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Posts Tagged ‘travel’

The modern Olympic Games began in 1896, but where did they come from? What were the original Olympics like? If you’re interested in the historic details that shaped our current Games, this article gets into all the naked, nitty gritty details.

The origin of the Olympic Games

For twelve centuries, the sacred Games in Olympia were a spectacle of blood, sweat, and glory. These ancient contests, held in honor of the gods, captivated spectators with displays of strength, endurance, and skill. Today, the modern Olympics carry forward this legacy, uniting athletes from all over the world.

And if you have a chance to visit the Panathenaic Stadium in Athens, I recommend!

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Photo by Julio Hernández on Unsplash

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Traveling Today

“Am going to cross Pacific on a wooden raft to support a theory that the South Sea islands were peopled from Peru. Will you come? I guarantee nothing but a free trip to Peru and the South Sea islands and back, but you will find good use for your technical abilities on the voyage. Reply at once.’

Next day the following telegram arrived from Torstein:

COMING. TORSTEIN.” 

― Thor Heyerdahl

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Photo by Peter Thomas on Unsplash

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This one’s for two of my parental units, currently on vacation in some of the hottest parts of the world right now, and everyone else facing down the record-busting summer heat.

8 mistakes to avoid if you’re going out in the heat

  1. Too much, too soon: You need to acclimatize
  2. Failing to pre-hydrate (and rehydrate!)
  3. Don’t be the frog in the boiling pot (i.e., your car)
  4. Heat + (certain) medications don’t mix
  5. Don’t ignore the early signs of heat-related illness
  6. Know when to seek medical attention
  7. Wear loose, light clothing
  8. Alcohol is a bad call

Stay hydrated, folks!**

* Note: The whole “boiling a frog” fable is, as the Curator of Reptiles and Amphibians at the US National Museum of Natural History said: “Well that’s, may I say, bullsh*t.” Frogs are way smarter than that.

** As mentioned in the article, alcohol isn’t a great idea when it’s hot. If you feel you must drink an adult beverage, however, irony suggests that you consider the Heat Wave.

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Photo by Stephanie LeBlanc on Unsplash

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Thursday

Cairo

Up a few steps and across a pedestrian overpass and we were in the market. The guidebooks warned that getting lost here was easy, and not to be surprised at the incredible number of small passages and alleys in this area. They were absolutely right, but I loved it. The market’s narrow winding paths, busy streets, men sitting outside shops, women herding children they could barely see through crowds, carts, stalled taxis, cats everywhere, and getting lost were all part of the fun. For the first time I felt I was in a true souk, a local market where tourists were not yet driving the economy. Sure, there were tchotchkes on the main streets, but there were also suitcases and socks and nightgowns and shirts. When we did get completely and unbelievably lost, a small boy appeared from nowhere. He led us back to our starting point, but his way out was nothing like our way in. I followed the boy’s slight figure down stairways just wide enough for one, around corners, into shops and out their backdoors, and finally out into the cool night air. We thanked him profusely, tipped him and everyone went home happy.

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Photo by Alex Azabache on Unsplash

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Research for my supervillain lair: Welcome to Volcano Roots – volcanoroots.org

Scientists have been trying to image the intricate plumbing of volcanoes to help understand their dynamics and better predict eruptions… and plan better supervillain lairs. 

They didn’t really say that last part. But they should have.

As an example, here’s a handy explainer showing the depths beneath Santorini, a beautiful but geologically unstable Greek island in the Mediterranean. The graphic shows why.

Santorini and Kolumbo

It also tries to give a nod to the volcanically disrupted Minoan culture, late of Santorini, but the Latin placeholder text is less than useful. Here’s a link to help with that: Santorini 1600 BC and the End of Minoan Civilization.

If you have a chance to visit the island, I recommend it. Because nothing says a supervillain lair can’t be pretty.

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Photo by Tânia Mousinho on Unsplash

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So there I was, digging through a stack of papers on the hunt for a bit of gold. I needed metallic paper so that I could make a birthday card. I eventually recovered a piece big enough for the project, but I found a number of other things along the way. One of them was a quatro-fold sheet of paper covered in scribbled trip notes.

On this day (years ago), Mr Man and I traveled from Boston to Fredericton, New Brunswick, at the start of a trip Out East.

We stayed at the Abbey Glenn Riverfront (not “side” or “view”, silly scribe) B&B and had dinner at the Snooty Fox. (Whole clams with chips and salmon on a cedar plank, apparently.)

I’m glad I wrote this down because my memory for details like this is not the best. I am great at making scribbled notes on random bits of paper, though, and keeping them to be discovered later, minor treasures of memory.

In a complete coincidence, we’re having salmon tonight, too.

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Photo by Bryan Goff on Unsplash

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Lots of work today, so maybe you can hang out at the pyramids until I’m done?

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It seems we each have a fundamental core where we feel most comfortable, or most ourselves. It may come as no surprise to those who have spent any time on this site, but for me, it’s books and food. 

Those aren’t all I’m made of, of course, but those two elements were established early, before my memories became fixed. I don’t remember a time when I didn’t love books and food. One of my first real recollections is sitting on the side steps of the porch eating an artichoke with my father, and it’s hard not to feel happy in a kitchen or library.

Now, if I’d had different experiences growing up I might have become an engineer or a tailor or a computer scientist. I make things and sew and code but not with the intuitive ease some have. Instead, it’s books. And food. I’m ok with that. 

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I’m in the middle of a writing class, designing story ideas and characters. It got me thinking about how experiences become preferences and worldviews underpinning our actions. 

My father and I visited the Grand Canyon once, road-tripping north to the South Rim to hike and camp. The trip was great, full of summer heat and happiness, astonishing vistas and challenging trails.

I may also have spent some of the visit sitting by the edge, reading a book. Because we had a few minutes and that’s how I roll.

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Like places, people have layers. Understanding how time and exposure, pressure and purpose combine makes it easier to build complex and interesting motivations, or to understand our own.

We just have to sit back and consider what we’re made of.

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Photo by Jenn Wood on Unsplash

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Today is Bastille Day.

Photo by Joe deSousa on Unsplash

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Today is also a family member’s birthday, yay!

Photo by Robert Anderson on Unsplash

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And on this day, years ago, I visited a floating market in Thailand.

At 6:45 this morning I hopped a bus for a two-hour ride to the floating market at Damnoen Saduak. I’m sure the pictures will tell the tale well, as long as the viewer can also imagine the sticky heat of the morning sun rising over a town whose streets are made entirely of water. It was totally touristy and, admittedly, lots of fun.

On the way there the bus stopped at a coconut oil factory, made obvious from the road by the mounds of coconuts piled everywhere. A woman stood by a huge stove and swirled coconut oil or juice around and around in the largest wok I’ve ever seen. She actually had three of these monstrosities cooking at once, each in various stages of reduction. Every so often she’d reach over and grab another handful of coconut husk to stoke the fire. I couldn’t resist a bag of coconut candy; it’s probably 99 percent fat and terrible for me, but it tasted like richly-flavored brown sugar. Delicious.

The first boat driver was a little throttle happy, so we got the speed demon tour of the town’s waterways. He’d race full ahead toward a wall, then turn at the last minute. The front of the boat would turn sharply, the back swing around, and we’d race off to the next corner to do it all again. Along the way I realized how little difference there is between streets of gravel and water. All along the banks there were walkways leading up to people’s houses, small yards where they kept everything from pets to fishing traps, and little garages off to the side where they parked their boats at night. One difference: on the canals’ sides I noticed an odd creature, a fluffy pink worm-like animal that looked a little like a small sea cucumber. It was easy to spot because it was hot hot pink. 

The first thing we were encouraged to do after stepping out of the boat was to get right back in another. For a few dollars a sightseeing boat of sorts would shuttle tourists around the main market canal. In a few seconds we were off with the rest of the boats, making our way along the canal crowded with boats carrying food, trinkets, and other tourists. The only thing they told us was to watch our fingers, as the boat’s metal-rimmed edges collided frequently. Good to know. 

Almost all of the boats selling things were occupied by women. They talked amongst themselves while making fried rice cakes or chopping open coconuts for us to drink. It seemed like a crowded market anywhere, just on the water.

A woman with a Bunsen burner and stack of bowls in her boat made noodle soup. As my boat mate sat back to slurp up his lunch, a man came over and asked me a question.

He wanted to know why I wasn’t eating too, and wanted to assure me that the food was both good and safe. By pointing at a passing boat and a billboard adorned with smiling faces and happy stomachs, he managed to let me know that the market had been established as a “Safe Eating Zone” which was enforced by police. I could eat without fear. I thanked him and let him know by pointing at my stomach that I just wasn’t hungry. I tasted some of the soup soup and declared it delicious. We concluded the conversation with smiles and thanks. 

Pretty good, considering neither knew a word of the other’s language.

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J.R. Johnson

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Sunday

Istanbul-Cappadoccia

I’m in seat 34 and already seven minutes late. We’re on the night bus to Cappadocia and I’m settling in for a ten-hour ride into the heart of Turkey. The old woman ahead of me is getting feisty, pounding on the window and demanding to leave, loudly. This little drama is all in Turkish, of course, but it’s hard to misunderstand this kind of impatience. Most of the country seems to travel by bus and this is the largest terminal I’ve ever seen. The station is huge, complete with hotel and shopping complex, mosque, 200,000 lira WCs, and plenty of air guns to keep the kids occupied. 

What’s this? We’re leaving right on time, only 14 minutes behind schedule.

Tops in Turkey: Topkapi Palace, cherry juice and jam, beer on a rooftop terrace with a view of the Haghia Sofia and Blue Mosque.

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Photo by Fatih Yürür on Unsplash

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