Travel and Verse

stories of travel, medical missions, and more

Month: June 2019

Travel Journal, 19

June 27, 2019 / / 0 Comments

What happens when things go bad? What do you do when your day goes sideways and your control crumbles? And that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? When I’m traveling, I feel the most comfortable when I feel like I am in control.

On a sudden, chaos strolls in and starts naming names.

You reach for your wallet, gone.

The hotel clerk can’t find your reservation.

Open up your suitcase. The contents are covered in shampoo.

Three policemen step onto your train and start questioning foreigners, that’s you.

You have to “go” but apparently all of Europe does not believe in the public restroom.

You run to your gate to find your flight has left without you. We did. And it had. There we sat, hoping we could get onto another flight. Our control was completely gone.

But as we sat there sulking, a small crowd ran up to a different gate. They too had missed a flight. The airline agents had left by now, and I could see the plane taxiing down the runway. One guy screamed for assistance. Others just stomped around; mouths agape. One man jumped behind the counter and started banging on the jet-bridge door. Several airline agents soon arrived and a shouting match ensued. Somebody threatened to call the police. Another swore loudly, frequently, pointing a finger into the agent’s face.

No bad day justifies that kind of bad behavior.

Travel does go sideways.

Because life and the human experience does not stop when you travel. If anything, travel is a portrait of life. The good is often very good. But the bad things will come. The traveler (truly any human being) can learn to be comfortable in the chaos.

Chaos is the teacher. And giving up without learning from it is a waste. For, it resets our expectations and makes us grateful—regardless of who we think is in control.

anthony forrest

Stealth

June 24, 2019 / / 0 Comments

 

Sit with coffee

Also book on lap

Hear song on wind

Of time passed

 

Passing time passes

Without help

And unnoticed if not claimed

Then departs in stealth

 

Stand with silence

Also thoughts on mind

Note the changing seasons

Heed the signs of passing time

 

 

anthony forrest

Travel Journal, 18

June 20, 2019 / / 0 Comments

Tube and the Laughing Man

The fluorescent lights flicked off then on in the Tube as we rode the Underground subway back to South Hampstead. Every head bobbed back and forth like Chinese lanterns on a windy day. Most eyes peered down at their respective phones. Some sat with solemn looks; end-of-the-busy-workday-in-London kind of looks. Fellow tourists perused tour maps. Construction workers with yellow vests and dust-covered work boots fingered cigarettes, awaiting their stops.

A canned voice from a speaker squawked from above, “The next stop is …Green Park… station. Change here for the Victoria and Piccadilly Lines.” We came to a slowing stop and a human voice said dully, “mind the doors please. Mind the doors.”

A man stepped onto the train. He was engrossed with his phone. Long grey hair fell to his shoulders and a wide smile sat under a wiry grey moustache.

He sat down right next to me.

Throughout the remaining eight minutes of our ride, the man next to me would simply burst into a goofy giggle, unashamed of the fact that he was producing the only sound on the train. After a while, I just couldn’t take it any longer. I had to know

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

Unfazed, he turned to me and showed me his phone.

“A book,” he squeaked.

“It must be a funny book,” said I, smiling back.

In a dense accent, he said, “It really is quite funny!”

And then he turned back to his book. The automated voice announced our stop. I turned to my new friend and told him to enjoy his book.

“Ah will, mate, thanks.”

And then we stepped off the train. It’s just nice to see a happy person enjoying a funny book.

 

anthony forrest

Travel Journal, 17

June 13, 2019 / / 0 Comments

Foreign Bathroom Series

Chapter Three, Floor Towel

The three of us gazed into the plastic closet. Roughly four feet by three feet, this was to be our bathroom for the next three nights. If it’s just my wife and I, we can typically handle anything. But this trip was different. My mother-in-law was with us. Now, that’s not a bad thing. I have a wonderful relationship with my wife’s mom. I’m so blessed to have such a woman in my life. However, I am not used to staying in the same room as her, much less using the same tiny European bathroom. She was the extra variable.

Americans, like myself, are used to a certain comfort when it comes to size of bathroom and shower. Our hotel room in Paris boasted your standard fare European facilities. The Teacup Poodle of bathrooms. The shower, sink, toilet, door, and walls were all made of hard plastic. It looked like a prefabricated room that somebody had dropped into place. We looked around and discovered that there were only two towels. But I got a third towel from the desk.

After a long day of walking and seeing the sites, it’s nice to take a hot shower. But such a tiny plastic room never dries. It simply drips and steams until you finally leave, wondering how the next tenant will handle such a miniscule bathroom. I cleaned up, shaved, and changed. Opening the door, my wife poked her head in and asked, “where did you get that towel?”

“Which one?”

“The one you’re standing on,” she continued.

“Oh, that’s just the floor towel,” I said, confidently.

“Floor towel?”

“You know,” I condescended, “the bathmat.”

She looked at me, confused, “we only have the three towels. You had to get another one from the desk, remember?”

For three days, I had been using my sweet mother-in-law’s towel as a bathmat. But she never said anything. I doubt that she had a dry towel that entire trip.

Next time, I’ll ask for an extra floor towel.

 

anthony forrest

The Mirror

June 10, 2019 / / 0 Comments

Another rough night in the airport. I balanced my toothbrush on the counter ledge while I splashed my face with water. I know I shouldn’t complain about travel. God has blessed my wife and I with the ability and opportunity to see, learn, share, and discover unmeasured blessings during our travels. But each time I sleep on an airport floor, I get a little broken—little more bent over, like an old man having lived an old life. But fresh clothes, toothbrush, and face-splash of motion activated sink water were slowly injecting life back into my soul.

Glasses back on, I look up to survey the damage.

Not too bad.

I turned to walk out of the bathroom and spotted something out of the corner of my eye. Etched into the mirror were these words,

“forgive yourself.”

I’ve seen these words before. They’re all over social media, self-help books and blogs, and on the lips of many popular Christian speakers.

Standing there, I wonder what this person has done. He has gotten himself into trouble, and now he’s looking for answers. He wants to be forgiven. But he looks to himself for answers. He seeks in vain. How can any of us expect to save ourselves from ourselves?

There is but One who has promised forgiveness. God grants it—freely. Though our sins are like scarlet, He makes us whiter than snow. He pardons with a smile. So look not into the mirror seeking answers within yourself.

 

Stand and peer

Into mirror

To seek to

Know your soul

 

Turn and look

Read like a book

The narrative

Of your heart

 

Tune your ears

And listen with tears

To a song

You do not know

 

Rest in peace

For His love will not cease

God’s knowledge of you

Is enough

 

anthony forrest

Travel Journal, 16

June 6, 2019 / / 2 Comments

Ten Years On

My flight pulled up to the gate at SEATAC airport in Seattle. I had all of my carryon items on my lap, ready to go. But all the preparedness couldn’t bring back the time we’d lost. As I gazed out the window, the flight next to me pulled away, and began taxiing out of sight. My next connection was tight to begin with. But we sat on the tarmac in Dallas for 25 minutes and even lost time in the air. I thumbed through my book and found the tickets. The departing flight that I just saw pull away was mine.

My classes had finished up in Texas and I was now trying to get to Alaska. Christina took a work opportunity for 10 days up in beautiful Ketchikan. Southern Alaska stands out as one of the most perfect places in the US. In an area known as the Inside Passage, Ketchikan boasts temperate weather, stunning scenery, and great food. We had a plan. I would meet Christina there after my classes were over. To top it off, it was our anniversary.

But alas, there I stood, looking at an empty gate. The next flight to Ketchikan was…tomorrow.

Simply gutted, I tightened my backpack. If I was going to be stuck in Seattle for 24 hours, I was going to enjoy it. Now, I could regale you with tales of taking the train to downtown Seattle. Or tell you about amazing fish and chips at Pikes Place Market, where a super old guy was playing a beat-up piano on the sidewalk. Or maybe wax poetic about the local coffee scene.

But none of that matters because I was alone. Traveling solo might sound adventurous, and certainly can be. But soon, you find yourself looking to share the adventure. And the woman with whom I share all things was in Alaska, waiting for me.

For ten years I have had the perfect travel partner.

For ten years we’ve shared experiences.

For ten years we’ve sat next to each other on planes and busses.

For ten years we’ve eaten strange food, side by side.

For ten years we’ve been joined at the hip.

A decade of togetherness.

A decade of marriage.

Happy tenth, Christina.

It’s been a joy, near or far.

Home really is wherever we go together.

 

anthony forrest

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