They say that the best travel stories are the ones that go supremely wrong. The train that leaves the station with all your stuff aboard while you get a gelato on the platform. All you have left is a handful of kopecks and a mango ripple cone.
The toxic tummy bug that strikes you down when you have three flights and a complicated transfer — Milan has two international airports, what poor planning! — and you are down to zero clean laundry. Just a pair of flight socks to hold the tide.
This wasn’t like that. The travel was perfect…
Autumn in Melbourne is glorious. The leaves fall, the days are perfect, and this year the Covid restrictions are not too onerous.
I’ve pulled out my bike from the shed and begun using it to romp around my bit of Melbourne.
Not a bad way to spend my time burning off the Covid kilos. Melbourne is a pretty flat part of the world, there are loads of bike paths through parks and by waterways, and the only real problem is that so many others are on their bikes at the same time.
I’ve got a Merida Crossway 10 of a…
The pandemic put a stop to my German classes and since then Duolingo has been a poor substitute. Don’t get me wrong, Duo is a lot of fun. So long as people take it very slow in their speech and refrain from using grammar in their discourse, I can now function admirably well in German society.
I miss the interaction and the personal crafting of the lessons, though. Every week we’d have a song and story to translate and enjoy. I must say that a German lesson goes very well with a rollicking drinking song. …
For the past two months, I have been obsessively refreshing a certain page, one that promised the arrival of a resource that is a once-in-a-lifetime treasure.
This has been a project where I have been a participant — in the most minor and tangential role possible — over ten years, three nations, and countless pages. I have struggled with understanding, delighted in the wit, grappled with strange names, and at every turn enriched myself.
For a week at a time, I would join a select company in reading through a text, discussing every page in detail, often spending hours on…
I was grateful for my battered digger hat under the midday sun. We had scrambled up and down the rugged old battlefield — mostly up, my burning legs were complaining — and the shade of my wide-brimmed hat was welcome, as were the sips of water from my replenished supply.
And this was spring. In 1915 the soldiers had fought from April until December; in the heat of summer, it must have been brutal. No sunscreen in those days.
But for now, Tommy and I walked down the ridge from the gaudy fraud of the Turkish cemetery to the more…
This is a review of the commercial organisation whose logo appears above. I received no financial reward for writing this review, and it represents my unbiased, objective opinion. I enjoyed my visit, and I would like to come again. And again.
These folk guarantee complete satisfaction. I’m not sure what their secret ingredient is. Perhaps it’s the design of their proprietary saddles, coupled with the jaunty gait of their steeds, but perch yourself on one of their ponies and you will stay there until you get off.
The climax of your visit is, of course, the horse ride. They cater…
“Sorry,” I muttered, wiping away my tears with the back of my hand. “That just came out of nowhere.”
“No,” Tommy said, not letting go as I gulped away the last of the sobs. “From the heart. Makes you weep for a lad sent to die in this hell.”
He looked around the beautiful little cemetery, with its glory of a view over the blue Aegean. “Not the only one, either. There was one here only fourteen.”
From the final resting place of the boy soldier, a road took us further up the ridge. The slopes on either side drew…
I hoisted my camera bag onto my shoulders, picked up my tripod, and looked at Tommy. “Righto, mate, let’s get going on your mystery tour. I’ve only got so much energy in me, I’ve come a bloody long way for this, so every step needs to count.”
“Good-oh. First stop is something you won’t find in the guidebooks. But first, let’s orient ourselves.”
He led me to one of the outcrops I’d stood on earlier. From here, the whole coastline was visible and if I turned around, I could see some of the hills inland.
“See that point of land…
The spirit of a fallen soldier inspires a wayward teen to begin his search for meaning and manhood.
A high school sophomore’s mission to discover the identity of a forgotten soldier from the Vietnam War and honor his sacrifice. A coming-of-age adventure set in the 1980s.
The path you walk is not the best way.
The name you cherish is not the real one.
The Tao te Ching is one of the oldest and most translated books in existence, surpassed only by the Bhagavad Gita and the Bible.
The tao that can be told
is not the eternal Tao
The name that can be named
is not the eternal Name.
It was written in that period of astonishing flowering of wisdom, roughly five hundred years before Christ. Across the Eurasian world we were given Socrates and Plato, Lao Tzu and Confucius, the Upanishads and Buddha.
Britni Pepper has always enjoyed telling stories. About people, places and pleasures.