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Often times when you see travelers, you see them with their journals. Some would say it's a necessity, having that book or camera with them non-stop as they travel. It can be more important than a guidebook. Keeping a journal allows the traveler to jot down the details of their memories verbatim, before time has a chance to change recollections or perspectives. Journals can take the form of the typical bound book that you keep in your backpack pocket, or it can be something else: long letters home, photographs taken in the hundreds. This category explores the travel journal and includes essays, letters, photos, and diary entries about travel. Next
issue: April. Submission deadline: March 15, 2006.
On the slopes of the Menoreh Mountains, 45 kilometres from Yogyakarta in Central Java Indonesia, one can find the sacred shrine of Sendangsono.The shrine is a holy place that compares with that of Lourdes in France. It is visited by thousands of Roman Catholics each week - some on a pilgrimage, others seeking solace. It was at Sendangsono that Fatren Van Lith first baptised and converted one of the locals to the Catholic faith.
When most tourists come to South Africa, they rave about the breathtaking vistas of Cape Town and their safari expeditions. There's no denying the beauty to be found in South Africa, but I found it in a squatter camp and orphanage in Soweto, near Johannesburg.
Roma,
Cittá Aperta Rome reeks of historical sentimentality. There are paeans to slayed Roman generals at every turn, a smug looking Colosseum that dominates the majority of treacly postcards sold by smarmy vendors, and seven gloriously crumbling hills that wreak havoc on the knees. As a tourist you could not possibly want for things to do.
Manchester,
England Via Bury Bury’s bus station is an unattractive place. I think I’d sooner spend my time in purgatory. I can’t single it out as the most unattractive station in the northwest of England either, because in fact they’re all pretty similar. The same hopscotch of greasy chewing gum on the floor, the same rancid unidentifiable smells and the same pimple-faced teenagers eyeing you as if you were about to burn down their house.
At
The Ballet After a twenty-year hiatus, I am returning to ballet class. I was never a particularly gifted dancer. I toed in so badly as I child that I had to wear a corrective brace on my feet while I slept. And besides, I only made it through a semester of ballet class before my money ran out.
Bali:
a photojournal
Queen
of the Medina "Ba-BAH,
ba-BAH, ba-BAH-- the drums and horns at a nearby wedding
party are playing the same rhythm I heard just before we went to bed.
We had climbed up on our own roof hours earlier to take a look at the
festivities. The terrace was filled with people dancing and musicians
dressed in colorful hats and costumes.
Gold,
Sequins and Cigarettes
Buy
A Vowel
Cosa
Pensavo: What I Was Thinking I remember sitting at the airport in an uncomfortable chair. Three other Ball State University students on the same study abroad program tried to find a comfortable position in their own chairs. Above us, a television replayed the same news-brief for the sixth time. It was a story from Italy, I honestly don't remember what about. Between the newscaster's bits of text flashed brief images of Italians offering an answer to some question, the soft curves and elegant movements of their lips in ugly contrast with the sharp sound of an English translator's voice-over. I remember wondering, can I get one of those? Some minuscule chip implanted under my hairline that translates Italian into English inside my ear and English into Italian inside my throat?
A
Family Journey: a photojournal
During the couple of days off from doing paperwork while we waited for our daughter Piper's adoption papers to be completed by the Hubei provincial government, Tracy, our guide, was kind enough to take me to the place where Piper was found abandoned. Thereported location was the entrance to Gongchenyinga "committee"which translates to mean an apartment complex.
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In
Soweto, South Africa
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