a travel blog by renata green
In the 19th and 20th centuries, millions of people left Europe for the Americas in search of a better life – choosing a migration route through North German ports.
As a counterpart to the arrival halls in Ellis Island, several museums in German cities remember the adventurous journeys of the emigrants in transit.
This Way to the Whole Story ->It was in June. Europe’s borders were slowly opening and the Canary Islands lost their high-risk status. I finally had the chance to book a flight, look for accommodation, plan a trip. Life was like it used to be in the olden days.
It was on a Wednesday that I landed at Gran Canaria’s international airport south of the capital Las Palmas. This city would be my base, however, it had to wait another night for me. The first day was dedicated to Agüimes, a small town about 30 minutes inland at the foot of the island’s famous mountains.
Agüimes is very picturesque, however, there is not that much to do. I spent the afternoon walking around, awing and taking pictures of alleys and well-maintained houses and many statues telling stories about the town’s history and culture. Then, the next morning, I wanted to walk to the famous Barranco de las Vacas, a gorge with rock formations as beautiful as in Utah.
And then it happened. I broke a leg.
This Way to the Whole Story ->
I was shocked when I had to experience for the first time how fast travel health insurance pays off.
For years and years of extended travel, I didn’t even think about getting health insurance. Which doesn’t mean that I never got sick. I did. But I was roaming Europe, where everything was covered by my regular German health insurance.
When going to the US, I always stayed for roughly ten days. Very short stays.
Albeit, I know that this argument is completely illogical because it takes minutes to get sick and seconds to die.
This Way to the Whole Story ->Since my two weeks of educational vacation in Rome were of such great personal gain, two years later it was time to go back on the language horse. After many hours in front of the computer screen talking in rudimentary Turkish to a learning program, I decided to give Izmir a shot.
How did I become a Citizen of the World? Why do I have these itchy feet? Where does this greed for exploring come from? Why this fascination with foreign customs’n’cultures? Was there a specific moment? Or did I get injected this yearning for travel in homeopathic doses?
I’ve put together five anecdotes about my earliest – and most impressive – travel memories that might explain a thing or two.
It’s really amazing what my brain remembers, how these trips sank in and anchored in my mind and soul.
This Way to the Whole Story ->My passion for travelling and my interest in learning yet another language took me to Rio de Janeiro, the legendary metropolis on the Atlantic coast of Brazil.
Booking ahead or just walking in – what’s more advisable?
As I mentioned on various occasions, doing research on the internet, reading guide books, sketching routes, making reservations sometimes months before my trip to me is a big and important part of the fun. This way, your brain does already all the travelling before you – just like a scout.
Those who need inspiration and guidance on how to plan a trip from scratch will find it in this post.
But planning and booking ahead is not only an extra portion of fun. It can also save you lots of time and money.
This Way to the Whole Story ->I always thought if I had the chance to choose on judgment day, I might rather go to hell than to heaven. I’m suffering from acrophobia so a place as high as heaven might scare me to…well, at least it cannot scare me to death anymore. Then, I’m afraid that way up high over the clouds it will be always a little nippy. And I like it hot.
But after recent events, I’m not so sure anymore. After I was riding with the devil, I’m afraid I’m not fit for the highway to hell.
This Way to the Whole Story ->I’m often asked how it is to travel by myself. If I’m not scared. If I don’t get lonely. If I’m not afraid that the sky may fall on my head tomorrow.
The answer has always been no – and meeting Sri Lanka’s only ski instructor was clearly another proof that travelling solo is a great chance to come across people that open up to you in a blink of an eye.
This Way to the Whole Story ->Yes, this is a rant on how Instagram deteriorates the art of photography to death. But it also makes the world a dangerous – and endangered – place.
I love good photography. That’s why I hate Instagram.
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