SHARE YOUR STORY
this challenge is for you!
Send me your most amazing story you have ever had while traveling and I will surprise you with a very special reward.
Are you up to the challenge?
Send me your story using the form below;
Two judges and I will evaluate it;
If it's a good story, I will share it here and on my Instagram and I will reward you with a special gift.
💎 SHARE YOUR STORY
this challenge is for you!
Send me your most amazing story you have ever had while traveling and I will surprise you with a very special reward.
Are you up to the challenge?
Send me your story using the form below;
Two judges and I will evaluate it;
If it's a good story, I will share it here and on my Instagram and I will reward you with a special gift.
🇨🇴 When you travelling alone, you are never alone
Micael Fonseca 🇵🇹
___Medellín was, for me, an unforgettable place. During my backpacking experience through South America, a couple of years ago, I spent a month and a half in Colombia. Only after five months travelling with a few people I took the step of travelling by myself, I left my friends and I entered Colombia. After two weeks in Colombia I've arrived to Medellín. The bus from Bogotá arrived very late in the night and as usually I would choose a hostel in the center of the cities. I remember to arrive at the hostel at 3 a.m. But no-one seemed to open the door. In front of the hostel there was a big square and the scenario within the square was absolutely shocking. There were approximately 300 people on it. Everyone was under drug effects. In front of my eyes there were people injecting themselves, fucking, shitting in bags,... After five minutes and after being interpelled a couple of times, someone opened the door. The hostel was huge and had great conditions. However, no-one else was hosted there for the two nights I spent. From the room I could keep seen such awful scene in the square.
Next day I joined for a walking tour in the center, where I have met some people and later another tour on the comuna 13. A favela type community that had been attacked by the police some years ago in an attempt end the cartels domination on that place, causing thousands of civil casualties. In order to erase this image from it, they have made such place an open air museum of graffiti paintings where artists need to compete for having their work on the walls. The tour gide was cute and said she lived in there and invited us over. She lived with her baby daughter, little sister and her blind grandmother. The house was not even finished and we could see they were poor. However she gave us everything she had (local rhum, coffee, pastry), we all dance and spent a few hours there. In there I felt what humanity should be like and I saw more generosity and open heart from people who had little.
The next day I moved to El Poblado (where the party is) and made a tour to Guatape (pedra del penol) and played paintball at old house of Pablo Escobar. I played Pablo in 'kill Pablo' game and got killed in less than a minute. The worst Pablo ever!
My last day in Medellín I managed to gather a huge group of people I met during my days in there and it was one of the best parties ever! How the night ended is not a story to be told but I can tell it was the cherry(s) in the top of the cake.
I left Medellín towards Cartagena but a little of Medellín will always be part of me. In Medellín I learnt that when you travel alone you are never alone
Mickael Fonseca
🇧🇷 A favela mais bonita do mundo foi a minha primeira casa
Catarina Severiano 🇵🇹
___Foi durante a pesquisa sobre alojamentos que eu encontrei um cantinho chamado - Favela do Vidigal. No Google dizia que era uma favela pacificada, no Rio de Janeiro, ou seja, que havia um acordo entre os bandidos e a polícia e que, por isso já não era considerada uma favela perigosa.
Era ali. Primeiro porque tinha alojamento barato e depois porque parecia-me um desafio interessante para a primeira viagem a solo no mundo e com pouquíssima experiência a viajar (risos).
Depois de dois dias em viagem até ao RJ, lembro-me de chegar já de noite à entrada daquela que iria ser a minha primeira casa no mundo e pensar: “Bolas! Ainda agora cheguei e já meti o pé na poça”.
O ambiente parecia-me pesado. Quando sai do táxi meio mundo olhou para mim e eu senti-me despida. Era o medo do desconhecido.
Fui levada até à porta do hostel, por um mototaxi, mas antes disso, quando vou para subir para a Mota, o rapaz pergunta: “Moça, você quer que eu segure sua mala?” Ao qual eu respondo com rápidos traços de quem está com medo de ser roubada… É aqui que nos leva o julgamento. Afinal ele só queria ajudar e fazer o seu trabalho bem feito. Nem tudo é mau. Aliás, há muita coisa maravilhosa ali, aprendi eu dias mais tarde.
Na primeira noite, o hostel estava vazio de hóspedes. Era eu e o responsável. A varanda tinha vista para uma rua com casas despidas de tinta. Era o azulejo, as janelas ainda abertas, os cabos de eletricidade e telefone tudo misturado, entrelaçado e ninguém paga nada.
Quando me dirijo à rolote para comer, porque já era tarde e era a única coisa que havia, vejo um grupo de crianças a brincar, a rir felizes, na estrada principal. E foi ali que eu pensei: Se elas conseguem ser felizes aqui, mesmo que com pouco, eu também terei de saber encontrar essa beleza!
A vida ensinou-me o meu lugar. Provou que o meu julgamento tinha de ser educado.
Em 15 dias de estadia total na favela, eu fiz amigos locais, eu vivi em casa de local, eu acompanhava-os na sua vida rotineira, eu assistia a peças de teatro com eles, eu tive dentro da Globo Brasil para me cadastrar (eu sou atriz) e tudo graças à ajuda dos meus amigos locais, eu dançava com os músicos do bloco (carnaval) da minha rua. Eu fui feliz ali.
É certo que provei que não há favela pacificada. Eu cheguei em época de festa por isso, os tiros eram mais frequentes, mas nada se via nas ruas principais e eu tinha de ver de perto como era.
“Onde estão os bandidos?” - Pergunto curiosa.
“Estão lá no meio do morro. Você só chega lá andando, é por isso que você não acha eles aqui. Eles estão mais refugiados.” - Respondeu o meu amigo.
“Podemos lá passar? Quero ver com os meus olhos como é. Algo mais claro.” - pedi entusiasmada.
Responde ele elevando a voz - “Você é doida moça. Como assim você quer se cruzar com bandidos?… Isso é uma loucura, mas, talvez possamos ir ao ponto mais alto da favela beber um copo, comer uma tapioca bem conhecida e aí pelo caminho você vê ….”
Era mais do que certo. Ao fim do dia fizemos-nos aos degraus da favela. Aos becos bem apertados como mostram nos filmes. E passado alguns minutos de subida vemos um grupo de homens reunidos, passamos por eles, e a conversa mais altiva e tensa que se fazia por ali abrandou, e alguém pergunta - Oi moços, querem maconha?
Demos as boas tardes, dissemos que não à maconha e continuamos sorridentes a subida.
Poucos metros à frente o meu amigo pergunta entusiasmado por me dar uma experiência à altura - Amiga, você viu a “metrelhadorazona” que o moço tinha lá?
Ao qual eu respondo perdida -Não! Não vi nada disso! Como assim passei por uma metralhadora e não me apercebi?
Eu subia natural, como uma local, eu ia à procura de uma experiência para a vida não de reconhecer metralhadoras A ou B. Eu subi feliz e agradeci por darem os bons dias. A maconha dispensava mesmo, de verdade! (Risos)
Já no topo, à vista era de cortar a respiração. Víamos a cidade maravilhosa bem do alto. E na rua passava com frequência o grupo de rapazes que mais pareciam um gang de miúdos, a passear com os brinquedos nas mãos, mas desta vez os brinquedos eram armas. Eles não fazem mal. Fazem o papel deles, que é atacar quem os ataca, que por norma é a polícia. Mas como é óbvio, não é nada bom se estivermos perto dessa situação!
Descemos já pela rua principal para não criar suspeitas. E pela primeira vez, já a chegar a casa, faço um desvio para marcar o dia e a hora para fazer tranças com cabelo postiço. A entrar no beco, ganho um susto inesquecível. À minha frente tinha uma criança de 14 anos com duas armas na mão. Era o mais perto que tinha tido desta experiência com armas, mas o que é certo é que, enquanto aguardava a cabeleireira chegar, sentámo-nos numa pedra com o menino a falar de temas aleatórios. Ali ele era somente uma criança. Com o acréscimo que ao seu colo tinha duas armas prontas para parar qualquer polícia que ali entrasse ao ataque.
Voltei com a certeza que a vida ensina-nos a julgar o livro pela capa demasiadas vezes. Injustas vezes.
Aprendi que a minha primeira loucura foi a história mais bonita que já escrevi, porque fui com o coração.
Ele sabe sempre qual é o lugar certo para nós.
🇮🇩 Bali is a feeling, not a place
Laura Cristóbal 🇪🇸
___My first time traveling alone was 5 years ago in Bali. It was the best decision of my life, as I discovered the treasures that lie behind traveling by yourself.
I just fell in love with that magical place, that’s why I went back 4 years later, but that’s another story.
The first stop was Nusa Penida, a small island located in the southeast of Bali. I decided to go there to volunteer in a Turtle Conservation Project. It consisted of collecting turtle eggs from fishermen and keeping them safe until they hatch and grow big enough to have a chance of survival back in the sea, and also finding injured turtles, which were treated and rehabilitated by us. I met beautiful people there and we spend our time doing stuff for the turtles: collecting seaweed, beach cleaning, feeding them and giving them medicines.
My first time traveling alone was 5 years ago in Bali. It was the best decision of my life, as I discovered the treasures that lie behind traveling by yourself.
I just fell in love with that magical place, that’s why I went back 4 years later, but that’s another story.
The first stop was Nusa Penida, a small island located in the southeast of Bali. I decided to go there to volunteer in a Turtle Conservation Project. It consisted of collecting turtle eggs from fishermen and keeping them safe until they hatch and grow big enough to have a chance of survival back in the sea, and also finding injured turtles, which were treated and rehabilitated by us. I met beautiful people there and we spend our time doing stuff for the turtles: collecting seaweed, beach cleaning, feeding them and giving them medicines. The end of the project was releasing the baby turtles into the ocean, such an emotional and unforgettable moment. This project meant a lot to me and made me realize all the threats the poor turtles have to face everyday to their survival, of course as a consequence of humans’ actions. The bright side is that there’s always good-hearted people ready to help and change things for good.
Another fascinating experience of my trip to Bali was visiting the “Ubud Monkey Forest”. This is a natural sanctuary which is home to over 700 macaques.
At the entrance, they told us we had to tuck away inside our bags basically everything: cameras, phones, food, bottles, plastic or paper bags, because they would probably jump and steal them from us.
The environment was wonderful: beautiful trees, paths to follow, a river, temples…and of course monkeys. We could see them eating, swinging, playing and generally monkeying around.
We were taking pictures and, suddenly, this big-ass male monkey climbed onto a bald man’s shoulder. He was clever enough not to move or maybe he was just shocked. The monkey couldn’t resist the temptation and decided to tap that bright bald head. The episode was hilarious, but it made us realize that we could be the next target.
Before I could react, one of the monkeys was already running towards me at an alarming speed. He jumped onto my bag and with a single movement of his arm he reached my earphones, which were visible in one of my bag’s pockets (yes, very smart of me). He looked at them with curiosity and started chewing them; I could hear the painful “cracking” sound. Meanwhile, I was just watching the whole scene with resignation.
Finally, after a few minutes, he got bored and decided to throw them away, so I could get my beautiful chewed earphones back. Funny fact: they still work and I keep them like a treasure. Thank you, Mr. Monkey.
What I learnt from that experience: monkeys are funny and curious, but also scary and unpredictable; you are not supposed to look them in the eye. And if they come close on you, don’t panic: just stay calm and slowly walk away.
Obviously, I can’t finish my story about Bali without talking about Balinese people. They are kind, they have huge hearts and infectious smiles. They just show love for everyone. What a wonderful world we would live in if we could learn about them.
Every time I think about Bali it brings a smile to my face. I’ve always said that I left a piece of my heart there. It is true what people say: Bali is a feeling, not a place.
🇮🇩 BBQ Gecko
Jessica Gomes 🇵🇹
___One of the most famous animals in Bali are the Geckos.
They are basically everywhere. You can find them in a coffee, in a hotel, in your room behind your wardrobe, in your toilet next to your mirror. Everywhere.
Gecko sound is also one of the most recognizable Bali sounds, something like “wah-wah”.
At my house in Bali, they really liked my kitchen. Every time I got to the kitchen, I got a little scared, since they moved as soon as they hear some noise or feel some movement.
But they had a special place in that kitchen… something like home for them or maybe a nice place to take a nap: below the toaster.
