wanderlust wednesday

Lacock Abbey. The village of Lacock, Wiltshire, England. March 2013. 


One of my first Wanderlust Wednesday posts featured photos from this magical place.

The village of Lacock, other than having a name that makes me giggle no matter how many years I mature to, is a charming 13th century village in England. We had the pleasure of visiting it in the middle of a multiple-stop tour from London. We were only stopping in the village for a quick lunch break, but Dustin and I broke from our tour group and guide (with her permission) to go tour Lacock Abbey instead. It had special importance to us, being one of the main filming locations for Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. 

The abbey is country chic. While we were visiting, there was an art show of some kind going on, featuring various statues and sculptures around the property. It was quite providential that the one in the middle of the intricate courtyard happened to be a unicorn. We weren't mad about it.

The abbey was fairly quiet and had very few other visitors while we were there, which made it particularly easy to imagine we were touring a section of Hogwarts. The abbey was used to film several classrooms in the first movie, including Snape's, Quirrell's, and the room that held the Mirror of Erised. It was also used for a few hallway scenes, including the moment when Harry first hears the basilisk outside of Lockhart's office in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. 

It was an exhilarating visit. It was very difficult to tear ourselves away from our imaginations when we knew it was time to meet the group again. I am personally thankful that my husband is an extrovert and was able to request this time alone for us, and that our tour guide was so kind and susceptible to adventurous spirits.

(You can read the original travel post over on my first blog here).

Read all Harry Potter posts.

wanderlust wednesday

Snapshots from Grand Cayman, The Cayman Islands. July, 2012. 

The summer of 2012 was one of immense victory. We went on our first cruise together, which led us to a stop in the Cayman Islands. As you can see from the photos above, traveling to Cayman is an experience entirely made of shades of vivid blue. One of our dear friends happens to live there, so we were able to meet up with him and get a personal tour of his home and the best local food and activities. And then the victory: I willfully and knowingly accepted a proposition to get into the water with real, giant, horrible monsters of the deep. And I lived.

I'm terrified of the ocean. I was born and raised in Arizona so perhaps my fear of giant masses of water came from a lack of experience with it, but I'm inclined to say my fear just comes from wisdom because the ocean is expansively, undeniably horrible and scary. Even with this knowledge and practiced avoidance of water (my chances of dying via shark jaws decrease enormously if I stay the heck away from all bodies of water forever), we had this opportunity three summers ago to test our limits, face our fears and shake hands with sweet, slimy, docile sting rays. Who also happen to be the murderers of the great Steve Irwin. Yes, I might have respectfully brought that up a few times in between my bobbing shrieks while visiting Sting Ray City.

Of course, the reason why the rays were so incredibly friendly (read: tried to swallow us whole) was because our dear friend kept throwing little squids in the water around us and tucking them into my husband's swim shorts. We didn't find this out until later. Explains a lot. We'll get our revenge.

All of that psycho babble aside, the Cayman Islands were breathtaking. The food was delicious. Seaside smoothies are nothing to scoff at. The water was turquoise. And truly, I always swell with pride when I think of the feat we accomplished by swimming with the rays. That swell quickly deflates when I remember all of the aforementioned shrieking, but I like to focus on my initial bravery and not how I handled the fear later on.

wanderlust wednesday

The Hill of Slane. Slane, Ireland. March 2011.

Traveling to Ireland was the first trip my husband and I ever took together just the two of us. We were 22 years old and had been married a grand total of 2 months and 2 weeks. I've posted before about Ireland, but this entry is perhaps the most exhilarating to remember. 

Part of the excitement of our Ireland adventures was renting a car and making day trips. Driving on the other side of the road was endlessly terrifying and fun, and we felt incredibly accomplished as we followed our (sometimes faulty) GPS named Julie across the windy countryside. One of these day trips was to see the Hill of Tara, which was fairly high on Dusty's to-see list. Unfortunately, we weren't that travel savvy, and ended up getting there too late. All of the tours were booked! We had completely botched our chance. Feeling a bit lost and bummed, we walked around the Hill of Tara gift shop a bit, grabbed a snack from the cafe, and then just decided to just explore. Off-roading with the sheep is the best way to see Ireland anyway.

The scenery is gorgeous around there. In preparation for our trip, Dusty had read about several hills in the area, one of them being Tara and another was in Slane. Our GPS was hopeless at this point, so once we found Slane we just explored. We even happened upon a castle. The village was tiny and charming, and eventually we discovered the criss-crossed wooden signs, one of which pointed up the road and read "The Hill of Slane". We finally found ourselves driving up a steep little roadway that was completely deserted. As we reached the top, the hill was splayed out before us like a bright green game board, the only pieces being intricate grey ruins at its crest. It was cold and overcast, and we were the only ones there. We just gaped for a good ten minutes, and once we realized there were no "KEEP OUT OR ST. PATRICK WILL CURSE YOU" signs anywhere, we ran helter skelter up the hill. We already knew this was the greatest off-roading of our entire lives. 

The legend goes that the daring St. Patrick lit a fire on the Hill of Slane in 433 CE in honor of Easter. It was a strong Christian symbol in direct defiance of the High King Laoire, who forbade any other fires to burn while a festival fire was burning on the Hill of Tara. Although Laoire could see the fire from his palace, he was impressed by St. Patrick's devotion. The king remained a pagan, but allowed St. Patrick to convert many of his subjects to Christianity. 

The Slane ruins are that of a friary church and college, which was abandoned in 1723. The traditional Christian hymn Be Thou My Vision is set to an early medieval Irish folk song named Slane, inspired by this location. 

Wikipedia served us well in learning more about the Hill of Slane once we returned to the states, but at the time, we were simply in awe of St. Patrick's statue and the insanely gorgeous day. It began to sprinkle a bit, and as the sun set the sky was a myriad of golden colors and the horizon was crowned with the most fortuitous Irish rainbow. It was stunning, all of it. We climbed the ruins for hours, just the two of us, losing track of time and reality as our cheeks grew rosy and our souls were filled to the brim. 

wanderlust wednesday

Sometimes I wonder how we can fall in love with a place we've never been to.

I've heard that quote a lot, and I find that it speaks to my heart. Whenever I see it I am almost inclined to pump my fist in the air, triumphant, like "Yes! That's so true!"
Go figure it's a quote from a John Green book, because he has a rather uncanny ability to reach straight to the heart and reveal wistful, tragic, beautiful pieces within ourselves. Don't even get me started on The Fault in Our Stars because I just don't have the emotional fortitude.

I can dig deeper for myself, at least, and say the reason I can find kinship with a place I've never been is a mixture of imagination, experience, storytelling, reading, and dreaming.

I wrote a post a few days back about experiencing Christmas around the world, and I could absolutely imagine myself in every one of those places. Puzzle pieces coming together from the various sources of imaginative powers that I have built up over the years. Memories, books, movies, photos. I am such a huge advocate for encouraging imagination in little kids and adults alike. I encourage it in myself almost every day. It really is a super power. How else could I fall in love with somewhere I've never been? Or even somewhere that doesn't even exist, like Narnia and Middle Earth and, sadly, Hogwarts.

We were created to be philosophical, adventurous, curious, imaginative, creative. This is the reason why I celebrate Wanderlust Wednesday. I love reliving my own trips and memories, but I also hope to inspire others to wish, dream, and imagine. I would love to spark that wanderlust in someone new, galvanizing them to make that life-changing decision to travel or, at the very least, to imagine themselves in a foreign place filled with new foods and new traditions and new adventures. To fall in love with a city they've never been to, and with people they've never met.

christmas around the world

This has been a great December so far.

The other day I was shopping at World Market, and I found these rather extraordinary globe ornaments. Restraining my desire to decorate an entire tree with them, I picked a single blue earth for our tree. It's the perfect addition to our ever-growing collection of ornaments, which we love to collect from each new place we travel. I absolutely adore Christmas ornaments. This tiny obsession comes directly from my dad, who has a very large obsession. His collection could probably fill 3-4 Christmas trees. It's magnificent. It's not Christmas until I can come home and hear my parents' tree, which is laden with 35 years of ornaments, including live-motion elves and villages which clink, tinker and buzz with our very unique Christmas morning soundtrack.

The new globe ornament was perfectly timed, because last night Dustin and I picked out our very first real Christmas tree together. Our basement smells incredible. It was rather thrilling picking one out for the first time! As soon as we pulled up to the striped circus tent covering the vibrant green trees and stepped out into the rainy night air, I was transported to a very long ago Christmas when I was a child. I vaguely remember getting real Christmas trees once upon a time, but over the years it became a hassle (they're messy, they dry out, they're a fire hazard) so we switched to a giant, rather glorious fake tree. I didn't really think about it again until my husband and I moved to Virginia, and we had friends who would legitimately go and chop a tree down each Christmas. That's the actual real deal right there. We don't have that kind of nature life in AZ. But it did galvanize my desire to have a real tree again.

So we dressed like it was 30 degrees (it was actually like 65), hopped in my mom's ginormous new truck with Christmas music blaring, and waltzed into the tree tent like pros, breathing in the fresh scent of fir trees. We carefully picked out our favorite tree (we immediately named him Frankie, short for Frankincense) and hopped up and down with freshly-cut Christmas spirit.

I have a secret wish to travel the world on Christmas.

Part of me knows I'll never do it, because as the song says, "there's no place like home for the holidays." I really couldn't imagine a Christmas without family.

But the wanderlusting dreamer in my heart imagines all of the magical ways the world celebrates Christmas, and longs to experience them. The Netherlands with their Sinterklaas and France with their Père Noël. Or perhaps Iceland, where Santa is replaced by 13 Yule Lads who come bearing treats the 13 days leading up to Christmas. I would love to visit Hyde Park's Winter Wonderland in London, or the Christmas Fair in Budapest to sample honey cookies and folk music. 

Wouldn't it be enchanting to do all of your holiday shopping in a Christmas market in Germany? With giant strings of stars sweeping from medieval buildings, and the smell of fresh gingerbread wafting from a nearby cart. I would love to know what it would be like for the hills of Austria to come alive with the sound of Christmas music. Or to wander through the wooden stalls of Prague's Christmas market, with their wooden toys and sparkling crystal and local animals.
What better way to celebrate the season than with a red-bridled llama?

I love Christmas in all of its wonder and worldwide reach. It is a different experience for every person, and yet it joins us together in so many ways. For me Christmas is intricately tied to my faith and to my family, and I revel in the twinkle lights and the celebration.

It's the most wonderful time of the year!