Our first day trip began with a visit to Montserrat mountain, located fifty minutes west of Barcelona. Montserrat means "serrated" in Catalan and it's easy to see why this distinctive rocky range was given this name. The highest peak of Sant Jeroni is 1,200 meters above sea level and can be seen from far away.
No matter what I write about Angels Rest, it will sound clichéd. Everything I do write about it here, however, is true.
Of all the elephants at Elephant Nature Park with their multitude of injuries - broken legs, broken backs, dislocated hips, missing limbs from landmines - I don't know why Medo has lodged herself so deeply in my heart. But she has. And every morning during our stay I'd anxiously wait for her to appear.
Lek Chailert has earned global respect for her tireless work rescuing abused elephants and providing them with a life free of abuse. She's collaborated on laws that would provide them protections, has won international awards, and been featured in articles and documentaries seen around the world. Despite the accolades, in her own country she's been persecuted, threatened, ridiculed, raided, disowned by her own family, and even forced to go into exile for a period of time. But she has never given up fighting for her beliefs.
A tinny PA squarbles some unintelligible noise in the distance, reminding us that the Sunday market is about to kick off. Outside our hotel, Rachadamnoen Road has been wondrously transformed from a hustling, exhaust-filled road choked with cars, tuk tuks, and scooters to a bustling thoroughfare of market stalls brimming with a vibrant array of tastes, smells, sights, and sounds.
On our first morning in Chiang Mai we stepped outside our hotel in the Old City onto Ratchadamnoen Road with a map in hand but really with the intent to just allow our feet and eyes to lead us. One block later we came to our first wat.
I'm standing at the entrance to Park Güell, eyes closed, awash in a sea of voices speaking different languages. It's one of the things I love most about traveling: losing yourself in the sounds of another culture, forced to be an outsider and at the mercy of the kindness of strangers.
What can't be accurately described with words or photos are the lush bush sounds at Antelope Park. Each night there was a cacophony of croaking frogs loud enough to drown out most everything else. Except, that is, the sounds of lions roaring up at BPG. This time I was determined to capture both, and brought recording equipment to do just that.
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