Two sentences from your travel journals.

[blondebear]

I suspect that there are some Dopers who keep travel diaries. Am I right? Pick out a couple of sentences and share them here.

From my trip to New Mexico in '02:

Despite clear weather at sunrise, by 0830 the winds had picked up and a lovely layer of gray spanned the horizons. Nice morning to spend in a cave!

[troubledwater]

From May 8, 1994, Italy.

“I cannot rest from travel. I must drink life to the lees.” I can’t remember who wrote that, but he must never have spent the night in the Salerno train station directly following a night on an open boat deck in a rainstorm.

[Sattua]

Italy, summer 2003:

I wonder if she knows that, in the middle of that night, I blew the apartment’s fuse by using the wrong combination of plug and adapter with my alarm clock? It ruined the alarm clock’s power supply, but I found the breaker and got the electricity back on before I left.

[Fretful_Porpentine]

After wandering around in circles for well over an hour (probably closer to two, actually) and not getting much farther away from St. Mark’s than I was before, I was forced to concede the truth. It isn’t a church, it’s a vortex.

– Venice, 2004

[Queen_Bruin]

Sunlight! Holy Crap!

Motorcycle tour in San Francisco, NYE, 2005.

[Fretful_Porpentine]

And, just 'cos someone should post one that isn’t from Italy:

The Yellow-Eyed Penguins were beginning to come up the beach for the night; they take to the hills and sometimes get several hundred meters inland, which is pretty impressive for birds that can only waddle and hop. The sheep, with whom they share their roosting places, seemed unperturbed and incurious – but then, sheep always do, and I suppose they’re used to penguins by now.

– New Zealand, 2001

[Muffin]

Hour after hour, day after day,
we paddled and sang and slept
under the hot sun on the northern ocean,
wanting never to return.

Lower James Bay James Bay Photographs

[leafrog]

The sauce was neither hot nor fudge.

–Lyon, April 16, 2000

If I could go back to Prague, I would just eat and eat and eat. And drink.

–Prague, April 26, 2000

[HazelNutCoffee]

I couldn’t believe the driver had asked an entire bus to wait for me, and that the driver of the said bus had consented to do so. My spirits lifted considerably, and despite the fact our bus driver was plain and balding and had a Guinness belly I could have gladly kissed him.

• Doolin, Ireland (April 2003)

[susan]

Then into the locked women’s facility, tropical style (flaking metal bars in open-courtyard configurations)… The look of schizophrenia and mania unmistakable even across cultures–the absent expression and missing interpersonal adjustments, the bright “I know something!” look.

–Psychiatric Hospital, Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam

[Scarlett67]

I don’t keep one, but . . . my most prized possession is my Grandma L’s travel diary. In her retirement years she was the queen of Greyhound and also traveled by car with friends and family all over the country. She had only about a sixth-grade education, so her writing style is a sight to behold and a pure joy.

I can’t quote just two sentences (they’re mostly run-on anyway, heh), but here are some choice excerpts (I wish I could replicate the handwriting):

@Grandma L's travel diary

Saw aligators + Indian Villages, went in one + saw real live aligators, Feb 4 fished for trout by power plant, town called port Ritchie got some nice ones there many people fishing there Then went to Natures Camp ground in Homosassa spring Fla, fished at Tarpin Lake on a big pier, got some small ones, Then more site seeing and Fort Myers + St petersburg, saw Shell factory and many other sites Ringling Bro musium + art gallery, realy nice to see.

Did I mention that Grandma loved to fish? The entire diary is full of local fishing reports and what she caught and what other people caught. Once when I was little she and I traipsed out to the middle of a big old railroad trestle, because that was the prime fishing spot. I also remember doing my business in the woods on one of those fishing trips with Grandma and wiping my butt with a leaf.

saw many wind mills and old homes. many sort of broken down next Dutch wonderland park + C G [campground], Then S philly very dirty, smeld like garbage, + smog, we wanted to try to get to Independence Hall to see the cracked Liberty bell, but got sick to our stomachs be for we got there so went back out to turnpike

Next picked 36 qts strawberries in 4 hrs some days not so much. Next around 4th of July will pick Royal ann cheries. Then rasp berries, nice big ones. Got my fill of them with surgar and cream on [. . .]
am having a grand time here at G-----s [her son] Black berries won’t be ripe till Aug so guess I wont get any unless I stay another 2 weeks
[different color ink] dident stay.

It also includes lots of accountings of what things cost: “lunch 1.35, ice cream .30, fruit .30, Eats 1.20, Eats .90, Eats .60.” Cash accounted in change and “paper dollars.” Addresses of friends and family (so sad to see her friends’ names crossed out with the crabbed notation “dead”). The map of the United States inside the back cover, with inked lines showing all her trips, coast to coast.

I keep this diary on display where it’s easy to see every day and where I can easily grab it in case of fire or other acts of God. It’s an absolute treasure.

[matt_mcl]

Some scenes from my trip to Spain and Portugal in 2005:

The cathedral [of Santiago de Compostela] isn’t quite as grandiose inside as I might have expected; the gilt retable and statue of Saint James are of course impressive but I’ve seen similar. What’s truly impressive is the intensity with which the place is sought; the fulfillment of dreams and patience over the centuries is as palpable as the grooves worn by pilgrim’s fingers in the Tree of Jesse.

It so happened that the day after (yesterday) they were volunteering at Avante!, a large fair/exposition/concert organized by the Portuguese Communist Party (!), which Nuno also happened to be attending. Well, never one to pass up the opportunity to do something I probably won’t want to tell Customs about, I headed to it. …

Anyway, I hung out with Nuno during the whole festival, which came with the usual fair attributes: lots of food, crafts from regions throughout Portugal and countries in Latin America and the Lusofonia (I bought a bracelet and a cookbook from East Timor – and may I say, for Communists, they were doing rather brisk business), a rather suicidal ride in which one is harnessed to a long stretched diagonal wire and pushed down it over the landscape (I declined), and a number of concerts including gaita players from Galicia, blues, and a brass band complete with sousaphone. …

So, yes. Communist country fair.

A mildly amusing reflection: in the Terreiro do Paço where downtown meets the waterfront is a giant and immodest statue of King José I, a weak and incompetent head of state who had the good fortune to be ruling when his realm’s main city was stricken by a severe and epoch-making disaster which shook the nation and its worldview to the core. Immediately, a powerful minister assumed dictatorial powers to respond to the crisis, as a result of which the king became as lionized as we now see.

The major difference, of course, is that the Marquês de Pombal actually did rebuild Lisbon.

So far this trip, I have been assumed to be British, French, German, Australian, American, and Spanish (…while in Portugal).

Nobody ever guesses Canadian. I’m undecided as to whether this is a good or a bad thing.

[In Córdoba] I sat for a half-hour in the tiny sanctuary of the Sinagoga, one of only three left in all Spain (the others are both in Toledo, I understand), sketching its Mudéjar decoration and prayer niches and watching the groups file in and out. The hostal-room-sized space somehow managing to overcome the centuries of persecution and disuse was quite moving. I doubt I would have been able to do the Mezquita justice but I felt comfortable sketching this little room.

After lunch, and tea and pastries in one of Granada’s well-known teterías, headed down to the Capilla Real and Cathedral. The former is quite interesting. You go in and you look at a fairly ordinary-looking church*, but then it hits you: you are in front of the tomb of Ferdinand and Isabella. THE Ferdinand and Isabella. THEIR ACTUAL TOMBS. You can walk downstairs and see THEIR ACTUAL COFFINS. Right there in front of you. THEY’RE IN THERE OMG. THE REAL FERDINAND AND ISABELLA. AS IN COLUMBUS AND RECONQUISTA AND UNION OF SPAIN AND EVERYTHING.

*Apart, that is, from the Martyrdom of St. John the Baptist on the retable, complete with an anatomically correct transverse section of the neck… trachea and everything. There’s another one in the Cathedral museum. Yikes.

Then there was the 238-step climb to the top of the bell tower and all of Lleida beneath. I tell you, you don’t know “startled” until you’re climbing down a spiral staircase that is just exactly wide and tall enough to pass you, and a gigantic bell a metre from you strikes 11:30.

Our Lady of Gunpowder

The Festa de Santa Tecla [in Tarragona] is well underway, and last night and today there were similar parades.

These parades begin with lots of costumed devils and animals setting off lots and LOTS of firecrackers. Right in the middle of the crowd. Big ones. I was trapped in a corner and showered with sparks. Those aren’t fun to get in your hair. I didn’t so much care for that, you know? A bit heavy on the ammunition, methinks. …

Anyway, these were followed by a fabulous and colourful procession: first the animal figures from the other night, then the Moorish “gigantes” dancing around, some bigheads, assorted odd characters bonking small children on the head with mallets or wearing bridal gowns and hideous masks representing the seven deadly sins, a dance/mock battle between Christian knights (all men) and Moorish soldiers (all women), and dance troupes in traditional dance including one whose centerpiece was a dance with hoops on top of which was balanced a live baby.

First stop [in Valencia] was the cathedral, where amidst the usual assortment of naves, pointed arches, and altar pieces, I unexpectedly found myself confronted with the Holy Grail. Well, there’s the highlight of an afternoon.

An attached museum [to the Teruel cathedral] displayed various interesting works of religious art, most in the “naive” style I find so charming. Highlights included Saint Lambert carrying his own head and Jesus doing jazz hands.

Small weirdness: walking along, encountering a sign that read:

PUERTA DEL SOL
PUERTA DEL SOL

Why it was written twice I couldn’t fathom, until I saw an analogous sign, and realized that the first “Puerta del Sol” was in Spanish, and the second was in English.

On our way to another place, we briefly stopped in at a drag bar, just long enough for a drunk Argentinian to find out it was my birthday and drag me on stage, where the drag queen absolutely humiliated me, calling me Harry Potter and forcing me to sing Pet Shop Boys. I will never forgive anyone involved. It was completely hilarious.

[On being pickpocketed in Madrid:] It could have been worse. The main thing is I wasn’t hurt. Also, they didn’t get my passport, it’s at the end of my trip anyway, Theo is here to spot me (I had €50 in there that I really can’t afford), they didn’t take the iPod (which is Hamish’s) or my camera (with all my photos on it) either of which would have torqued me substantially more, the policeman was cute, and I get to be a drama queen about it, so at least there’s that.

[matt_mcl]

And from the UK:

Tomorrow will be visiting-Edinburgh day; Mom’s getting here in the evening and then we’ll be leaving on our bus tour, organized by (I swear I am not making this up) Haggis Tours. Their main competitor is MacBackpackers. Which, if I were writing the backpacking-in-Scotland episode of a farcical TV show, would be the names I would pick.

[John_Carter_of_Mars]

Two sentences…
A thousand miles from nowhere in Nevada, 2004, I’m standing outside waiting for the men’s room to get vacant when this attractive young woman comes and stands in line behind me. I try not to act weird, then glance at her and see that she has a cleaning brush and other cleaning supplies.

Me:* Oh, you’re going to clean it!*
She: No, I just like to hang around outside men’s bathrooms.

[matt_mcl]

Gah, sorry. I totally blew the two sentences thing all to hell, didn’t I? Oh well, hope you enjoy the quotes anyway.

[madmonk28]

I don’t really keep a journal, but I have a friend I correspond with that kind of serves the same function:

I’ve never been good at the day to day stuff that people expect from you; I like not having any real problems just horrendous ones; no one expects you to fix Iraq or not get shot; everyone expects you to mow your lawn and pay your bills.

-Baghdad, 2006

The floor of the mosque was sticky with the blood of the flagellants

-Kabul, 2002

[panache45]

I seriously doubt that I’ll be able to complete this trail on my own. Unbearable temperature; dehydration; leg cramps; lower back spasm; foot blisters; hallucinations; broiling sun and no shade; total exhaustion; rattlesnakes; vultures circling overhead; no way to get help. And this is the place where Aron Ralston had to amputate his own arm, a few years ago.

Horseshoe Canyon, Utah. August, 2006

[Enginerd]

From Baños, Ecuador, in 2002.

@me

At the top was the rock outcropping, overhanging… something I didn’t know. I pushed off the wall, dropped a little, and then had nothing to push off of - slammed my upper body, elbow first, into the rock overhang. Didn’t hurt then, but it’s bruised and pretty well cut up now.

And the one that always brings a smile to my face, from just a couple of days later:

@me

Same day, 11:30 pm.

I love my life.

[Largo62]

England, July 1972.
We are driving along the Thames. It’s overcast, but people are lining the banks of the river in beach chairs and chaise longues — clouding themselves, I suppose.

[Abby_Emma_Sasha]

Here’s a couple that make me sound like the rube I am:

“We just got to the arch in St. Louis and I took a picture!”
“We stopped at a Burger King in Tucumcari, New Mexico.”

The second sentence is the most vulgar because it implies we did not take in our surroundings. Beautiful mountains and wide open spaces, red clay and deep blue lakes. But, damn, we were hungry.