock climb. I squatted down on the ledge, shrubbery poking at my biceps and thighs and took picture and after picture, trying to capture the falls and the mountains beyond. I thought briefly about jumping - the pool beneath the falls was right there! I could see it! Beneath 100 feet of rocks! I climbed back up, Zan let out a deep breath, Theo licked me hello, and we unpacked our picnic lunch, eating with a view.

Trail directions and tips 
 
PARK: Matthew's Arm Campground - the overflow lot

TRAIL DIRECTIONS: Take the blue-blazed Traces Trailhead in the overflow parking lot for .6 miles to the Tuscarora-Overall Run trail intersection. Make a left on this trail. (We made a right, and that will take you to Hogback Overlook - you can also start your hike here, if you prefer. It's at mile marker 21.1.) Until this point, the hike is wooded, and dense with a gradual incline. The falls are 2.8 miles away once you veer onto Tuscarora-Overall Run trail. You begin to descend into the valley at this point. At 1.1 miles, you'll come to another trail intersection for Matthews Arms. Continue straight/right to reach the falls. At 2.7 miles, you'll reach another intersection - again, continue straight. The falls are .5 miles at this point. The trail veers steeply downhill; there are wooden steps for a section. At .2 miles on the left is the lower falls. Continue another .2-.3 miles down to see the large falls on your left.

Hike back up the way you came. After you ascend the .5 miles back up and reach the trail intersection, head right toward Matthew's Arm. At the second intersection in another 2 miles, head left for Matthew's Arm. Before the second intersection is a fast-moving stream and small falls (when there's water). Turn right at the final intersection back onto Traces Trail and retrace your steps .6 mile to the parking lot.

TIPS: The falls are best after a heavy rain or in the spring. In the summer months, the falls run dry. The view is spectacular year round. Winter months, when the water has frozen, is also a good time to see the falls.

RATING: We loved the falls and the view, and the woods were pretty for a while. I'm glad we hiked it and saw the tallest falls, but I'm not gunning to do it again. I give it a 6 out of 10. 

A LONGER VERSION: Combining Overall Run with Beecher Ridge from Hiking Upward

And now... more pictures.

cooling off at glen manor vineyards

 

We passed the entrance the first time. The winding road led us around another bend before we found a turnoff to head back the way we came. Only one car drove behind us, and we hadn't seen another one in a few miles. The Blue Ridge Mountains rose and fell in the near distance, and the sun blazed in all its mid-afternoon glory. 

This time through the small town of Front Royal, we spotted the sign, and turned onto the gravel driveway. I noticed an advisory posted at the entrance prohibits buses and groups larger than six. As the SUV bumped along, I pulled hand wipes out of my bag and scrubbed my face, my arms, and my neck. Zander came to a stop in front of a remodeled, small modern wooden lodge. 

I reached for baby wipes in my bag, and scrubbed my face, neck, and arms. As I stepped out of the car, I stopped to kick mud off the bottoms of my shoes as best I could. 

"We look okay to be at a winery, right?" I asked. 

 

The staff at Glen Manor Vineyards didn't mind our trail clothes or sweaty faces. They welcomed us in and asked us where we'd been hiking. We talked shop about our favorite trails in Shenandoah, and they sold us on a few nearby with deep swimming holes. Then we got down to wine tasting business.  

Named for the "glen," or sloping mountain foothills in which the vineyard sits, the small winery grows a handful of grape varietals on site. The weather and harvest determines the wines they make and sell each season. It's a small, family-owned and run winery that rarely carries more than four wines at any given time. 

On our visit a few weeks ago, the tasting menu included four vintages: 2012 Rose, 2011 Cabernet Franc, 2011 Vin Rouge, and the 2012 Petit Manseng. Missing from the list is Glen Manor's most popular wine, their Sauvignon Blanc. The owners explained that last season was abnormally dry, negatively impacting the grapes. They do hope to release a limited number of bottles later in the season. 

We enjoyed each of the four wines. In particular, I liked the careful, thoughtful descriptions of the wines themselves. As someone still relatively new to wine tasting and developing my palate and vernacular, a detailed description helps guide me through the tasting. When I diverge from their description, that's okay, too, but I appreciate the nudge in the right direction.

The Rose is a balance of light and refreshing with a medium-weight, long finish. The Petit Manseng surprised us the most. It smells of tropical fruit - pineapple, guava, and mango - and though it has a sweetness throughout, it's crisp enough to warrant being labeled off-dry. While it's still too sweet for me to drink regularly, it pairs perfectly with a hot summer day after a long hike. 

We ordered a glass each and purchased a bottle of all four wines we tasted. We made ourselves at home on their patio to enjoy the fruits of our labor. I could sit all day in a setting like that, looking out over vines and mountains, sipping on a glass of cold, crisp wine. Couldn't you? 

The winery itself is sparse but beautiful. Come for the wines and stay for the company, scenery, and staff. 

if you go...

Glen Manor Winery Fort Royal, Virginia

No food for purchase, but picnics are encouraged

Fido (cough, Theo!) is allowed but must be leashed

wine info and vintages

Tasting fee: $7

travel tuesday | the walled city of Pingyao, China

Every time lightning strikes, I see the outline of the Wall.  It’s brooding, looming over me, a creature of the night so daunting it scares me. I can’t see anything else of the city. I don’t even know for sure that this is a city. Is it a town? A village? All it seems to be is a cobblestone road to the Wall. (Then again, I think this city may just be made up of roads that lead to the Wall.)

The taxi clunk clunks, and I’m jostled in the back as we drive further into the pitch black night.

…I think this is a taxi. God, I hope this is a taxi – a real one, a licensed one, one that won’t take me into the woods and leave me robbed and stranded. I should have thought this plan through. I shouldn’t have arrived at – gosh, what time is it, even? I lost track between my nap at the table I finally nabbed at that KFC back in Tiyuan and when the train arrived. It took 30 minutes to get that table, waiting for the teenagers to leave. Why were they out so late anyway? By then my food was cold. But the table felt good, like the first solid place I’d sat all day. That wait was worth it. 

The taxi clock reads 12:33am.

What is wrong with me? It’s 12:33am, and I’m in a questionable taxi and all I can see is this Wall of mythical eerie proportions every time the lightning strikes. This doesn’t feel auspicious. I should have stayed with my friends in Beijing. Most of them will leave tomorrow – today, I guess (as I glance at the clock again, 12:34am), but I could have gone on to Shanghai with the others. I could have skipped all this. But my curiosity and wanderlust always win those battles – between the rational and the irrational – between staying with the pack in the touristed areas and finding my own way through the underexplored. 

I wish I could see more than the Wall. It’s right in front of me, taller than I imagined, more ominous than the thickest historical fiction novel could have described. There’s a watchtower on top. It’s gray, or black, and tauntingly indestructible – accepting a challenge that hasn’t been issued, at least not for a century or two.

The downpour hits the stones of the Wall with such alarming force that it seems to echo. Each plunk! sounds like a clash of an invisible sword swishing through and contacting stone. God, how much historical Chinese fiction have I been ingesting?  

KABOOM! I think the ancient cannon sitting beside the watchtower took fire. I jump each time, until I remember it’s only thunder.

The taxi is slowing down. My backpack is still around my shoulders, and my right hand clenches tighter around my purse. I have the keys to my apartment in Japan - that I swear can’t possibly exist in this same universe - in my other. I heard once that a carefully, forcefully aimed stab with a key can be as wounding as with a knife. I can handle this. As long as all he wants is my stuff. No. That pisses me off. I’ve had my money and camera stolen once this year – I’m not doing it again. I will not be okay if all he wants is my stuff. If he wants the stuff, he will have to get through this key.

But we’re still clunking. We must still be on the cobbled streets inside the Walls. Surely he would take me somewhere outside the walled city, where no one could hear the loud American girl scream, if he wanted to rob me.

I’m breathing now. I guess just there before I wasn’t. My chest feels a little lighter. The pictures of this city online were quaint and picturesque. In person, in a thunderstorm, it looks tragic and haunted. I swear this storm is no average one. The sky is so black with fury it’s as though it has been scorned. I’ve never heard a storm this cacophonous, discordant, angry. I wonder what the city did to deserve this; it feels like revenge rain. What secrets does that Wall hold?

There’s dirt everywhere. I can tell that much. Outside my window the dirt washes away beneath the stones, running to find refuge. Maybe I should get out and join it. Maybe I don’t belong here.

As the train neared my stop tonight, and I stood up and collected my few belongings, an ominous silent befell the car. Every passenger’s eyes looked to me, then turned to each other and collectively, silently asked, “Why is she here?” I thought my skin color confused them momentarily, but it seems they know something I don’t.

I’m drunk off the hour and the history I’ve been reading. Don’t let the night and the storm and The Wall invent imaginary fears. I repeat that, mouthing the words, trying to believe them.

The taxi’s stopping. I can hear my heart thump thump thumping over the rain and the thunder and the cracks of lighting, and that means that it has got to be on the verge of exploding because this storm is uncomfortably loud. My hand is on the door; I notice it’s shaking. My keys are ready, poised for combat in my other hand. I know karate. Okay, I know one kata. Oh God, remember the karate. Punch high, kick low. No, that’s not right. Kick high, punch low. I don’t know.

“… guesthouse….?” I hear only a word, and it shakes me out of my damned thoughts.

Chinese. Chinese. Chinese. I’m racking my brain for the few words I know. I studied. I made a cheat sheet. Where’s my cheat sheet? I can’t reach it.

Wait. He’s talking to me. The taxi driver’s voice is nice, friendly, patient. He’s asking me, what? I lean in and close my eyes, concentrate on understanding his broken English. The hostel where I am staying. Confirming the address. No, this is not my hostel. I’m confused. I’ve never heard of this place. Where are we? I have to breathe.

“Hostel okay?”

“No, Harmony Guesthouse, please,” I plead, desperation seeping into my words. Am I in the wrong place entirely?

Lights flash on. Was that lightning? No, it’s actual lights. We’re at a hostel. He must be asking me if this hostel is alright with me, if I can stay here instead.

I watch an elderly couple in their nightclothes remove boards and unlock the door. It’s an operation, and they go through each step slowly. Finally, the guesthouse door swings open, and they’re running out into the rain. But how did they know — the Taxi Driver must have called. Yes. I remember him making a phone call. I roll down my window, the tension inside of me as thick as the rain soaking through my clothes.

“Stay here? Nice room. It’s very late!”

She speaks English!

“I’m sorry. I’m staying at Harmony Guesthouse. Do you know where that is?”

She crosses her arms and stands firm, not blinking. “No.”

No? This village/town/city is tiny. And how is she not blinking with all the water running down her face?

A quick look at the clock – it’s 12:46am, and I’m exhausted and lost. I hand the driver money I'd already carefully counted out in my pocket, having been ready to toss it and run if need be. As though if he were going to rob me, offering him our agreed upon price would change his mind. At least I had been smart enough to negotiate a price first. One thing done right.

I place the money in his hand and notice for the first time that he has a kind face. He smiles at me. “See?” it says. “Nothing to be afraid of.” And he called the hostel for me, woke them up so I’d have somewhere to stay. It probably wasn’t as altruistic as that – I imagine he gets a cut when he misdirects customers here – but still, I’m not on the side of the road missing all my belongings. All things considered, this went well.

I thank him in Chinese and pitch myself out of the cab and into the assault of rain. How did I forget to buy an umbrella? The elderly man, who hasn’t said a word, shelters me with his coat and we run inside. Along the way, I watch the woman crack a grin. Well played, I think.

Inside, I ask her how much for a single room.

“We have very nice, very big room for – “

“That’s okay.” I’m firm. “The simplest you have will be fine.”

I’m not in a position to negotiate, but she either doesn’t realize how lost I am or pretends to not, because she offers me a better price. I’ll take it. I’m relieved to be inside, out of the storm, off the road and away from the foreboding Wall.

She runs to get the key, and I notice for the first time that this guesthouse is old - with age and history, not with furnishings. Those are modern – there are computers in the corner and a desk (this must be the common area), an oversized wooden table and chairs I figure even I’ll, at 5’9″, have to hop to sit up on. And in the corner rest two couches, comfortable judging from the still warm indents, with a coffee table in between them. I peer over and notice the title of an open DVD case – The Green Mile. That doesn’t make this place any less dark.

Before I can take in more, the woman rushes back with a key and shoos me out the back of the common room into an open air courtyard. (It seems everyone runs in China. It’s the same in Japan.) She doesn’t need a flashlight, because the lightning fills the entire courtyard with a glow that seems to last long beyond each strike.

The guesthouse is beautiful, I can tell that much – seeped in history like the pictures I researched before I came. Nothing new has been built in this city in modern history. This hotel could have been a teahouse or a private garden residence or a traditional compound in another time.

She keeps us running against the side of the building; I can feel mud oozing its way across the sleeve and hood of my jacket. Why would I only bring a white coat on a 10 day backpacking trip? We race up a set of outdoor stairs and finally into a covered hallway. She stops at the second door on the left and gently unlocks it. She pulls on a hanging drawstring and a soft glow fills the room, and she asks – “Is this okay?”

It’s perfect. The large, traditional kang bed takes up three-fourths of the room. A small bathroom sits in an offshoot from the entrance and windows overlook the courtyard. She leaves me to dry off, placing the key in my hand. I wring out my jacket, using the continual rubbing motion of the cloth on itself to also scrub out my built-up tension.

I crawl into the massive bed – its dark chocolate brick base a pleasant contrast with the sharp white, down blanket. It feels like I’m covered with cotton weights, heavy like sleep and soft like sheets. I’m comforted now, breathing normally finally, my fears of earlier seeming as fantastical as they are distant. I pull out my journal and as I begin to write, finally at peace, lightning cracks so loudly I scream and the lights echo me with a flicker. I swear in the shadows I can still see the outline of the Wall.

My mind resumes the grueling task of taunting me.

It’s black now, and outside the thunder once again begins to rumble in tune with my nerves. This City feels far more Forbidden than the well-lit, ornate one that famously boasts that name. This much history can swallow a person whole; it’s threatening to swallow me whole right now. I have got to keep breathing. Deeper breaths. Slow, deep breaths.

I’m in Pingyao, the best-preserved ancient walled city in China, and I’ve learned my first lesson: The Wall surrenders to nothing and no one.

I hunker deeper into the heavy blanket, swallow my fear with a shot of pelting rain, and wait for morning to draw near.

The post The Walled City of Pingyao was edited and cross-posted from feminist-san. All rights are my own.

what i would do in 5 days in queensland

Meet Roo. He's the first boy I slept with. (Let me rephrase - the first boy with whom I slept.)

I've never been to Australia, and I’ve wanted to go most of my life. (Me: Mom, where do kangaroos come from? Mom: I knew we'd have this talk someday...)  

When I heard about a competition hosted by Johnny Jet (@johnnyjet) in conjunction with Tourism and Events Queensland (TEQ) and Delta Vacations for one blogger to win a five day trip to Queensland, I -- well, I searched D.C. for Vegemite, bought a kid's snorkel, and made a total fool of myself on camera.

For my entry to win a trip down under, I've whittled my extensive must-do list in Queensland to a potential five day itinerary and created a shameless short video to complement the written portion.

Trek in the Outback 

Queensland's plentiful national parks (such as Lamington National Park), rainforests (such as Daintree), and open country are the things my daydreams are made of. I would spend a day bush walking, summiting a mountain, or trekking to the bottom of a gorge. As a dedicated TEQ blogger, my goal would be to learn and relay to my readers and followers the stories of the outback - the myths and legends, the reality of the landscapes, and what it's like to hike in Queensland.

Snorkel the Great Barrier Reef

I've had the privilege and joy of snorkeling in caves in Okinawa and with whale sharks in Mozambique. I've seen beautiful things under water, but I haven't yet seen the Holy Grail of them all: the Great Barrier Reef. I would bring my underwater camera and instagram pictures from one of the 7 wonders of the world - inviting my friends, family, and followers to come with me and explore the world from under the sea.

Follow the Food and Wine Trail

I’m a firm believer that food and wine tell a story of a place. From vineyards you learn a history of agriculture and the land. From food you learn what pioneers foraged and how it became the basis of local staple dishes. Queensland is a quickly growing region on the world wine stage. I want to encourage potential visitors to experience Queensland through the lens of a glass of wine on a local food and winery tour.

Wildlife Ecotour

I would opt to take a guided or self-guided tour through a wildlife refuge or natural habitat that prioritizes preserving the land and the safety and well-being of the animals. I would use my social media channels to share photos I take tiptoeing through the forest to see a kangaroo (maybe he's throwing a punch - who knows!), crouching low to spot a crocodile or craning my neck to catch a glimpse of a parrot.

Exploring Fraser Island

I'd explore the world's largest sand island for hours - searching for shipwreck remnants, sidestepping my way into the mangrove forests, and looking out for dingoes. Unplanned adventures make for my favorite memories and best blog posts. I can always sleep on the plane back, right? 

What would you do if you had 5 days in Queensland? 

Follow the competition on twitter with the hashtag #5daysinQueensland. If you’re so inclined, please share my post so I can have the opportunity to share my trip with you!