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chromatic-lamina · 4 years

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seaside and floaties one piece fanfic excerpt

Just feeling a bit anxious at the moment with real-life obligations, and posting some of my AO3 stuff relieves it a little. This is Marco/Law not swimming, but doing their best to stay in the water. Light humour. They’ve got a one-eyed, short-haired, stumpy, barrel-chested dog called Misery, and a bunch of thieves who steal wallets buried in the sand.

Post-canon AU, but powers retained, and canon elements. SFW.

🐶⛱🏊🏿‍♀️🐶⛱🏊🏿‍♀️🐶⛱🏊🏿‍♀️

You wouldn't think a one-eyed creature could swim so well."

"Anything swims better than us."

Marco wrapped an arm around Law's waist and drew him near. Law, arms crossed, turned his head Marco’s way for a beat. Steadied his footing. Looked back as Misery paddled out into the sea, picked up a stick thrown for her and swam back in. The salt water had to taste bad.

She loved the ocean. So did they of course, and they could stay afloat on top of it, in a vessel, or under it in a submarine, but they couldn't physically submerge themselves and let go and trust the water and currents to carry them from one point to the next. They'd drown.

She ran up to them, shaking droplets all over their hairy legs—board shorts were the order of the day, even if they only went in as far as their knees. Franky tried to convince them of the benefits of Speedos, but the two pirates were strangely modest. Plus, Robin might be lurking nearby and she had no mercy. Board shorts hid the fishing tackle a whole lot better.

They'd tether a floatie ring to the shore, or wear them themselves, tough guys be damned. The floaties looked particularly cute around Law's badassmotherfucker bicep tatts, and Marco never failed to snort as his lover inflated them and slid them along his muscled arms.

They were like city kids—fluent in the ways of back-alley streets, but pale and jelly-legged on sand or sea. Even if they'd spent their lives on it. On it. Under it. Not in it.

Law's gruff wheeze of a laugh joined Marco's. It didn't stop them.

Once, Law had chased down some bozos who'd taken off with their wallets, his wet boardies stuck to his thighs, yellow floaties (with Hearts' symbols) pumping up and down as he ran after them. Then he remembered his power and those kids never knew what hit them. Smoker had taken their statements and visited Law and Marco at home.

"Said a bunch of putzes..."

"Us?" Marco asked.

Smoker chomped on his cigar. That meant yes.

"Only two of us," the Phoenix added.

"Anyway, a galoot of galahs."

"Two, just two of us," Law corrected, "And the dog."

"I think they're using that word incorrectly," Marco murmured, turned his teacup. "Galoot. I think a galoot is a galah."

"Galoshes of galahs?" Law suggested.

"They're wellies. Wellington boots."

Marco looked at the window, all innocence, to avoid the devilment in Law's quick grin. He knew the Heart was imagining galoshes-wearing-galahs galooting in a downpour, like umbrella-twirling tap dancers.

Smoker glowered at them. "Some floatie-wearing hard-arse greenhorns dismembered them and dropped them on the foreshore."

"They lived to tell the tale?" Law asked, a tumbler mug of green tea in his hands disguising the curve of his lips. "They sound ghastly."

"Especially the floatie part." Marco bent under the table and scratched Misery's fur. She thumped her tail.

"The kids admitted they'd been trying to lift wallets."

"Do tell." Law and Marco had taken precautions and buried them in the sand while they paddled. Their possessions should have been safe. Who'd they think they were messing with?

"And so they're not pressing charges."

"Huh."

"But just be careful, Law, about separating people from their bodies."

"Is it illegal?" He thought stealing wallets also wasn't high on the list of judiciary approval.

Smoker knew if Law used his power, subjects wouldn't be hurt. "No, but it scares the fuck out of everyone."

There should be a law against it. Sent ripples of fear through the community. "If you two still wanna play pirates, do it on the wide open unchartered seas."

Recidivists. Not reformed in the slightest.

"Scares them even if we've got floaties on?" Law and Marco sent each other a glance, and had to look down at the table to stop a fit of unmanly giggles.

"We look pretty suburban." It pained Marco to say it, but it was true.

Smoker cracked a smile, quickly hidden by bitter coffee. One of the "victims" had taken a snap. Smoker almost expected the irate man bearing down upon them, yellow floaties prominent, to be wearing an Edwardian one-piece swimsuit, and to have a little jiggly beer belly.

"Well done," he growled, and ran his foot over Misery's hide, "Just how do you manage to threaten and protect while wearing floaties, of all the goddamned things?"

Marco looked at their tea-towel collection, at Law's tea-towel collection. Smoker really had to ask? "One of Trafalgar's many skills."

"We've got a rubber ring, Smo-ya. It's cute. Got daisies on it. Nami gave it to us."

Marco stood and walked to the kitchen. "Charged us, Law. We had to pay her for the pleasure." He brought back a mandarin each for all. Sat and peeled his, looked over to Smoker. "Sure, big guy. Next time you want to join us, just ask. You don't have to arrest a bunch of losers to impress us."

🐶⛱🏊🏿‍♀️🐶⛱🏊🏿‍♀️🐶⛱🏊🏿‍♀️

Law, earnestly leant forward on a Bepo-shaped pool float. Marco mixed the drinks at the poolside bar and Smoker rolled his cigars on the edge of an ashtray set up on his daisy-patterned float. Both fruit-users' stacked arms were encased in floaties. Smoker's bore the Marines' symbol.

Misery ran up and down the side of the pool, and it was Tashigi's job to fetch either one of them out of the water when they tumbled in. All it took was one point needing emphasis, one grown man leaning too far. There went the cigars, Law's do. Thank goodness for the floaties. And Tashigi.

Turning circles, Misery barked, and Marco for the life of him was sure she was laughing.

🐶⛱🏊🏿‍♀️🐶⛱🏊🏿‍♀️🐶⛱🏊🏿‍♀️

This is again from a dark fic (most of the excerpts are), and is actually from a dark chapter, so I’ll just post what’s above, but a link to my AO3 is in the header of the blog. Hope it can be enjoyed without the full context of the story or verse.

#one piece #one piece fanfiction #trafalgar law #marco the phoenix #marco and law #smoker #opfanfic #opfanfics #op fanfiction #op fanfic #my writing #my stuff #chromalami #marlaw #marco/law #law/marco

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skost-skribbles · 4 years

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The Shore

AKA, Sad Dad Takes Son on Depressing Roadtrip, AKA I can’t think of good titles I’m not sorry

More OC nonsense with our ( @bogglebabbles and myself) characters in a scene that happens before the story even takes place but consider the following: so what

What was she like?”

The soft but endlessly inquisitive voice of his son rose above the clatter of the train storming along the tracks. Faramund turned his head so slightly downward, met immediately with hazel eyes, staring solely at the older gentleman. Already he could see the striking slivers of grey seeping into the hazel.

“I…” Faramund licked his lips, adjusting himself upright on the bench. “I can’t say much for certain. She…”

She was in so much pain, and we were powerless to help.

“We didn’t have many opportunities to talk on the ship, y-you see,” he mumbled, hooking his fingers along one of his cufflinks. “Everyone rather kept to themselves.”

The uncertainty was not caught by the young boy. He leaned closer, hands pressing firmly into the wool seating. “Did she look like me? What did she sound like? Did she have a pretty voice?”

Desperately, his fingers searched for a loose button or even a thread to pluck at. Finding that the tailor’s immaculate work lived up to its infamy and neither were found, he prayed for a distraction among the blurry scenery outside. The country landscape offered nothing.

“I don’t…” Faramund paused, gulping down the hesitation trembling in his voice. “I, ah, I don’t recall. It was risky to go out on deck during the day, and even at night any trace of light would have alerted us to unwanted eyes. On the chance I did see her before… I wouldn’t have remembered.”

“Oh.” Sotiris sank into the seat, shoeless feet dangling and swinging to and fro off the bench. Lips pursed, and suddenly his head lifted with a wide grin. “Maybe she was really nice…! And she sang as good as you do!”

A small, somber smile played on Faramund’s face and he chuckled. “You’re far too kind, son. If you believe my singing is good, then hers would have been the voice of angels! You certainly got your generosity from her.”

The younger beamed, throwing a brief look to the empty seat across the way. “How come Da didn’t come with us? He said he loves traveling!”

“A-ah, he does, yes! It’s, well…”

I worry he’s done what he always does with things that put him in great distress: he avoids it at all cost. He’ll always tell me he’s fine, but it upsets me to know how much he’s allowing to build on his shoulders. I fear it will be too late for me to pull him free when it collapses on him.

“He thought it better to stay at home to oversee the factory’s remodeling. But, I know any other day he would have loved to join us.” His smile broadened and he mussed the curly mess that was Sotiris’ hair. A moment later, the smile dropped. “Are you certain you want to do this now? We can always come back when you’re older, no one will fault you for that.”

When I can be stronger for you. When even I can accept this.

Sotiris was quiet for a passing minute, then leaned against Faramund. He pulled his knees to his face and lowered his gaze.

“I do; I don’t want to wait. I… I want to see my mom.”

~ ~ ~

In dreams, he would see the beach.

He saw the same shoreline, walked along its eerily perfect curve over and over, to the point where he could spot even a grain of sand out of place. He would see the same waves roll and crash along the shore leading to the forest on overseeing hills. Sometimes, the sky would be as blue as the ocean’s surface, with nary a cloud to be seen; sometimes, it would be hidden by the dark blanket of the moonless night.

For a moment, Faramund would hold a hand in the air, running his fingers through the incoming winds, and in that moment, he believed all would be well.

Truly, what a fool he was.

It would happen so quickly, so suddenly that he would stumble and fall on the rocks. The flames swelled high from the scattered ruins, a sickening odor of smoke choking his lungs. In both the distance and within an arm’s reach, he heard the cries and pleas of the faceless, nameless passengers before they succumbed to silence, swallowed by the fire, or the dark waters. Tomas was nowhere to be seen, and his own hands began to burn to a ghostly heat. Somewhere, elsewhere, a woman -- no, a child cried for help…

In a blink, the calm waves returned below a gray sky, the melody of crying seagulls echoing far away. Faramund’s hands started and he threw a panicked glance downward. Uneasy relief in the form of a gentle breeze slithered past him; they were not burning, but shaking.

A small voice calling for him pulled his head upright and he turned. Sotiris stood at his side, hands grabbing the back of his heavy coat. His eyes followed the child’s sight, spotting the barren, skeletal remains of a vessel lodged in the shallow waters. A hand cupping the boy’s head, they walked towards the looming, metal wreckage. Perhaps a curious passersby would mistake the sight for an unlucky ship running aground, never to make it back to the vast waters; perhaps the House of Gilroy succeeded in wiping the ambush off the face of the beach to mask their crimes on innocent lives before one became wise.

Sotiris tightened his grip on the coat, taking a cautious step forward towards the waves. They sputtered to a stop before his feet and retreated in haste. One, both hands slipped away from the safety of the thick wool and he edged around the coming of another wave, eyes wandering up the bare frame trapped within the sand and ocean.

Softly, Sotiris spoke. “Is this, is this where...”

Faramund nodded, his voice wavering slightly. “Her and many others, yes.” He forced a swallow and exhaled faintly. “We were to dock in a small fishing mill down the coast, go about our new lives.” A shell crunched beneath his foot as he stepped towards his son. He rubbed his thumb in circles along Sotiris’ hair. “Had they mistaken us for the enemy, or they simply despised the idea of newcomers, I’ll know not, but… it won’t change what they did. What they stole.”

The last words lingered in the air; like a hot knife, they poked and prodded at invisible wounds thought to be healed years back. Across the waters, he spotted the protruding, smooth rocks of the foreshore making itself known; at the hitch in his breath, day swirled into night, and he stood, rooted in place, watching a scene so utterly familiar to him play out.

Two obscure silhouettes pull themselves upon the rocky outcrop, towing along a single lifeboat. Through the roaring flames, the crashing water, the whimpers and gasps of a young woman are barely audible. One slumps to their knees, the other scrambles to grab hold and gently ease her out of the boat, immediately dipping and catching as she collapses upon setting foot on land. She shrinks closer into herself, and a sharp, keen sound of shock breaks into the night sky.

The cry is not from her.

“I don’t see Mom.”

Night flashed back to day in a fell swoop, wiping the tidal pools clear of any beings, of any boat. Faramund started in place, shuddering at a swell of goosebumps riding up his arms and neck and a patch of cold sweat breaking across his neck. Shaking his head, he rubbed furiously at his eyes with the heel of his hand before catching a trail of footprints leading away from him, aimless in their journey as they stopped in numerous directions in the sodden sand, stopping at the foot of marram grass atop a small mound further from the shore. There, he saw Sotiris, head and body twisting and turning for a destination he knew not.

“What was that, Sotiris?”

Sotiris wrung his hands along the hem of his capelet, frowning slightly. “I don’t see her. All the people in the cemetery had graves and headstones, and so did the people in the churchyards back home. How come there’s not one for her, Dad? Or for the others?”

“O-oh,” Faramund whispered, his heart sinking like a stone. “I,” he continued, louder, his own hands now pressing tightly against one another. He feared both would break under the mounting pressure any moment, and he forced them to latch onto his coat. “I’m afraid… I’m afraid there aren’t any.”

Sotiris turned quiet, eyes downcast. “Why?”

He opened his mouth to reply, but Faramund found his voice to be dry, bare. What could he say to the child? That their attackers likely held no interest in granting the passengers a proper burial, for doing so would bring to light their crimes?

Faramund’s head drooped, his gaze at his sand-coated shoes. “I’m sorry, Sotiris, but… I don’t know.”

The distant lapping of waves turned heavy to his ears, accompanied with the howling of winds that were once faint and soothing. Above, the gray clouds split apart to reveal blue skies, and rays of the summer sun found their way to the crescent shore and waters. The warmth it delivered, however, was but a fleeting touch to the man.

“I wish I could tell you so much more.” Faramund exhaled heavily, his eyes settling upon the tidepools. “I wish I could tell you with certainty that her voice was soft and surpassed those of the angels. Of what she looked like, of how you have her eyes, her smile. I…” Heat bit at his eyes, and tears trickled freely down his cheeks. “I wish I could say why there’s no grave for your mother. I wish… And knowing that I can’t, knowing that my memory is as dark as that night… I-”

He found himself at a loss of what to say when a cutting, sudden sob broke into the air. His head snapped up, panic written across his face before, trembling, guilt swept over him in a landslide.

Rooted in place among the marram grass, small fists clenched at the capelet’s hems, Sotiris stood, his own tears brimming and rolling wildly downward and disappearing within the grassy sea. Immediately, Faramund stumbled over to the mound and rested his hands lightly over Sotiris’ arms, kneeling as he gave the boy’s arms a reassuring squeeze.

He opened his mouth to speak, to freely utter words of comfort.

“I’m sorry,” Sotiris choked out. He shut his eyes and tugged at the capelet, shaking. “I-I’m sorry!”

Rigid, he furrowed his brows. “Sotiris, wh… what are you…”

“I, I…” The boy sniffled sharply, raising his hands as if to wipe away the tears before they fell limp at his sides. “Y-you’re supposed to r-remember all the good times you had with s-someone before they died, and you’re supposed to know wh-who they were when you visit them. But, but… I don’t remember Mom. I don’t kn-know, know anything about her. I thought if y-you o-or Da knew, seeing Mom would...” His breath began to hitch between deep, heaving sobs.

All Faramund could choke out was a shuddering “Oh,” and with it came a devastating realization that gripped his soul. “Oh, Sotiris-”

“I… I…” He threw himself at Faramund and buried his face within the man’s shoulder with a mighty whimper, his small arms wrapping tight around his torso as his fingers dug and twisted into the coat’s fabric. Though muffled, his voice rang clear as day. “I wanted h-her to see I was a go-good son and m-make her, her proud! How can I do th-that when I…” His voice cracked and devolved into hoarse, sharp sobs, each one a striking flinch through the child’s body.

Faramund absorbed each snivel, each flinch with the same countenance one would find on a prisoner facing the judge. The persistent questions shot at both he and Tomas to the point of exhaustion; pressing requests to return to the island, a land once home to them all, hidden over the ocean’s horizon. These questions were not to fulfill a child’s curiosity; they were to earn sole gratification from those of the past, from those whose voices were as silent as the night stars.

Both arms easily took up Sotiris in a warm embrace, pulling him closer with a gentle squeeze. “My dear, sweet boy,” he said slowly. One hand trailed up and rested upon the boy’s hair. “You’ve nothing to apologize for. Not for this. You can’t fault yourself for something far out of your control, out of anyone’s control. You were much too young when she passed; it would be maddening to think she or anyone else would condemn you for it.”

He shut his eyes, exhaling shakily. He fought to keep his voice steady. “I know it hurts, Sotiris. I know it hurts to have your mother’s image as nothing more than a blank slate, and the memories you would hold close to your heart are vague details told from others. But, she did not leave you stranded. What she left you is something that surmounts everything else, something no one else could provide or take away.”

Sniffling, one teary, reddened eye peeked from the shelter of the coat, staring upward.

“Your mother… she loved you more than anything the world could have given her. When the ship was attacked, through the destruction she made certain you were safe, e-even when it meant risking her own well-being in doing so. She…” He stilled, swallowing down a growing break in his throat. “It didn’t matter to her that she was hurt, how far she had to pull that lifeboat through the cold ocean waters that night. Nobody or nothing else mattered to her. Only you, Sotiris. The love she had for you, even in her last moments… Try as your father and I might, there’s no such affection or obstacle that can master it.”

His gaze flickered back to the tidepools, and through half-lidded, misty eyes, he saw her.

It’s a challenge to keep her head upright, to stop herself from completely slumping over and away from the lifeboat. In slow, harsh gasps, she puts on a rueful smile and stares at the crashing waves along the rocks. It takes minutes for her to gather her bearings, more to utter a pained request. There’s no hesitation from the two figures at her side, and immediately a small bundle is set in her shaking arms. Her smile only grows, the tranquil demeanor along her face a stark contrast to the grim injury stealing her life. She lowers and presses her forehead into the bundle, holding off the trembles that took over her body a short while ago as she murmurs a hushed promise to the infant wrapped snug in the dry blanket.

‘You’ll protect him, won’t you?’ She breathes out. Her eyes don’t leave the bundle. ‘Please, he deserves what I can’t give him anymore. My Sotiris, he…’

He found himself nodding, an anguished, silent reply to her plea that night. Neither he or Sotiris moved or pulled away from one another, and it wasn’t long before a growing wet patch broke through his coat and seeped past his shirt. His hand lightly rubbed circles into the boy’s back as the sobs rumbled against his shoulder, dying off into sputtered coughs before a spell of stillness fell over them both.

After a long while, sniffling, Sotiris withdrew from Faramund, the heels of his hands rubbing at his eyes. Faramund wasted no time, fishing out a small, green handkerchief decorated in red holly leaves and carefully taking hold of Sotiris’ arms in one hand, dabbing away tears fresh and old along the child’s eyes and cheeks with the other.

He mustered a small, melancholy smile. “One does not require memories to mourn the loss of a loved one, Sotiris, and let no one tell you otherwise. You’re allowed to grieve for your mother, now and forever.” He paused to wipe a new tear from the corner of Sotiris’ eye. “Her love for you, you carry it wherever you go, and it will stay strong through your own love. I know… if she were here now, she would be proud to see how far you’ve come. To have such a bright and passionate child as her son… she’d be honored.”

Sotiris’ voice was meek, croaky. “R-really?”

“Of course.”

Sniffling again, his eyes bloodshot, Sotiris glanced to the tidepools. “Can we stay here for a while longer? Please? I don’t want to go back to the inn yet.”

Faramund blinked in surprise before his face turned somber, patting the boy’s shoulder. “We can stay here for as long as you’d like. Come, the tide’s still low, and we can look at all the little plants and creatures nestled in the pools…”

~ ~ ~

He found himself thinking of her.

With the exception of a single candle fluttering in an ashen-coated lantern in the corner, the inn’s room was completely dark. Outside, the clouds returned in hordes and hid the stars and moon from curious onlookers, much to one’s displeasure outside their window. Much to Faramund’s relief, their outcries of vexation did not disrupt the sleeping occupant in the bed across the room, curled halfway into a ball beneath a patterned quilt.

In the dark, his back and shoulders pressed along the headboard and hands wringing themselves, Faramund thought of her.

How would she react, knowing he brought her child to not only her unmarked grave, but to the grave of the other passengers? He came to the only reasonable conclusion he could think of: furious. No doubt she would have berated him for such a foolish action, and he wouldn’t have blamed her had she decided to strike him.

Children should be basking in the care of their parents, running around and exploring imaginative worlds.

They should not be led to an area once clenched in death’s cold grasp.

Ah, a voice sang in his head, but the boy was in those cold hands once not so long ago. Is he not already familiar with its ways?

He winced at his fingers nearly choking one another, prying them away with some hesitation. He shook his head, shutting his eyes closed with a shaky breath.

What was your name?

Quiet.

Why were you on the ship? What were you running from?

Nothing.

Had she survived, he wondered what would have become of her and Sotiris. Would she have gone the way of her unknown goal, possibly to be never seen again? Would she have accompanied him and Tomas to Amaranthine, perhaps extending a branch of friendship and camaraderie?

He shook his head again, shifting his position on the mattress. He had all these questions and more, questions to answers that will forever be out of his grasp.

“Dad?”

A sudden creak of wood against pressure snapped him from his thoughts and he started, his hand nearly slipping from the bed and almost throwing him to the floorboards below. He righted himself, fumbling with the ends of his undone necktie when he turned his head. In the dim light, Sotiris’ outline wrapped in the quilt stood out clear.

“Dad?” he repeated, hushed. “How come you’re not asleep?”

“Ah, unfortunately it’s one of those restless nights I picked up from your father. Did I wake you?”

He could barely make out Sotiris shaking his head. “I can’t sleep. I did all the suggestions you and Da say to do and I can’t. I don’t feel tired.”

“Given today’s events, I’m not wholly surprised to hear that.” There came a moan from the bedframe, and Sotiris’ mattress dipped from the newfound weight shifting on the edge. “It was a lot to take in, I’m sure.”

A moment of stretched silence crept through the room.

“I suspect, however,” Faramund added, slowly, “that today isn’t all that’s currently on your mind.”

“No,” came the shy response. The quilt rustled faintly in the dark. Then, “Da said you were an orphan, and… a-and you didn’t know your parents, either.”

His brow knit, Faramund said nothing at first. His hands took to tugging at his cufflinks once more, and he swallowed. “He is correct. Why… How did he come to tell you this?”

“I asked,” Sotiris mumbled. “I was asking him about his family, and then about yours, b-but he didn’t say anything else after it. Da wouldn’t talk about his family, either.”

“That… sounds like your father. But don’t take it too hard, Sotiris. He…” The corners of Faramund’s lips flickered downward. “The less he’s asked about that particular subject, the better.”

The fabric of the quilt continued to swish in Sotiris’ grip. “Did you miss them? Your parents?”

Were the lantern closer to them, a shadow would have fallen over Faramund’s eyes. “Truthfully, I did not think of them with pleasant thoughts growing up. I was about your age if not younger when th… When I lost them.” He licked at his lips, pinching his fingers deep along his cufflinks. “I didn’t miss them.”

“Oh.”

The candle sputtered out its last flames, then the once feebly lit corner turned black.

Sotiris’ voice was barely above a whisper and he shuffled closer to Faramund. His head rested along his father’s arm and he said, “Dad?”

“Hm?”

“Is… is it okay if I miss Mom? Even if I can’t remember her?”

Against the window, faint droplets of rain tapped and splattered along the glass and shutters, falling to a rhythm lasting seconds before it unleashed a mighty torrent to the inn and streets. For but a moment, Faramund feared some had broken through the ceiling, as the sleeve of his shirt became damp. His heart sank at the reality, but he shifted and closed his arm around the child’s shoulders with an assuring squeeze.

“Absolutely.”

In the distance roared thunder. Neither seemed to notice, nor care.

“I miss her.”

Faramund closed his eyes tight at the brimming heat poking at them.

“So do I, Sotiris.”

#skost scribbles #i started this thing like 2 months ago and my one braincell wanted to keep this sht going why am i like this #more OC writing sht

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drtanstravels · 7 years

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In the first part of this trip we had spent an amusing night in Sitges, followed by few days seeing the sights, catching up with friends and eating in Valencia. Now it was time to make a move to Barcelona.

Tuesday, September 5 We packed all of our luggage into the back of our Mini and it was time to hit the road, down the freeway to where we’d be spending the night, Peñíscola. Yes, people have constantly reminded me that the place sounds like its name resembles that of a phallic-themed carbonated beverage, but this was an awesome place and not only because parts of season six of Game of Thrones were filmed there, not by a long shot. Here’s a bit about Peñíscola:

Peñíscola, anglicised as Peniscola, is a municipality in the province of Castellón, Valencian Community, Spain. The town is located on the Costa del Azahar, north of the Serra d’Irta along the Mediterranean coast. It is a popular tourist destination Peniscola, often called the “Gibraltar of Valencia,” and locally as “The City in the Sea”, is a fortified seaport, with a lighthouse, built on a rocky headland about 220 feet (67 m) high, and joined to the mainland by only a narrow strip of land.

The present castle was built by the Knights Templar between 1294 and 1307. In the fourteenth century it was garrisoned by the Knights of Montesa, and in 1420 it reverted to the Crown of Aragon. From 1415 to 1423 it was the home of the schismatic Avignon popeBenedict XIII (Pedro de Luna), whose name is commemorated in the Castell del Papa Luna, the name of the medieval castle, and Bufador del Papa Luna, a curious cavern with a landward entrance through which the seawater escapes in clouds of spray.

My arch-nemesis, Google Maps, led us to the location without a hassle, but then decided to cause problems once we were there. The road into the old-town seemed to get quite narrow once you passed the gate at the end of the beach so we parked the car and tried to find out hotel on foot, however, as we were getting out of the car someone walked up and told us we would probably get a fine if we parked there because the parking was only for residents after a certain time in the afternoon. Looks like Anna would have to try and get us around those tiny streets, initially built 700 years ago, long before the invention of the automobile and with the purpose of catering to foot-traffic, horses and carts at the most, in mind, in order to locate our hotel, the Dios Esta Bien. Back in the 1970s, my parents drove a Mini and that’s when they were legitimately tiny cars. Both of my parents are well over 6′ (182cm) tall and this was during a time of afros and platform shoes, them getting in and out of that thing would’ve looked like a clown car at the circus. Things are a little different now, new models of Mini are on the road, such as the one we had rented, and they aren’t that small anymore. If anything, they are probably slightly larger than most small car models these days. The screenshot of the map (right) was taken later in the night on the beach after dinner, the road we were more than likely on at this particular time was the Calle Saiz de Carlos and we had to make it to our hotel. Not an easy task, especially when you’re driving on the opposite side of the road to what you’re used to on streets so narrow that you can’t even open the doors in some parts. You know it’s a tight fit when the locals on the street are cringing and curling up their faces as you slowly meander through the lanes, so Anna eventually stopped in a tiny parking lot and we devised a new plan; Anna would wait in the car in case there was a problem with parking, I would set out on foot and try to find the hotel. Those tiny streets get a little difficult to navigate when your map isn’t working, however, I followed it as best as I could and decided to find a cafe so I could use their wifi, but accidentally stumbled upon our hotel in the process. The hotel manager was sitting out the front, having a smoke when I found him and burst into laughter when I told him our predicament, telling me it happens quite often. He walked down to the car with me and offered to Anna to drive it up to the Dios Esta Bien, to which Anna gave a resounding “Yes!” We had luggage on the back seat, meaning there was no room for anyone to sit so we just walked up to the hotel and met him there. We checked in, took our luggage three floors up the extremely narrow staircase to our room and then drove the car back down to where there was a carpark we could actually use. The stressful part was officially over, we could now walk out and get a taste of Peñíscola (pun absolutely intended):

If a truck can do it, then it can’t be that difficult

Walking down the street to our hotel

The view from our room

The stairs are a bit tight

For some of us, anyway

Walking down to the carpark

Anna navigating one of many tight turns

Looking at the castle from the beach

Panoramic shot of the beach

Looking back into town

Jamon again!

The face pedestrians made when they saw Anna trying to take the really tight turns

We walked around, checking out Peñíscola and stopping off at random places for the occasional latte, but before long it was time to eat again. We looked for a while, deciding between several really good looking restaurants, but then stumbled upon Taberna El Ánfora and the decision really just made itself. There is a kind of poorly translated description from the restaurant on Trip Advisor that says:

Our restaurant offers our guests a traditional Mediterranean seafood cuisine. We have our menu with a characteristic dishes of our establishment and others that vary from fresh fish, to offer our clients a different way to taste the Mediterranean fish and seafood. The chef Daniel Colom cooking style dishes “sailor fishing boat” will offer a unique experience and move you with its variety of typical dishes of sailors the world of “seafarers” We wait for you.

I guess what they were trying to say is that all of the food is freshly caught and that the chef/owner, Daniel Colom, goes diving daily for fresh shellfish so if something isn’t available, it’s because he couldn’t catch any that day. Once inside the restaurant, lobster traps act as lampshades and the walls and ceiling are adorned with treasures and artefacts the chef has discovered while diving, broken antique vases from the ocean’s floor, that type of thing, however, photographs aren’t allowed unless you are eating there. We pulled up a seat, ordered a variety of stuff, some we were familiar with and some we’d never even heard of, such as sea nettles, which tasted kind of like deep-fried oysters but a quick look at wikipedia and it tuns out that they are actually of the jellyfish family. Once we had ordered, Daniel took us inside to show us around, look at all the stuff he had salvaged and pose for photos in sailor hats similar to those worn by Donald Duck and Japanese schoolgirls.

The food was spectacular, we followed it up with some free shots of some local alcohol and then took a long walk around the beach before heading back home. Some scenes from the night:

I would eat here nightly if I could

My view while we were having dinner

Just Anna and myself looking stupid again

A cabinet with some of the stuff Daniel has salvaged while diving

Fortunately, we’re in the background of this one

Octopus and potato stew

Sea nettles

With Daniel Colom

The most bored person I think I’ve ever seen

Looking at the foreshore

The sea at night

Walking back to our hotel

Wednesday, September 6 Today Anna was going to have to navigate those crazy back alleys again in order for us to be able pack our luggage in the car, but that’s not something you can probably do on an empty stomach so we decided to wander around the castle and then go down to the pier area, have a coffee and get some lunch. After walking around, looking at the buildings and watching the fish swim in the water, we settled into another great little seafood restaurant called Puerto Mar. Yet again, we ate ridiculously well, feasting on a different variety of sea-snails to usual, as well as razor clams among other miscellaneous sea creatures. I’ve always loved Spanish food, but I could eat the seafood in Peñíscola every meal for the rest of my life and be completely content. In an effort to delay driving the car back up to the hotel, we walked around the beach for a while, just taking in the scenery, but it was inevitable; Anna would have to tackle those extremely compact laneways, but yet again she pulled it off superbly and before long we were packed and making our way to Barcelona. When we arrived we dropped off our car at the rental place near our hotel and it turned out there was a scratch in the paintwork, most likely from all of those sharp curves, but luckily she paid for full insurance to begin with. To quote the man who served us when we returned the car, “You could’ve just brought back the steering wheel and it would’ve been fine.” Once the car was sorted, we checked into our hotel, which was located near the conference centre where the 2017 Euretina Congress was being held and, although our hotel was nice and on the beach, there wasn’t a whole lot else around the general area where we were staying. We looked around a shopping mall, Diagonal Mar Centre, that was located behind our hotel, but that was just like the countless malls back home in Singapore. Once we were done wandering around there, we had dinner and a few drinks, then decided to cash in that night and make the most of the following day. Still, it was a day well-spent:

In the lobby of the Dios Esta Bien

This little guy decided to check out the view with us

It’s pretty relaxing here

Walking around the castle

Anna and some houses

Making our way along the pier to the restaurant

Puerto Mar

Where to begin?

Well, how about with these?

Taste so good

Some clams

Probably should de-stress again before trying to drive back up to our hotel

This was one of the wider streets!

It’s amazing that there was only one small scratch on the car in the end

Thursday, September 7 Anna had to present at the conference on Friday so it was best to make the most of one of our only full days together in Barcelona. The plan of attack? Get some coffee and go take a look at Sagrada Familia:

The Basílica i Temple Expiatori de la Sagrada Família (English: Basilica and Expiatory Church of the Holy Family) is a large unfinished Roman Catholic church in Barcelona, designed by Catalan architect Antoni Gaudí (1852–1926). Gaudí’s work on the building is part of a UNESCOWorld Heritage Site, and in November 2010 Pope Benedict XVI consecrated and proclaimed it a minor basilica, as distinct from a cathedral, which must be the seat of a bishop.

In 1882 construction of Sagrada Família commenced under architect Francisco Paula de Villar until 1883, when Villar resigned. Gaudí took over as chief architect, transforming the project with his architectural and engineering style, combining Gothic and curvilinear Art Nouveau forms. Gaudí devoted the remainder of his life to the project, and at the time of his death at age 73 in 1926, less than a quarter of the project was complete.

Relying solely on private donations, Sagrada Familia’s construction progressed slowly and was interrupted by the Spanish Civil War, only to resume intermittent progress in the 1950s. Since commencing construction in 1882, advancements in technologies such as computer aided design and computerised numerical control (CNC) have enabled faster progress and construction passed the midpoint in 2010. However some of project’s greatest challenges remain including the construction of ten more spires, each symbolising an important Biblical figure in the New Testament. It is anticipated the building could be completed by 2026—the centenary of Gaudí’s death.

The basílica has a long history of dividing the citizens of Barcelona: over the initial possibility it might compete with Barcelona’s cathedral, over Gaudí’s design itself, over the possibility that work after Gaudí’s death disregarded his design, and the 2007 proposal to build an underground tunnel of Spain’s high-speed rail link to France which could disturb its stability. Describing Sagrada Família, art critic Rainer Zerbst said “it is probably impossible to find a church building anything like it in the entire history of art”, and Paul Goldberger describes it as “the most extraordinary personal interpretation of Gothic architecture since the Middle Ages”.

We arrived at Sagrada Familia and Anna had managed to score tickets online that allowed us to go 65m (213′) up the basilica’s Passion Towers, a process that is only possible by elevator, however, the descent back to ground-level involves walking a very narrow, winding staircase consisting of over 300 steps. Here’s how we saw our time both outside the basilica, as well as inside:

The main basilica

Looking from the side

Anna in front of the entrance

Inside

And the other end

Panoramic shot inside

Once we’d been up, we would have to walk down a staircase like that

The view from one window in the Passion Towers

Same view, but obscured by Anna

A small stairwell to the other tower

Still under construction

Apparently that’s the route we took

It’s a long way down

Some people are dicks

One of the numerous scale models inside

To exit the building, in typical style you must go through the gift shop, but en route to the store the walls are lined with many highly-detailed scale models of what the finished building will look like, hand crafted by designers and artists. One can’t help but think that they would be a lot more closer to completing the building if they put that effort into the actual basilica, as opposed to building so many models of it. These things aren’t small, either!

Following Sagrada Familia was to be the interesting part. We were about to spend the rest of the day shopping, making our way into the city and eventually ending up at La Rambla, the site of the Barcelona terrorist attack just three weeks earlier. If you haven’t read part one of this post or have just plain forgotten the details, here’s how it went down:

On the afternoon of 17 August 2017, 22-year-old Younes Abouyaaqoub drove a van into pedestrians on La Rambla in Barcelona, Spain, killing 13 people and injuring at least 130 others, one of whom died 10 days later on 27 August. Abouyaaqoub fled the attack on foot, then killed another person in order to steal the victim’s car to make his escape. Nine hours after the Barcelona attack, five men thought to be members of the same terrorist cell drove into pedestrians in nearby Cambrils, killing one woman and injuring six others. All five attackers were shot and killed by police. The night before the Barcelona attack, an explosion occurred in a house in the Spanish town of Alcanar, destroying the building and killing two members of the terrorist cell; including the 40-year-old imam thought to be the mastermind. The home had over 120 gas canisters inside, which police believe the cell was attempting to make into one large bomb or three smaller bombs to be placed in three vans which they had rented; but which they accidentally detonated.

We weren’t worried at all, if anything it would most likely be safer because everybody would be on their guard and there would be a lot more security around.

The two of us made our way through the city, admiring some of the bizarre architecture and happy in the fact that this was going to be our home for the next few days. Eventually we arrived at La Rambla and there were very few signs that anything had happened in recent times. La Rambla is a tree-lined pedestrian mall, closed to transport, that stretches for 1.2 kms (0.75 miles) with many shops, bars and cafes, however, there were no shrines or memorials, but a large police presence with police cars and armed officers blocking every possible entrance point. Besides that, it seemed like it was back to business as usual, people appeared relaxed and at ease. That was until a car backfired and everyone flinched in unison, that terror still present in their eyes as they mentally flashed back to what they were doing several weeks earlier when they first heard the news, but the fear subsided again soon enough.

The entire day I couldn’t work out why I was getting such dirty looks from some people, then it dawned on me — I looked like a Trump supporter. I was wearing the t-shirt I received when I bought the VIP package to see Ween on the President’s Day weekend in Broomfield, Colorado last year which has Dean and Gene Ween satirising Benjamin Franklin and Abraham Lincoln respectively, with a parody of the American flag behind them, the stars replaced with Boognish logos. To top off the look, I was also wearing a red cap advertising a pizza store that, in actuality, looked a lot like a ‘Make America Great Again’ hat on first glance. From now on I’ll actually look in the mirror before I walk out the door.

A lot of the stores around the area were similar to what we would find in Singapore, but there was still some pretty cool stuff around and Anna could’ve happily spent every cent she had. After we tired of looking at the shops, we had a couple of mid-afternoon libations in La Rambla, stopped off for some dinner and then found a shisha bar that had some pretty decent Palestinian beers, something I had never seen before. Here’s how it all looked from our perspective:

I bet elves live in this building

Maybe this one, too

La Rambla

They didn’t actually sell them

Yes, apparently this is an actual plant…

…as are these chilis

Enjoying a drink on La Rambla

A mural in the shisha bar

I really do look like a redneck

Anna going a little red

Almost time to go back to the trailer and brush my tooth

Don’t worry, our trailer’s in a nice part of Barcelona

Friday, September 8 Friday was to be Anna’s first full day at the Euretina Congress, she was also making a presentation, offering me the opportunity to explore the city by myself. I made the 45-minute beachside walk into town, stopping off for a coffee along the way, and spent most of the day in the same way as the previous afternoon, but just looking at record stores and stuff that I like to do when I’m alone in a new city, but particularly exploring the Gothic Quarter of Barcelona:

The Gothic Quarter is the centre of the old city of Barcelona. It stretches from La Rambla to Via Laietana, and from the Mediterranean seafront to the Ronda de Sant Pere. It is a part of Ciutat Vella district.

The quarter encompasses the oldest parts of the city of Barcelona, and includes the remains of the city’s Roman wall and several notable medieval landmarks. Much of the present-day fabric of the quarter, however, dates to the 19th and early 20th centuries. El Call, the medieval Jewish quarter, is located within this area, along with the former Sinagoga Major.

The Barri Gòtic retains a labyrinthine street plan, with many small streets opening out into squares. Most of the quarter is closed to regular traffic although open to service vehicles and taxis.

We had already seen a decent part of the Gothic Quarter the previous day, but because I walked into town this time, I got to approach it from a different angle and find new parts. See for yourself:

When the beach looks like this, it’s a perfect day for looking at the Gothic Quarter

Water tower in Barceloneta Park

I know nothing about soccer, but I thought this might have something to do with FC Barcelona. Turns out I was wrong.

Walking around the Gothic Quarter

More of the Gothic Quarter

Still more

Columbus Monument at the lower end of La Rambla

Barcelona Maritime Museum

Pretty saucy for Baghdad, but I guess the spelling isn’t much to go by

El Portal de Santa Madrona de Barcelona

Although I could physically do it, I couldn’t spend all day walking around town because I had to attend a ball with Anna for the conference that night in Casa Llotja de Mar, a 14th-century stock exchange. Finally, the people that Anna has conference calls with every Wednesday to discuss a journal article they are writing would be able to put a face to the torso of the man who keeps accidentally walking into the background of the screen of their calls in nothing but his underwear. Again, the food was outstanding and a great night was had by all, except until I realised I was wearing the exact same clothes as the last time I ate with Professor Holz, Anna’s boss in Germany. He didn’t notice, but he got a bit of a chuckle out of it when I showed him a photo. I think in the future I might make a point out of wearing that shirt and those pants every time I know he is going to be around.

Saturday, September 9 This was to be our last full day in Spain, so we intended to make it count. We both love flea markets so the first stop was to be the Encants Vells Flea Market:

Barcelona’s Encants Vells, also known as the Mercat de Bellcaire, is one of the oldest flea markets in Europe and dates back to the 14th Century.

In 2013 Els Encants relocated to a stunning new purpose built 3 story structure opposite the Agbar Tower.

The emblematic mirrored canopy houses 500 stalls; a mixture of junk shop, antiques fair, jumble sale and old school market all rolled into one.

In addition to second hand books, ornaments, cameras, furniture and clothes, there are also stalls selling new clothes, furniture, decorative items, toois, hardware and electronics. Not to mention 2 bar/cafés, several small antique shops and a shop that sells electric bikes.

The 33,306 m² canopy was designed by Fermin Väzquez and is without doubt one of the most impressive modern market buildings in Europe.

Okay, I’m struggling to believe those dimensions as well, 33,306 m² (358,503 feet²) seems somewhat unrealistic, but this place was still pretty damn huge! Needles to say, it had a bit of everything so we were rather content for an hour or two, just pawing through other people’s crap.

The reflective ceiling

I love stalls like this

The entrance

Reflecting on life choices

I said this place was enormous

Porn and paintbrushes in the one place. Convenient!

After we had finished, we had the chance for one last great meal and my hair was still done from the ball the previous night, so we went down and pulled up a seat in a Michelin star tapas restaurant called Tickets. Apparently you need to book weeks or months in advance and according to the Michelin Guide they supposedly only open for dinner, but we just got lucky; it was raining outside, they were just opening for lunch for some reason, maybe something they only do on Saturdays, and they must’ve had a cancellation or something, but they were able to fit us in. But even if we had to wait months on a booking, it definitely would have been worth it! Here’s how Time Out describes Tickets (it’s also one of the only descriptions I could find that didn’t consist of a review longer than this entire blog post!):

The Adrià brothers have triumphed again with this ambitious Barcelona-based round-up of their philosophy of tapas. With four different sections – seafood, the grill, sweet treats, and little inventive surprises – you’ll get ‘El Bulli’ versions of all tapas from all over Spain. Squid in its ink with almond paste or grilled watermelon are just a couple examples. Dining here implies a trip through Ferran and Albert Adrià’s culinary wisdom, emphasizing the playful nature of eating. A true dinner party, we would say.

Here’s a look inside Tickets, a portion of the tapas we tried and a few more scenes from around Barcelona on our last day in town:

Someone looks excited

Anna thought these chairs were pretty cool

A little under-dressed with our bloody marys

King crab leg

Don’t be fooled, that is actually creamed cauliflower next to the caviar

Octopus

Quail up next

Cooking it beside our table

And done

Now into the dessert room

Frozen cheese and berries

Tickets cheesecake

Down a lane

A bar at tapas time

Barcelona Cathedral

A lamppost

I probably would’ve named it something else

That night, a whole bunch of the doctors had dinner together and the younger ones amongst us went out to a bar for the night. Anna and myself still had to get up the next morning for a reasonably early for a flight, but we still managed to stay up and party on until the end, our dignity intact.

Rosa and Anna

The whole crew

Sunday, September 10 Our flight was at 11:00am so we needed to be at the airport at around 9:00am. We managed to do it, albeit exhausted, and due to the time differences, it was 7:00am on Monday by the time we got back to Singapore. We caught an Uber home from Changi Airport, Anna re-packed and went straight back to the airport again in order to fly out to Myanmar at midday to do volunteer surgery in a remote village for a week. That woman is a machine! I was left for the week with this thing, but it was too interested in the jamon bone we brought back for it to really pay attention to anyone else. Looks like I’d be spending some time at the pub

That does look tasty…

Our entire trip to Spain was a blast; Sitges was a fun night, Valencia was a nice, relaxing break, Peñíscola was breathtaking, and Barcelona was all that we expected. Thanks again to Rosa and Roberto for letting us stay at your house, we didn’t actually expect you to move out for us, and we’ll be back again for next year’s conference.

UPDATE: Just before I was about to publish the end of this story, more violence kicked off in Catalonia. From the video’s description:

Footage from the Catalonia Independence Referendum has shown what appears to be Spanish police brutality against peaceful demonstrators in Barcelona and elsewhere. Catalan officials say at least 337 people have been injured in clashes as police try to prevent voting in Catalonia’s independence referendum. The Spanish government has pledged to stop a poll that was declared illegal by the country’s constitutional court. Police officers are preventing people from voting, and seizing ballot papers and boxes at polling stations. In the regional capital Barcelona, police used batons and fired rubber bullets during pro-referendum protests. The toll of injured was confirmed by a spokesman for the Catalan regional government, as well as the region’s health department. Separately, the Spanish interior ministry said 11 police officers had been injured.

Looks like we got out just in time!

Traveling to Spain in the Wake of a Tragedy, pt. 2: Peñíscola and Barcelona In the first part of this trip we had spent an amusing night in Sitges, followed by few days seeing the sights, catching up with friends and eating in Valencia.

#attack #Bacilica #Barcelona #cathedral #Euretina #flea markets #food #Game of Thrones #Gothic #La Rambla #Peniscola #Seafood #terrorism

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licencedtoretire · 4 years

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After consulting with various people at Tuapiro Reserve, we decided that the next port of call would be the small seaside village of Omokoroa. People we had spoken to told us about the ferry that runs to Matakana Island, a couple of cafes and the boating club. Together with a walking and cycle trail, all of these are attractions they assured us that make the area worth visiting. They also explained that there are a couple of freedom camping areas you can stay, but the one close to the ferry terminal was their choice.

Turning off SH2, we wondered if somehow we had got the directions wrong. There seemed to be nothing but the sprawl of suburbia. New housing developments springing up on each side of the ride just reinforced this view. Sarah said to me, thinking I must be just about ready to use one of the many roundabouts and head somewhere else. That we should drive to the spot and have a look they wouldn’t have said what they did unless it was worth going there.

I read later that this area is now a satellite suburb of Tauranga, a 25-minute drive away. Many of the farms and orchards have been carved up for suburban sprawl. I am not sure that I am a fan, but I guess you have to live somewhere.

Eventually, the road winds its way down to the Omokoroa Domain. It’s here that there is a large freedom camping area. Again there are spots large enough that we can park without taking up half the rest of the carpark. Even better there is potable water and a dump station also located here.

There is however a reasonably major drawback, an enormous Pohutakawa tree that not only encroaches on some of the freedom camping spots but would also wholly shade your solar panels from sunlight. Thankfully we avoided that problem finding one of the three places next to the boat shed.

Despite having driven through suburbia to get here, this place has a real country feel. Backing onto an enormous reserve on one side and the water just across the road on the other give it a completely different feel. Having said that we were there on a Wednesday and you would imagine that it would be really busy with boat trailers in the carpark. Maybe though that might just add to the whole atmosphere.

As we like to do, we set off for a bit of an explore once we had the motorhome parked up. The whole area has its own unique feel about it. With the white sand on the beach and the ferry terminal making it feel like the beginning point of some exotic destination. The large carved stone anchor on the foreshore a tribute to the Maori waka that would have dotted this beach in days gone past.

Talking about waka, at the headland slightly further along the beach, there is an old Maori Pa. Not much remains today except a rather steep gully that had been cut out of the soil, but there is an informative signboard.

The walk continues right around the headland and in front of some very flash looking houses. While it’s lovely to have this sort of walk, I often wonder how the people in the homes must feel with people wandering past looking into their house. Still, it’s a delightful walk. Once you reach the end, you can either turn around and walk back or follow the streets, which is what we did. It’s convenient in a situation like this to have Google maps on your phone to help navigate the way.

We decided that we would treat ourselves to lunch at the cafe located next to the freedom camping area. It’s not often that we do this sort of thing as we are often disappointed with our choices. Here the view was terrific, and it was a great day, so we wandered upstairs to the cafe lulled into a false sense of security. Sadly the best thing about the meal other than the view was the bottled orange juice. It’s not often I review places on Google these days, but I gave them 2 stars, maybe that tells you about the quality of the food. Of course, we may have just struck them on a bad day, you can only judge on your own experience.

We were told that the food at the Yacht club was of a much better standard, but they are only open Thursday to Sunday during winter. So we missed out on trying them out.

Even though there was a reasonably cold wind blowing, it was a beautiful enough day to get out the bikes and head off for a ride. The local council here have done a fantastic job putting in a bike trail that runs along the coast. In fact, you can follow it all the way to Tauranga, but we weren’t feeling anywhere near that energetic.

What we did discover is that there is another freedom camping area along this trail. Located at the Cooney Reserve with access from Margaret Drive (just off the main rd) it’s basically a carpark with water views, but the gates are locked at night. This would alleviate the boy racer problem but could create an issue of you needed to leave during the night.

There seems to be plenty to do here, aside from the great walks and bicycle track you could spend hours just watching the boats coming and going. The fuel tanker you can see on the ferry was there to refill it. It arrived at about 5 past 1 missing getting there before the 1pm sailing, so it sat there for 2 hours waiting for it to come back and refill it then.

There was an enormous assortment of vehicles heading to and from the island. With farm machinery, stock trucks and the like mixing with cars. From how heavily weighed down one of the cars was with cases of beer I guess there are no liquor shops on the island.

I had a very peaceful nights sleep. Sarah, however, complained about the trains going all through the night. I seriously thought she had imagined them until I saw one in the distance back towards the road. I guess that’s one of the problems parking close to the water, is that the sound carries across the water. Don’t let that put you off; it is really a great spot even if it feels like driving through suburbia to get here.

Parked next to us for the night were Suzie and Jim who had also been at the Tuapiro reserve and had ended here, like us, thanks to the information passed on by Lee and Ian. What a great community we are part of.

☕ If you liked this post (click here) to buy me a cup of coffee and help keep future posts coming ☕ To view the places we have visited click here to see them on Google maps. You can then click the link to read the blog about that area. [cardoza_facebook_like_box] To view our Campground Ratings system, that we have done for places we have stayed click here

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Omokoroa -Peace in Suburbia After consulting with various people at Tuapiro Reserve, we decided that the next port of call would be the small seaside village of Omokoroa.

#campervan blog New Zealand #campervan holiday New Zealand #Freedom camping #Motorhome Blog New Zealand #Motorhome Holiday New Zealand #RV Blog

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andrea-cristina-travel-blog · 7 years

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Why you should travel solo at least once in your life

Why travel solo? Mark shares how his solo travel experiences changed his life, and why you should travel solo at least once. Some journeys can only be travelled alone – Ken Poirot I’m four hours into the Sunday shift stacking shelves in the dairy section of my local supermarket. As I place the remaining greek yoghurt onto the shelf, I’m struck by the mundane monotony of it all – what has my life become? My mind wanders, and I picture myself arriving into a European city, full of hope and excitement. My revery is broken by the sound of my boss barking at me – “hurry up, Borts”. I hop to it, but the thoughts persist for months. Life was pretty easy 12 years ago. I lived at home, I’d dropped out of university and I was spending earnings each weekend partying. Sure, I was having a good time, but this wasn’t the life I’d envisioned for myself just a year earlier, when i’d graduated school and been accepted into Melbourne University. I’d lost sight of my passions in life. One day, I sat down and thought long and hard about what I valued in life, and what exactly those passions were. I even sought advice from my father, who suggested I get a job that allowed me to do what I love. What did I love and what were my passions? That answer was pretty simple; pretty much anything to do with travel. I knew my future lay in the travel industry, so I applied for a job at Qantas, with the idea that I’d use my job to explore the world. It worked. I got the job, and used the enviable staff benefits to travel to buy a ticket to Europe. I knew i needed to travel by myself; as cliche as it sounds, I needed to find myself, and I knew the only way to do that was to get right outside comfort zone. The daydreams became reality. OUT OF MY DEPTH Bang. Culture shock hit me hard as I stepped out of Gare du Nord in Paris on my first solo overseas trip. I didn’t pre-book a hostel, I knew zero French, and I had no idea how to get around, and yet I expected everything to fall into my lap, much like it would in Melbourne. It didn’t. A taxi driver refused to pick me up because I spoke English, and another local shooed me away when I asked for directions. Flailing in the heat, I stumbled around Montmartre for hours until I found a hostel with a bed available. Culture shock, and a feeling of complete helplessness prevented me from exploring a lot in Paris, apart from seeing only the most famous of sights. Giving up on Paris, I jumped aboard a train for Nice hoping for a change. And to my horror, Nice was worse. When I arrived, All the hostels in town were booked, so I found the cheapest room in town. I spent a day inside my horribly overpriced hotel room, too shy to head out and explore. I sat in bed, reading the latest Dan Brown novel, telling myself I was having a good time, yet I wasn’t. I was depressed, and lost. One evening, after I dragged myself out of my dingy hotel room, I sat on the Nice foreshore, staring out across the sea, feeling incredibly alone and contemplating my next move. Two young Americans sat next to me, and after hearing English for the first time in days, I jumped in on their conversation without hesitation. They were studying abroad, and were on a quick vacation in Nice. After a few hours, a decent meal, and a cheap beer or two, we went our separate ways, but not before they invited me to meet up with them and their friends the next day. I walked home with a spring in my step, feeling thoroughly invigorated. A LIFE AFFIRMING CHANCE ENCOUNTER The next day was amazing; one of those perfect travel days. I met the two Americans and their group of hostel friends, and spent the day on the beach and exploring Nice. There was amazing conversation, amazing food, too much booze, and one hell of a fun day. All it had taken was one moment of fearlessness, to initially strike up a conversation with two strangers, to change my life. The shyness that seemed to follow me for my youth evaporated, and the outcome gave me a welcome confidence boost. I realised I could no longer wait for things to come to me, I needed to pursue them. I realised I needed to work hard to achieve the amazing things i wanted in life. I realised I needed to go back to university and complete my studies. I realised people are inherently good, and to be more trustworthy. And I realised the privileged life I live is pretty damn awesome. The snowball effect from my moment of confidence meant the rest of my trip through Europe was one big lesson in how awesome life is. I decided to say yes to everything. I decided to I speak to everyone I met. And I decided to choose spontaneity over normality. I made lifelong friends, I re-enrolled in university, and I returned to Melbourne a new man. And that’s the beauty of travelling solo. WHY TRAVEL SOLO THEN? You might think it’s weird that we would be pushing you to travel solo (at least once) given we’re a couples travel blog, but we think it’s an absolutely essential part of life, and you’ll experiences things you’re not able to if you travel with your partner. Here’s why: #1 YOU HAVE TO MAKE AN EFFORT EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. Seriously, to make the most of your solo travel experiences, you need to make an effort every single day. Whether it’s speaking to the person sitting opposite you at breakfast, or the lady you buy a baguette off at lunch, you can’t get by without making an effort. And it does wonders for your self confidence. #2 TO GET OUT OF YOUR COMFORT ZONE You know that comfortable bubble you live at home? It doesn’t exist on the road. Travelling solo will make you embrace the unfamiliar faces, places and challenges that present themselves at various points life. #3 YOU’LL OPEN YOUR LIFE UP TO CHANCE Like my experiences in Nice can attest, it’s far better to open you life up to chance, than to not. Sometimes, just rolling with it can lead to the most incredible outcomes. #4 YOU’LL GET TO KNOW YOURSELF BETTER Whether it’s getting outside your comfort zone, learning a new culture, doing something slightly risky, or simply being comfortable with your own company, travelling solo will let you discover you, and in many ways that’s the most important thing you can learn. #5 EXPERIENCES > THINGS WILL BE YOUR NEW MOTTO Travelling solo will make you realise the value of experiences, not things. Let’s be honest, eating a delicious gelato while overlooking the Cinque Terre is 100 times better than that new jumper you want. #6 DECISIVENESS WILL BECOME YOUR NORM (ain’t nobody going to make those decisions for you) Yep, you’ll HAVE to make your own decisions if you’re travelling solo. There’s the added benefit that you won’t be held accountable for a bad decision, but when you do eventually travel with your partner, you’ll be able to make the right decision every time (hopefully.). #7 THE WORLD IS INCREDIBLE, AND YOU SHOULD SEE AND LEARN AS MUCH AS YOU CAN Exploring all the corners of the earth will leave you continually speechless, and you’ll learn a lot from different cultures and ways of life. You’ll learn that the Romans were seriously incredible, that Sri Lankans are extremely welcoming people, that Africa is actually pretty safe, that plastic is a scourge on this planet, that animal tourism is a no no, and that, if you’re reading this blog post, you’re a fortunate human being. Want more travel inspiration? Read these posts! 12 lessons learnt from 12 months of travel Why life experiences are the new riches How we saved to travel the world – and you can too! FOLLOW OUR ADVENTURES ON FACEBOOK | INSTAGRAM | TWITTER | PINTEREST LIKE THIS POST? PIN AND SHARE IT! JOIN OUR TRIBE & WANDER WITH US Join 30,000+ people and receive travel stories, tips + hacks, and stunning photography to inspire your wanderlust. Straight to your inbox We hate spammers. We'll never be those people. The post Why you should travel solo at least once in your life appeared first on The Common Wanderer.

https://www.thecommonwanderer.com/why-travel-solo/

#Inspiration #Personal #Solo male travel #Solo travel #why travel solo?

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andrea-cristina-travel-blog · 7 years

Text

Why you should travel solo at least once in your life

Why travel solo? Mark shares how his solo travel experiences changed his life, and why you should travel solo at least once. Some journeys can only be travelled alone – Ken Poirot I’m four hours into the Sunday shift stacking shelves in the dairy section of my local supermarket. As i place the remaining greek yoghurt onto the shelf, i’m struck by the mundane monotony of it all – what has my life become? My mind wanders, and i picture myself arriving into a European city, full of hope and excitement. My revery is broken by the sound of my boss barking at me – “hurry up, Borts”. I hop to it, but the thoughts persist for months. Life was pretty easy 12 years ago. I lived at home, i’d dropped out of university and i was spending earnings each weekend partying. Sure, i was having a good time, but this wasn’t the life i’d envisioned for myself just a year earlier, when i’d graduated school and been accepted into Melbourne University. I’d lost sight of my passions in life. One day, I sat down and thought long and hard about what i valued in life, and what exactly those passions were. I even sought advice from my father, who suggested I get a job that allowed me to do what I love. What did I love and what were my passions? That answer was pretty simple; pretty much anything to do with travel. I knew my future lay in the travel industry, so I applied for a job at Qantas, with the idea that I’d use my job to explore the world. It worked. I got the job, and used the enviable staff benefits to travel to buy a ticket to Europe. I knew i needed to travel by myself; as cliche as it sounds, I needed to find myself, and I knew the only way to do that was to get right outside comfort zone. The daydreams became reality. OUT OF MY DEPTH Bang. Culture shock hit me hard as I stepped out of Gare du Nord in Paris on my first solo overseas trip. I didn’t pre-book a hostel, I knew zero French, and I had no idea how to get around, and yet I expected everything to fall into my lap, much like it would in Melbourne. It didn’t. A taxi driver refused to pick me up because I spoke English, and another local shooed me away when I asked for directions. Flailing in the heat, I stumbled around Montmartre for hours until I found a hostel with a bed available. Culture shock, and a feeling of complete helplessness prevented me from exploring a lot in Paris, apart from seeing only the most famous of sights. Giving up on Paris, I jumped aboard a train for Nice hoping for a change. And to my horror, Nice was worse. When I arrived, All the hostels in town were booked, so I found the cheapest room in town. I spent a day inside my horribly overpriced hotel room, too shy to head out and explore. I sat in bed, reading the latest Dan Brown novel, telling myself I was having a good time, yet I wasn’t. I was depressed, and lost. One evening, after I dragged myself out of my dingy hotel room, I sat on the Nice foreshore, staring out across the sea, feeling incredibly alone and contemplating my next move. Two young Americans sat next to me, and after hearing English for the first time in days, I jumped in on their conversation without hesitation. They were studying abroad, and were on a quick vacation in Nice. After a few hours, a decent meal, and a cheap beer or two, we went our separate ways, but not before they invited me to meet up with them and their friends the next day. I walked home with a spring in my step, feeling thoroughly invigorated. A LIFE AFFIRMING CHANCE ENCOUNTER The next day was amazing; one of those perfect travel days. I met the two Americans and their group of hostel friends, and spent the day on the beach and exploring Nice. There was amazing conversation, amazing food, too much booze, and one hell of a fun day. All it had taken was one moment of fearlessness, to initially strike up a conversation with two strangers, to change my life. The shyness that seemed to follow me for my youth evaporated, and the outcome gave me a welcome confidence boost. I realised I could no longer wait for things to come to me, I needed to pursue them. I realised I needed to work hard to achieve the amazing things i wanted in life. I realised I needed to go back to university and complete my studies. I realised people are inherently good, and to be more trustworthy. And I realised the privileged life I live is pretty damn awesome. The snowball effect from my moment of confidence meant the rest of my trip through Europe was one big lesson in how awesome life is. I decided to say yes to everything. I decided to I speak to everyone I met. And I decided to choose spontaneity over normality. I made lifelong friends, I re-enrolled in university, and I returned to Melbourne a new man. And that’s the beauty of travelling solo. WHY TRAVEL SOLO THEN? You might think it’s weird that we would be pushing you to travel solo (at least once) given we’re a couples travel blog, but we think it’s an absolutely essential part of life, and you’ll experiences things you’re not able to if you travel with your partner. Here’s why: #1 YOU HAVE TO MAKE AN EFFORT EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. Seriously, to make the most of your solo travel experiences, you need to make an effort every single day. Whether it’s speaking to the person sitting opposite you at breakfast, or the lady you buy a baguette off at lunch, you can’t get by without making an effort. And it does wonders for your self confidence. #2 TO GET OUT OF YOUR COMFORT ZONE You know that comfortable bubble you live at home? It doesn’t exist on the road. Travelling solo will make you embrace the unfamiliar faces, places and challenges that present themselves at various points life. #3 YOU’LL OPEN YOUR LIFE UP TO CHANCE Like my experiences in Nice can attest, it’s far better to open you life up to chance, than to not. Sometimes, just rolling with it can lead to the most incredible outcomes. #4 YOU’LL GET TO KNOW YOURSELF BETTER Whether it’s getting outside your comfort zone, learning a new culture, doing something slightly risky, or simply being comfortable with your own company, travelling solo will let you discover you, and in many ways that’s the most important thing you can learn. #5 EXPERIENCES > THINGS WILL BE YOUR NEW MOTTO Travelling solo will make you realise the value of experiences, not things. Let’s be honest, eating a delicious gelato while overlooking the Cinque Terre is 100 times better than that new jumper you want. #6 DECISIVENESS WILL BECOME YOUR NORM (ain’t nobody going to make those decisions for you) Yep, you’ll HAVE to make your own decisions if you’re travelling solo. There’s the added benefit that you won’t be held accountable for a bad decision, but when you do eventually travel with your partner, you’ll be able to make the right decision every time (hopefully.). #7 THE WORLD IS INCREDIBLE, AND YOU SHOULD SEE AND LEARN AS MUCH AS YOU CAN Exploring all the corners of the earth will leave you continually speechless, and you’ll learn a lot from different cultures and ways of life. You’ll learn that the Romans were seriously incredible, that Sri Lankans are extremely welcoming people, that Africa is actually pretty safe, that plastic is a scourge on this planet, that animal tourism is a no no, and that, if you’re reading this blog post, you’re a fortunate human being. Want more travel inspiration? Read these posts! 12 lessons learnt from 12 months of travel Why life experiences are the new riches How we saved to travel the world – and you can too! FOLLOW OUR ADVENTURES ON FACEBOOK | INSTAGRAM | TWITTER | PINTEREST LIKE THIS POST? PIN AND SHARE IT! JOIN OUR TRIBE & WANDER WITH US Join 30,000+ people and receive travel stories, tips + hacks, and stunning photography to inspire your wanderlust. Straight to your inbox We hate spammers. We'll never be those people. The post Why you should travel solo at least once in your life appeared first on The Common Wanderer.

https://www.thecommonwanderer.com/why-travel-solo/

#Inspiration #Personal #Solo male travel #Solo travel #why travel solo?

0 notes