Travel

  • Tricycle Community 0 comments

    The Third Sparrow Paid Member

    Prayer flags drifted on the wind like long strands of kelp in a current. The sun sank low and orange in the west. The trip was ending? No, couldn’t be. Impossible. Sophia and I walked our clockwise circles, again and again, not really believing that in a handful of hours a plane would rise from the Kathmandu Valley and we’d be on it. We’d been traveling in Nepal for five weeks, through sweaty jungles and mountains bright with snow and claustrophobic markets where old, hunched men sold metal beads, spices, cheap digital watches, hunks of raw water buffalo. There’d been elephants, monkeys, a man-eating tiger, and a moonlit horse nuzzling our tent with his big velvety nose. Countless children asking for chocolate. A gorgeous one-eyed woman. More »
  • Tricycle Community 3 comments

    8,000 Miles to India Paid Member

  • Tricycle Community 0 comments

    La Pala Paid Member

    Sancti Spiritus city, in Sancti Spiritus province, in Cuba, is not a tourist destination. It is a hot, poor, landlocked town. The streets are dusty, and most residents ride in horse-drawn carriages, or they walk. After checking into our hotel, my husband and I walked along an alleyway lined with merchants’ tables. Some sold food, some toys, and some practical household items. Idly, we asked the men who sat before tables of gear shafts, gaskets, and stove-top coffee makers if they had a shovel. Neither of us speaks Spanish, so we asked the question by miming the act of digging. No one had a shovel to sell. More »