This next week, I am going to be in England visiting my parents and family
I am constantly reminded of the importance of family and the value of seeing my nephews and nieces grow into little people. I miss my family and friends, and cherish the time I will spend with them. I am so lucky to still have my Mother, and Father, and celebrate that privilege daily
I am currently at the airport, and was sitting quietly , minding my own business, and starting to write this blog, when all at once I was completely surrounded by a loud throng of lively teenagers joking and laughing, and carrying on , and jostling for a place to sit. I almost lost my seat a couple of times when I stood up to retrieve my phone charging in the wall. They are getting ready to get on the the same plane, and I hope to God I'm not sitting in the middle of them on the flight!
But they are making me laugh! There are one or two boys who are born comedians, and they are making the whole waiting area light up with laughter. They are from Manchester, and the Northern accent is an added bonus!
These kids have been visiting New York They have obviously had a wonderful time, and are excited to be going home. They are laden with backpacks of souvenirs and excitedly recounting their experiences over the last week. One young lad helped me with accessing the Wifi, and proceeded to tell me that he had decided he is coming back in two years to finish his engineering degree in New York.
I move to accommodate their crowding and sat next to an older lady, ( like me, ) who appears relatively sane. ( I do have a habit of sitting next to the craziest person on the bus or the plane...
She proceeded to tell me all about her travels to Cleveland Ohio, and what a wonderful time she had had, visiting her elderly Aunt and cousins. She showed me pictures of their homes and the children, and clearly was enamored by the family she had not seen in 18 years!
She enthused about the wonderful time she had meeting the locals of the town, and remarked as to how friendly and welcoming " the Americans" were. Her impression was all favorable.
Our flight was delayed, so we sat and talked over a beer and dinner, and exchanged opinions and information about cultural differences , the health system in the US and a bit of politics.
Our Flight attendant turned out to be French, and he has been happily sharing stories of Paris with the high school kids , and translating for a shrouded French Muslim lady needing assistance.
Despite the flight delay, people were courteous and forgiving.
All in all, it reinforces my theory that travel is the best medicine and the best education for everyone. It enables people to connect in a way that is unbiased by preconceived ideas, and dogmatic beliefs. It forces people to sit next to each other, and to at least be respectful, even if you don't speak a word.
Travel brings people together under many circumstances, not just leisure and sightseeing. A story I heard yesterday, reminded me of one circumstance that forces people to travel under duress. The death of loved one , or in some cases, the tragic death of several members of a family , killed in a plane crash, or an act of terrorism. Then travel becomes a pilgrimage of both duty and respect , not for sightseeing, but to make arrangements, say goodbyes, and to bring closure to a chapter in life itself.
It is at times like this, that people are vulnerable, no matter what their culture or their creed. They are in a state of grief, shell shocked; often strangers in a strange land.
It is then that sometimes, the most wonderful things can be born from the most tragic circumstances. When humans connect, recognize that need, that desperation, that unspoken vulnerability, then true spirituality can shine. The act of selfless hospitality, even in the hotel or hostel environment, can change lives. The simple act of providing food and a place to rest, with a friendly smile and a willingness to connect, can regenerate the flame of the human connection, breaking down the barriers of culture and tradition, allowing humans to see into the soul of another without prejudice or judgement. This can light the soul of both the visitor and the host , bringing about true communion
It opens a new door, yet another permutation to the endless possibility of hope.
Opportunities like this are a gift from something greater than our individual selves. And they can come at very unexpected times.
The particular story I heard was told from the perspective of a young man who had been on the giving side of hospitality, and yet what he received in return , was a greater gift to his heart than any material wealth could buy.
Another reinforcement in my mind, of how valuable travel is to even those who do not set foot outside their own town.
So today, gentle reader, I bring to you a few selected poems that reflect travel, or the dream of such, as a reflection of the sentiment of today's blog
And I apologize for my tardiness, but I was traveling! :)
A Sailor's Song
by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Oh for the breath of the briny deep,
And the tug of the bellying sail,
With the sea-gull's cry across the sky
And a passing boatman's hail.
For, be she fierce or be she gay,
The sea is a famous friend alway.
Ho! for the plains where the dolphins play,
And the bend of the mast and spars,
And a fight at night with the wild sea-sprite
When the foam has drowned the stars.
And, pray, what joy can the landsman feel
Like the rise and fall of a sliding keel?
Fair is the mead; the lawn is fair
And the birds sing sweet on the lea;
But the echo soft of a song aloft
Is the strain that pleases me;
And swish of rope and ring of chain
Are music to men who sail the main.
Then, if you love me, let me sail
While a vessel dares the deep;
For the ship 's my wife, and the breath of life
Are the raging gales that sweep;
And when I 'm done with calm and blast,
A slide o'er the side, and rest at last.
The next is by Rudyard Kipling, who, remembering his time in China, as a soldier, yearns to return some day to "The road to Mandalay "
By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' lazy at the sea,
There's a Burma girl a-settin', and I know she thinks o' me;
For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they say:
"Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay!"
Come you back to Mandalay,
Where the old Flotilla lay:
Can't you 'ear their paddles chunkin' from Rangoon to Mandalay?
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the flyin'-fishes play,
An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!
'Er petticoat was yaller an' 'er little cap was green,
An' 'er name was Supi-yaw-lat -- jes' the same as Theebaw's Queen,
An' I seed her first a-smokin' of a whackin' white cheroot,
An' a-wastin' Christian kisses on an 'eathen idol's foot:
Bloomin' idol made o'mud --
Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd --
Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed 'er where she stud!
On the road to Mandalay . . .
When the mist was on the rice-fields an' the sun was droppin' slow,
She'd git 'er little banjo an' she'd sing "Kulla-lo-lo!"
With 'er arm upon my shoulder an' 'er cheek agin' my cheek
We useter watch the steamers an' the hathis pilin' teak.
Elephints a-pilin' teak
In the sludgy, squdgy creek,
Where the silence 'ung that 'eavy you was 'arf afraid to speak!
On the road to Mandalay . . .
But that's all shove be'ind me -- long ago an' fur away,
An' there ain't no 'busses runnin' from the Bank to Mandalay;
An' I'm learnin' 'ere in London what the ten-year soldier tells:
"If you've 'eard the East a-callin', you won't never 'eed naught else."
No! you won't 'eed nothin' else
But them spicy garlic smells,
An' the sunshine an' the palm-trees an' the tinkly temple-bells;
On the road to Mandalay . . .
I am sick o' wastin' leather on these gritty pavin'-stones,
An' the blasted English drizzle wakes the fever in my bones;
Tho' I walks with fifty 'ousemaids outer Chelsea to the Strand,
An' they talks a lot o' lovin', but wot do they understand?
Beefy face an' grubby 'and --
Law! wot do they understand?
I've a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener land!
On the road to Mandalay . . .
Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is like the worst,
Where there aren't no Ten Commandments an' a man can raise a thirst;
For the temple-bells are callin', an' it's there that I would be --
By the old Moulmein Pagoda, looking lazy at the sea;
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the old Flotilla lay,
With our sick beneath the awnings when we went to Mandalay!
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the flyin'-fishes play,
An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!
Rudyard Kipling
Henry Van Dyke has been in Europe long enough, and longs for the shores of America again;
'TIS fine to see the Old World and travel up and down
Among the famous palaces and cities of renown,
To admire the crumblyh castles and the statues and kings
But now I think I've had enough of antiquated things.
So it's home again, and home again, America for me!
My heart is turning home again and there I long to be,
In the land of youth and freedom, beyond the ocean bars,
Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars.
Oh, London is a man's town, there's power in the air;
And Paris is a woman's town, with flowers in her hair;
And it's sweet to dream in Venice, and it's great to study Rome;
But when it comes to living there is no place like home.
I like the German fir-woods in green battalions drilled;
I like the gardens of Versailles with flashing fountains filled;
But, oh, to take your had, my dear, and ramble for a day
In the friendly western woodland where Nature has her sway!
I know that Europe's wonderful, yet something seems to lack!
The Past is too much with her, and the people looking back.
But the glory of the Present is to make the Future free--
We love our land for what she is and what she is to be.
Oh, it's home again, and home again, America for me!
I want a ship that's westward bound to plough the rolling sea,
To the blessed Land of Room Enough, beyond the ocean bars,
Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars.
Henry Van Dyke
Dreaming of a peaceful place , one cannot ignore The Lake Isle of Innisfree
By WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet’s wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.
Lastly, I was amused to find a poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
who openly mocks the well seasoned traveller because she has grown weary of monopolizing tales at the dinner table. It reminded me that despite enthusiasm for travel, endless slideshows of vacations can be boring to others!
Ella Wheeler Wilcox has written a tongue in cheek lament , that her "soup seems brewed from cemetery bones, " as she listens politely while dining with travelled people.
The Traveled Man
SOMETIMES I wish the railroads all were torn out,
The ships all sunk among the coral strands.
I am so very weary, yea, so worn out,
With tales of those who visit foreign lands.
When asked to dine, to meet these traveled people,
My soup seems brewed from cemetery bones.
The fish grows cold on some cathedral steeple,
I miss two courses while I stare at thrones.
I'm forced to leave my salad quite untasted,
Some musty, moldy temple to explore.
The ices, fruit and coffee all are wasted
While into realms of ancient art I soar.
I'd rather take my chance of life and reason,
If in a den of roaring lions hurled
Than for a single year, ay, for one season,
To dwell with folks who'd traveled round the world.
So patronizing are they, so oppressive,
With pity for the ones who stay at home,
So mighty is their knowledge, so aggressive,
I ofttimes wish they had not ceased to roam.
They loathe the new, they quite detest the present;
They revel in a pre-Columbian morn;
Just dare to say America is pleasant,
And die beneath the glances of their scorn.
They are increasing at a rate alarming,
Go where I will, the traveled man is there.
And now I think that Rustic wholly charming
Who has not strayed beyond his meadows fair.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
This blog was begun in the US, and has been completed "across the pond"! I am tired, hot and weary, having had no sleep, and very little room to move for the last 8 hours. Airline seats seem to shrunk in size, with no leg room, and the food trolly seems to deliberately target my funny bone every time it passes.
This has probably been one of the most uncomfortable flights I have been on. I have practiced restraint and tolerance, and had to adjust my attitude a number of times.
But I am still excited!
Anticipating a reunion with family and friends, I am going to save this file, and hope I can find an internet connection this weekend to post this entry. Can't wait for a decent cup of tea, and a piece of Saffron cake!
Have a wonderful week, and hellooooo to my English readers!
ps
It has taken me four days to find a computer and a good connection to post this. Next week I will post on Tuesday after I return......
I am constantly reminded of the importance of family and the value of seeing my nephews and nieces grow into little people. I miss my family and friends, and cherish the time I will spend with them. I am so lucky to still have my Mother, and Father, and celebrate that privilege daily
I am currently at the airport, and was sitting quietly , minding my own business, and starting to write this blog, when all at once I was completely surrounded by a loud throng of lively teenagers joking and laughing, and carrying on , and jostling for a place to sit. I almost lost my seat a couple of times when I stood up to retrieve my phone charging in the wall. They are getting ready to get on the the same plane, and I hope to God I'm not sitting in the middle of them on the flight!
But they are making me laugh! There are one or two boys who are born comedians, and they are making the whole waiting area light up with laughter. They are from Manchester, and the Northern accent is an added bonus!
These kids have been visiting New York They have obviously had a wonderful time, and are excited to be going home. They are laden with backpacks of souvenirs and excitedly recounting their experiences over the last week. One young lad helped me with accessing the Wifi, and proceeded to tell me that he had decided he is coming back in two years to finish his engineering degree in New York.
I move to accommodate their crowding and sat next to an older lady, ( like me, ) who appears relatively sane. ( I do have a habit of sitting next to the craziest person on the bus or the plane...
She proceeded to tell me all about her travels to Cleveland Ohio, and what a wonderful time she had had, visiting her elderly Aunt and cousins. She showed me pictures of their homes and the children, and clearly was enamored by the family she had not seen in 18 years!
She enthused about the wonderful time she had meeting the locals of the town, and remarked as to how friendly and welcoming " the Americans" were. Her impression was all favorable.
Our flight was delayed, so we sat and talked over a beer and dinner, and exchanged opinions and information about cultural differences , the health system in the US and a bit of politics.
Our Flight attendant turned out to be French, and he has been happily sharing stories of Paris with the high school kids , and translating for a shrouded French Muslim lady needing assistance.
Despite the flight delay, people were courteous and forgiving.
All in all, it reinforces my theory that travel is the best medicine and the best education for everyone. It enables people to connect in a way that is unbiased by preconceived ideas, and dogmatic beliefs. It forces people to sit next to each other, and to at least be respectful, even if you don't speak a word.
Travel brings people together under many circumstances, not just leisure and sightseeing. A story I heard yesterday, reminded me of one circumstance that forces people to travel under duress. The death of loved one , or in some cases, the tragic death of several members of a family , killed in a plane crash, or an act of terrorism. Then travel becomes a pilgrimage of both duty and respect , not for sightseeing, but to make arrangements, say goodbyes, and to bring closure to a chapter in life itself.
It is at times like this, that people are vulnerable, no matter what their culture or their creed. They are in a state of grief, shell shocked; often strangers in a strange land.
It is then that sometimes, the most wonderful things can be born from the most tragic circumstances. When humans connect, recognize that need, that desperation, that unspoken vulnerability, then true spirituality can shine. The act of selfless hospitality, even in the hotel or hostel environment, can change lives. The simple act of providing food and a place to rest, with a friendly smile and a willingness to connect, can regenerate the flame of the human connection, breaking down the barriers of culture and tradition, allowing humans to see into the soul of another without prejudice or judgement. This can light the soul of both the visitor and the host , bringing about true communion
It opens a new door, yet another permutation to the endless possibility of hope.
Opportunities like this are a gift from something greater than our individual selves. And they can come at very unexpected times.
The particular story I heard was told from the perspective of a young man who had been on the giving side of hospitality, and yet what he received in return , was a greater gift to his heart than any material wealth could buy.
Another reinforcement in my mind, of how valuable travel is to even those who do not set foot outside their own town.
So today, gentle reader, I bring to you a few selected poems that reflect travel, or the dream of such, as a reflection of the sentiment of today's blog
And I apologize for my tardiness, but I was traveling! :)
A Sailor's Song
by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Oh for the breath of the briny deep,
And the tug of the bellying sail,
With the sea-gull's cry across the sky
And a passing boatman's hail.
For, be she fierce or be she gay,
The sea is a famous friend alway.
Ho! for the plains where the dolphins play,
And the bend of the mast and spars,
And a fight at night with the wild sea-sprite
When the foam has drowned the stars.
And, pray, what joy can the landsman feel
Like the rise and fall of a sliding keel?
Fair is the mead; the lawn is fair
And the birds sing sweet on the lea;
But the echo soft of a song aloft
Is the strain that pleases me;
And swish of rope and ring of chain
Are music to men who sail the main.
Then, if you love me, let me sail
While a vessel dares the deep;
For the ship 's my wife, and the breath of life
Are the raging gales that sweep;
And when I 'm done with calm and blast,
A slide o'er the side, and rest at last.
The next is by Rudyard Kipling, who, remembering his time in China, as a soldier, yearns to return some day to "The road to Mandalay "
By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' lazy at the sea,
There's a Burma girl a-settin', and I know she thinks o' me;
For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they say:
"Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay!"
Come you back to Mandalay,
Where the old Flotilla lay:
Can't you 'ear their paddles chunkin' from Rangoon to Mandalay?
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the flyin'-fishes play,
An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!
'Er petticoat was yaller an' 'er little cap was green,
An' 'er name was Supi-yaw-lat -- jes' the same as Theebaw's Queen,
An' I seed her first a-smokin' of a whackin' white cheroot,
An' a-wastin' Christian kisses on an 'eathen idol's foot:
Bloomin' idol made o'mud --
Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd --
Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed 'er where she stud!
On the road to Mandalay . . .
When the mist was on the rice-fields an' the sun was droppin' slow,
She'd git 'er little banjo an' she'd sing "Kulla-lo-lo!"
With 'er arm upon my shoulder an' 'er cheek agin' my cheek
We useter watch the steamers an' the hathis pilin' teak.
Elephints a-pilin' teak
In the sludgy, squdgy creek,
Where the silence 'ung that 'eavy you was 'arf afraid to speak!
On the road to Mandalay . . .
But that's all shove be'ind me -- long ago an' fur away,
An' there ain't no 'busses runnin' from the Bank to Mandalay;
An' I'm learnin' 'ere in London what the ten-year soldier tells:
"If you've 'eard the East a-callin', you won't never 'eed naught else."
No! you won't 'eed nothin' else
But them spicy garlic smells,
An' the sunshine an' the palm-trees an' the tinkly temple-bells;
On the road to Mandalay . . .
I am sick o' wastin' leather on these gritty pavin'-stones,
An' the blasted English drizzle wakes the fever in my bones;
Tho' I walks with fifty 'ousemaids outer Chelsea to the Strand,
An' they talks a lot o' lovin', but wot do they understand?
Beefy face an' grubby 'and --
Law! wot do they understand?
I've a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener land!
On the road to Mandalay . . .
Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is like the worst,
Where there aren't no Ten Commandments an' a man can raise a thirst;
For the temple-bells are callin', an' it's there that I would be --
By the old Moulmein Pagoda, looking lazy at the sea;
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the old Flotilla lay,
With our sick beneath the awnings when we went to Mandalay!
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the flyin'-fishes play,
An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!
Rudyard Kipling
Henry Van Dyke has been in Europe long enough, and longs for the shores of America again;
'TIS fine to see the Old World and travel up and down
Among the famous palaces and cities of renown,
To admire the crumblyh castles and the statues and kings
But now I think I've had enough of antiquated things.
So it's home again, and home again, America for me!
My heart is turning home again and there I long to be,
In the land of youth and freedom, beyond the ocean bars,
Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars.
Oh, London is a man's town, there's power in the air;
And Paris is a woman's town, with flowers in her hair;
And it's sweet to dream in Venice, and it's great to study Rome;
But when it comes to living there is no place like home.
I like the German fir-woods in green battalions drilled;
I like the gardens of Versailles with flashing fountains filled;
But, oh, to take your had, my dear, and ramble for a day
In the friendly western woodland where Nature has her sway!
I know that Europe's wonderful, yet something seems to lack!
The Past is too much with her, and the people looking back.
But the glory of the Present is to make the Future free--
We love our land for what she is and what she is to be.
Oh, it's home again, and home again, America for me!
I want a ship that's westward bound to plough the rolling sea,
To the blessed Land of Room Enough, beyond the ocean bars,
Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars.
Henry Van Dyke
Dreaming of a peaceful place , one cannot ignore The Lake Isle of Innisfree
By WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet’s wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.
Lastly, I was amused to find a poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
who openly mocks the well seasoned traveller because she has grown weary of monopolizing tales at the dinner table. It reminded me that despite enthusiasm for travel, endless slideshows of vacations can be boring to others!
Ella Wheeler Wilcox has written a tongue in cheek lament , that her "soup seems brewed from cemetery bones, " as she listens politely while dining with travelled people.
The Traveled Man
SOMETIMES I wish the railroads all were torn out,
The ships all sunk among the coral strands.
I am so very weary, yea, so worn out,
With tales of those who visit foreign lands.
When asked to dine, to meet these traveled people,
My soup seems brewed from cemetery bones.
The fish grows cold on some cathedral steeple,
I miss two courses while I stare at thrones.
I'm forced to leave my salad quite untasted,
Some musty, moldy temple to explore.
The ices, fruit and coffee all are wasted
While into realms of ancient art I soar.
I'd rather take my chance of life and reason,
If in a den of roaring lions hurled
Than for a single year, ay, for one season,
To dwell with folks who'd traveled round the world.
So patronizing are they, so oppressive,
With pity for the ones who stay at home,
So mighty is their knowledge, so aggressive,
I ofttimes wish they had not ceased to roam.
They loathe the new, they quite detest the present;
They revel in a pre-Columbian morn;
Just dare to say America is pleasant,
And die beneath the glances of their scorn.
They are increasing at a rate alarming,
Go where I will, the traveled man is there.
And now I think that Rustic wholly charming
Who has not strayed beyond his meadows fair.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
This blog was begun in the US, and has been completed "across the pond"! I am tired, hot and weary, having had no sleep, and very little room to move for the last 8 hours. Airline seats seem to shrunk in size, with no leg room, and the food trolly seems to deliberately target my funny bone every time it passes.
This has probably been one of the most uncomfortable flights I have been on. I have practiced restraint and tolerance, and had to adjust my attitude a number of times.
But I am still excited!
Anticipating a reunion with family and friends, I am going to save this file, and hope I can find an internet connection this weekend to post this entry. Can't wait for a decent cup of tea, and a piece of Saffron cake!
Have a wonderful week, and hellooooo to my English readers!
ps
It has taken me four days to find a computer and a good connection to post this. Next week I will post on Tuesday after I return......
RSS Feed
