Can I get a ‘HELL YEAH!’?

Ever had that moment when you’re browsing online, perhaps trolling through social media on your phone, when suddenly something so wonderful appears that it simply cannot be ignored? It leaves your thumb hovering in mid-air like some ungainly fleshy insect that has forgotten how land. It seems to hum, or maybe that’s just your thumb beginning to shake from hanging in mid-air so long. I’m talking about a simple thumbnail image of a place unknown, glowing artificially through the screen, reflecting in your widened eyes like a beacon of starry-eyed possibility. Because the place is beautiful, exciting, entrancing, intriguing, mysterious, unknown…

 

Your senses begin to awaken. The want. The yearning. The wanderlust. You must find this place, this unknown place that has caught your eye, locked your mind, electrified your heart, and hurled your senses into overdrive. You take a hasty screenshot of the place, and flick to your contacts list. You scroll, scroll further. Who will you choose? Who will you take on this adventure? Scrolling, more scrolling. Always broke, always ill, always working.

 I don’t know… How much would it cost? How far away is it? How would we get there? When will we go? 

I don’t know. I literally have no idea. But I don’t care. We’ll make it work. We’ll take the train, the bus, a car, save up money – plan properly. But right now, I don’t care. We’ll make it work. Where there’s a will there’s a way, and all that. Let’s have a picnic in a forest! Let’s sing to the stars! Let’s get lost in a foreign city! Let’s fall in love with people, places, things, moments! Let’s run through the night and breathe, really breathe for once. Let’s just go. This is the time for excitement, anticipation, exploration!

But no. Questions, questions, questions, contaminating the excitement until it crumples into a subdued possibility. One day, we say, when we’re less busy. The image drops into the infinite backlog of photographs. Wishes and memories all bound together to peruse while sitting at home; on the bus; to sneak glances of at work; to sigh over, whilst getting ready for bed.

Memories become wisps, wishes become pangs of regret.

Just one day, I wish that someone would be spontaneous with me. It used to happen, during watery dawns and shivering twilights, star-spangled nights and sunshiney days. Then life caught up, and reality claimed us once more. We were enveloped into the rat-race and set on an ever-circling track. Round and round with no exit, other than throwing ourselves into the abyss.

Except our minds remain our own. Our hearts and hopes beat in a unique drumbeat of curiosity. We know it’s not enough, this endless cycle of grey travel to grey offices with grey people. We know. Deep down, we all know. Yet still nobody will be spontaneous with me. First come work, house, money, time. Then adventure, if we’re lucky.

That’s just not good enough for me. I feel restless, so restless. I need spontaneity sometimes. Not constantly, but sometimes it’s good to rock the boat a little. I don’t want all those exciting images to go to waste, I want to live and breathe them, and inspire others to do the same. Problem is, I don’t want to do it alone. I could go by myself, as so many others do. But I don’t want to, as I thrive so much more in company. Just one person would do; a security, a buffer, a friendly face to share the experience. But no, once more I am forced to add the enticing picture to the hundreds of other backlog images, gathering dust until they themselves turn grey.

What can I do? What can I say? Let’s just go! Let’s just stay…

All I want is one person who, instead of dragging up anxieties, will say ‘Hell yeah! Let’s go!’ It might take days to plan, it might take months, but all I want – all I yearn for – is someone to really feel that adrenaline rush of wanderlust, same as me.

I live in England, let’s face it, in a couple of years travel abroad will be a whole lot more difficult… So why wait, why settle now? Why not take the chance while it’s there? I’m sure I’m not alone in this, so if anyone does crave an adventure like me, please get in touch. Everyone needs an adventure sometimes, whether or not they realise!

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The universe was hers to hold, little did she know…

The universe was hers to hold, little did she know

Hers to mould and shape

The world would reform at her command

Reform, or crack and break

But she lost it to another, whose hand was mightier still

And he threw the earth to ruin

And spat on the lands until

 

She returned with a force

So powerful and bright

And called it the sun

And the moon at night

To guard the world from all peril

Demons and shadows borne from the devil

 

And the mighty one hid between the cracks

In the lava and smoke above land

But there he was spied, too late to hide

And was banished by her towering hand

 

To a place of hate and sorrow

A place of trickery and blight

Until the day of reckoning

The day he saw the light

When she flew to him from the ashes

Of a war he had wreaked one night

 

She grasped his steely hand

And flew low under skies of red

Soaring over trees and mountaintops

Littered with bodies of the dead

 

This is your doing, this is your world

To the heavens she roared

To the seas she hurled

Words of anger, words to scare

Words to force thought, words to make him care

 

But care he could not, for his heart was stone

And so she saw, he could not be alone

So placing him down on the edge of the land

Staring into the abyss, she took his hand

 

A life like no other, a life like this…

She gestured her arm away

To a land touched by the devil’s kiss

This was your vision, this was your dream

To rule from the skies, to command unseen

But you failed to deliver

Failed to commit

And thus your world is destroyed, and you with it

 

Here now we stand, together but apart

In the hopes of recovery, and a new start

Of building a legacy from an era of pain

But it can be done, as before when I came

And created the sun, the moon and the stars

To watch over earth, and heal its scars

 

Together we can rule, together we can fly

Together we can create and love, you and I

Harmony is all I ask

So, will you accept this task?

 

Know that I am patient, know that I am strong

Know that I will never give up, and that I am never wrong

For I am the goddess of wonder and starlight, of light and majesty and peace

I am the one who guides this world, and all the universe apiece

 

My eye sees beyond this world to the next, and everything within

It sees the war and destruction, and everything akin

It sees you amongst people, walking and building homes

It sees you loving and pleasing, smiling and writing tomes

For you will lead again, my friend

You will shine and dance

Because I can transform you to brilliance

If you would only give me a chance

 

Say yes to me now and the world is saved

Say no and it is doomed

Give me your word and your heart my friend, and the way forward is paved

For I am the goddess of twilight, the goddess of dawn and dew

And I pledge to help, my friend, to remove the darkness from you

 

Slowly he faced her, red eyes gleaming in the dark

A single tear rolled down a blackened cheek

The whispering groan of a breaking heart

The choice has been made, he growled, offering his lethal claw

Do with me what you will, I have a care no more

 

She held his hand gently, like a damaged and fragile thing

And bowing her head low, softly began to sing

The darkness vanished, replaced with dazzling light

The hand was clear, unmarked of any plight

Stand tall my friend, for you are anew

You have changed your ways, you will live as true

 

Tall and proud, there stood he

Made for goodness, made to be free

For the evil was banished, gone, destroyed

Leaving only a shell, a puppet to be toyed

And she took his hand and whispered a word

Then guided him away, to a place unheard

To live once more, in a land of love

In a land of starlight and wonder

Cast down from the universe above

Fine Dining in the Black Forest

As I sit here, on the first properly sunny day of this year, I can’t help thinking that today would be perfect for a picnic. I have always loved the idea of picnics, perhaps from my eternal fascination with the Mad Hatter’s tea party, or maybe the idea of conjoining one thing I love (food), with another (being outdoors). Either way, this thought took me to one of the most special picnics I’ve ever had – I would even go so far as to describe it as ‘breath-taking’ – in the Black Forest, Germany.

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Driving through the Black Forest

This was my first trip to Germany, and was quite the flying visit, given that the whole trip involved traversing five countries in two weeks. I like to call it a ‘sneak preview of Europe’, because those two weeks were definitely not enough to sate my wanderlust. I will write about all of those experiences in time, not necessarily in order, but when the time feels right to rediscover those memories. To be frank, it may be several years before I can bear to stomach some of the more uncomfortable and downright cringe-worthy experiences (I’m talking motorway breakdowns and minor sunstroke, alongside ‘ga-ga’ Satnav and misplacing the odd thousand euros). But all will come in time, I promise.

So, here we were in the Black Forest, trekking along a fantastic route filled with waterfalls, zig-zagging back and forth around the great expanse of leafy green; being dazzled every few steps by sunshine, which resolutely broke through the thick layer of foliage to throw a golden hue over the ecosystem below.

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A proper cascade!

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It flowed in rivulets from the top of the mountain to the floor below

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This is where we were. If anyone would like to enlighten me, feel free to translate the phrases for the ignorant English girl!

Having reached the top of the zig-zag path, I decided we were high enough to have a decent view whilst picnicking. Our diet for the two weeks was a rich supply of ham and cheese sandwiches, which we varied daily by choosing an assortment of meats and cheeses. (Since then, suffice to say, I could probably count the amount of said sandwiches I’ve consumed on one hand, but when you’re trekking through forest and mountainous regions all day, believe me, it becomes quite a delicacy to have almost all major food groups in one meal!) The important aspect of the picnic of course had little to do with the food here, but rather the environment and view! That said, I do sort of wish I’d taken just one snap of those oh so faithful ham and cheese sarnies…

Anyway, stomachs grumbling, we found ourselves on a slightly less beaten track. Of course we followed this, treading with a newfound, strange expectation. A few minutes later, I saw a break in the trees ahead – a clearing – good, I thought. I sped up, something other than the yearning for today’s salami and edam concoction urging me forward. Then the path ended. That was it, we couldn’t walk another step. Not because we were content with the spacious clearing we had found, or because we were simply too hungry to wait any more, but because ahead of us lay nothing except a gaping drop and a deep valley basin, crammed to the brim and overflowing with forest. And, like some wondrous mirage sent as an offering from the trekking overlord, right smack bang in the middle of the clearing, lay none other than a picnic bench.

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View: 100/10, space: 10/10, privacy: 10/10, food: 4/10

I was stunned. This was it, the picnic place of all picnic places, the place where I could eat my sandwich and forgot the somewhat samey flavour, whilst surveying the dark, foreboding grandeur at my feet. So that was what I did. I munched and overlooked the kingdom below, pretending it was all mine, and that every leaf and branch, every pebble and stream, every waterfall and river was mine to appreciate and protect from civilisation.

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I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to create a new habitat and live in the forest forever, with or without my ham and cheese sandwiches.

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Unfortunately, such reveries are ephemeral, allowing only a glimpse of euphoria before reality drags us back and forces us to return to daily life. To our commutes, our offices, and the tantalising, bittersweet countryside views; the air blowing the fresh scents, heavy with pollen, on waves of summer air which glide through the window, remaining just out of reach…

…Until next time, when we will load up the car, pack the ham and cheese sandwiches, and hit the road in search of the next picnic spot. For what is life, but a series of intermittent distractions between meals. It all depends on how we make the most of those stretches, to open our eyes, hearts, and minds to the whole forest, as well as the individual trees.

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I hope you are all having a wonderful weekend, and I hope this post lends some inspiration to the upcoming picnic season!

This Blog is Still Finding Itself.

I began this blog with the intention of creating a space for me to record my memories of places travelled, as well as finding the fantastical and magical aspects of seemingly normal, everyday places. The first few blogposts followed that ‘rule’, but since then my writing has taken off in many adverse directions.

I have opened up so much more than I ever imagined I would, just in these first two months. About my writing, myself; things very close to my heart that I barely discuss with my friends, let alone strangers. I guess I loved the idea of having an anonymous presence, where people would only judge the posts as they came and then disappeared into the endless vortex of other blogs. It was to be a completely effervescent lifestyle, where I could live in a single, temporary moment before moving on to something else. That much has remained the same, I still get a wonderful, spontaneous kick of adrenaline writing each post. It’s exciting for a day or so when I see the responses, but then it fades until I begin the next blog, and so on. Apart from that, the rest of the blog seems to have taken on a life of its own – my life – but in a format that only shows the deepest, most heartfelt thoughts, moments, and memories of mine.

I am okay with this, I think, but I will endeavour to continue writing about my travels far and wide too, discovering the magic and majesty wherever I go, and recording those moments in my blog. It may not be implicit where I see the magical elements during my travels but, rest assured, if they have made it to The Fairytale Traveller, there will definitely be some fantastical existence intertwined within the words, no matter how obvious or obscure. I can only hope that you, my fellow writers and readers, will be patient with me, until my words begin to form something greater than themselves, than myself; until the stories flow without restriction, the words dance about the page, and The Fairytale Traveller begins to breathe a life of its own.

Thanks to you all

Apocalyptic Love

He held her until the end, and she held him until the new beginning

Eyes shut to the darkening embers of a dead world, they waited

The waves dashed their bare feet, rolled over their ankles, thrashed against their knees

The wind rocked them back and forth, like dolls strung up by a transcendental puppeteer

The sky growled its warnings, deep and rolling, making the ground shudder to its core

But this was nothing

They felt nothing

There was nothing

 

Their feet were dry, their hands were locked, their heads were bowed

Nothing could break them

Not the crashing waves

Not the roiling winds

Not the great chasms zigzagging across the earth

 

Not the sudden streak of sunrise, slicing the raging sky in two

Not the blinding clash of golden rays on silver water

Not the great, relinquishing sigh of the dying wind

For still they stood, brow to brow, hand in hand

Waiting for the new beginning of a new world

Kiss

I remember the first, the second, and the third. The first was funny, because my hands were in front of my face. I wore a starry dressing gown and fluffy slippers, because I’d just woken up. It was 9am, and you’d brought croissants and orange juice so we could have breakfast together. You ate, but I couldn’t eat a thing. My stomach was knotted for no apparent reason. You were just my friend, after all. It was a normal Tuesday, and I was set to go to a lecture in an hour, but you had insisted on coming over as soon as possible. I said yes of course, and there you were at 9am sharp (the only time you’ve ever been on time anywhere) with breakfast and a smile. You ate three croissants and I ate three bites, then I went to get ready for class.

You followed me to my room, stood in front of me, looked at me for a long time. I waited, my stomach so knotted it was practically twisted inside out. I turned away. You turned me back. I smiled, and jumped backwards to stand on my bed. You smiled, ready for this, for my awful indecisiveness although there was nothing to decide. I flopped down, tucked my knees up to my chin, curled my arms around to cover my face, eyes gleaming over the top of my arms. You were in front of me, at the side of me, above me, all around me, but I stayed still.

A giggle. A wriggle. That was all it took. Your hands held my wrists and firmly, gently, tried to remove them. I was resilient. No words, just smiles, just playfulness. I would not be won easily. A sudden laugh, and the barrier was broken. My arms parted, and your face was there, inches, centimetres, millimetres, a hairs breadth…

I tensed as the sudden hot pressure became familiar. I relaxed. I smiled, and kissed you back.

***

The second was full of hunger, so much hunger. You were about to leave. We both had places to go, things to do, lives to live. A fleeting hour, and our precious time was gone. Bitter sweetness increased the passion. A year of pent up feeling, all channeled into a moment. The hunger was immense, the yearning, the want, the need, all transferred in one fleeting gesture of affection. Breaking apart left me in a daze. I still wore my starry dressing gown and fluffy slippers. Why had I not attempted to look the part? Because I hadn’t believed anything would happen? Because I didn’t want anything to happen? No. Because I knew you wouldn’t care, no matter what state I looked. I was already yours.

***

The third was almost a whisper, sending me into a momentary lapse of reason. In front of my door we said goodbye. So much had happened in that hour. So few words, but so much emotional release. I don’t remember a word of what was said that morning, only those intense few moments of happiness, of emotional relief. You walked out of the door, and I floated back to my room in a daze. It was only the beginning of a long journey, but already I had seen so many different, hidden sides to you. You were a puzzle, and still are several years later. But I love you for it, and I love the complex passion you bring to us.

Poetry in Disguise

I am not a poet. I write stories – short, long, fragmented – simple pieces of stand alone text. I would even go so far as to say I almost dislike poetry. Almost, but not quite. There is a part of me that wishes to understand poetry with the same fervor and complex appreciation as other writers. I have tried, yet the meaning still alludes me. There are some poems I do enjoy, those that possess a simple layer of meaning before giving themselves up to the riddles of their creators. I have no particular genre preference, rather, I occasionally  happen across a poem and think ‘I get that. I can regard that to a level worthy of the subject matter in question.’

I studied literature at university for four years and, after several valiant attempts to understand a cacophony of poets from Byron and Wordsworth to Eliot and Tennyson, my relationship with poetry has settled into a mutual acknowledgement that the other exists only to be observed and credited from a distance. Of course, what naturally follows from the inability to read poetry, comes the frustrating difficulty to write this rhythmic literature. If I can’t read/understand poetry, I sure as hell can’t write it, can I? Very very rarely have I written a poem, other than ones required during my academic studies. I have to come to the conclusion that I just don’t write it, and couldn’t if I tried. However, over the past weeks (basically since beginning this blog) it has come to my attention that this fact may not be as accurate as imagined.

If you have read any of my other recent pieces, it might appear obvious that there is poetry lurking not so inconspicuously within the realms of The Fairytale Traveller. Only last week I wrote a piece called ‘I Found Him’, which is most definitely a poem, but bizarrely I didn’t realise until the piece was up on WordPress. I had written it as one short block in a word document, thinking it a simple stand alone piece, not really meant for a full story or anything else. It baffles me now, having added more of these short blocks of text from my computer to WordPress, that only once uploaded in a new format have I recognised that these pieces are in fact poetry! Ultimate facepalm. WordPress has given these pieces a new lease of life, taking them from dusty files in the depths of my computer memory and throwing them out to the world in an entirely new style. When writing these pieces, it simply had not occurred to me that I could or should write them in a different style to blocks of text. I genuinely have no idea why… I amaze myself sometimes.

It seems poetry is not as out of my depth as I thought. I think I will still enjoy stories more, but it heartening to know that I could write a poem if I had the inclination. Or perhaps the only times I will write poetry is when I don’t realise I am? Either way, I am glad about one thing, which is that those little, random blocks of text were never simply abandoned or downright bad stories. Instead they were pieces of poetry, waiting like tiny, priceless gems to be discovered and freed by someone who actually knew what they were looking for. It appears I must learn to open my eyes more, to see what actually lies on the paper in front of me!