Carlos and Ashly with the couple in Bali. Photo courtesy of @happynomadcouple.
Bali, Indonesia
December 2017
We were nearing the end of our 9 month long Round the World trip, and heading from Cambodia to Indonesia to spend the weeks leading up to Christmas in Bali. We fortuitously got upgraded to an exit row that we shared with a nice Canadian ex-pat who now lived with her English husband in Bali. We chatted a bit on the flight and once we deplaned and headed to baggage claim, she handed me a note with her name and email on it. She told us that we were welcome to stay in their villa for a few days if we would like. We thanked her profusely but were also unsure about it. We were still technically strangers and she lived in an area we weren't planning on visiting. After some thought, we figured it was worth a try, so I emailed her and told her we would love to come stay with her and her husband if the invitation was still open. She sent a driver to come pick us up the next day. We ended up staying with them for 4 amazing days where they taught us about Balinese culture, went out for dinner and drinks, swam in their pool, washed our clothes, and were able to spend part of the Christmas season feeling like we were surrounded by family. We're so glad we ultimately decided to go.
-Ashly and Carlos
happynomadcouple.com
spliceclothing.com
December 2017
We were nearing the end of our 9 month long Round the World trip, and heading from Cambodia to Indonesia to spend the weeks leading up to Christmas in Bali. We fortuitously got upgraded to an exit row that we shared with a nice Canadian ex-pat who now lived with her English husband in Bali. We chatted a bit on the flight and once we deplaned and headed to baggage claim, she handed me a note with her name and email on it. She told us that we were welcome to stay in their villa for a few days if we would like. We thanked her profusely but were also unsure about it. We were still technically strangers and she lived in an area we weren't planning on visiting. After some thought, we figured it was worth a try, so I emailed her and told her we would love to come stay with her and her husband if the invitation was still open. She sent a driver to come pick us up the next day. We ended up staying with them for 4 amazing days where they taught us about Balinese culture, went out for dinner and drinks, swam in their pool, washed our clothes, and were able to spend part of the Christmas season feeling like we were surrounded by family. We're so glad we ultimately decided to go.
-Ashly and Carlos
happynomadcouple.com
spliceclothing.com
On the train. Photo courtesy of @happynomadcouple.
India
September 2017
We were traveling by overnight train from Varanasi to Kolkata. According to the train schedule, the journey should have taken about 12 hours. We ate dinner before boarding and planned to eat our next meal in the morning right after disembarking from the train. Due to an unforeseen delay, we were at a standstill on the tracks for hours and ended up 5 hours behind schedule, making the whole journey now 17 hours instead of 12. We were in a sleeper car with 4 beds. We had the bunk beds on one side and on the other side was an older Indian gentleman. When he noticed us talking in the morning about how hungry we were and how we didn't bring any food, he struck up a conversation with us. Turns out, he is an Indian psychology professor who has taught at Universities in both India and the U.S. before. He told us he was on a trip with his students right now who were in a different part of the train. One of them came to check in with the professor and he sent her to to go bring us sandwiches from their class's collection of food (I guess they were more accustomed to delays than we were). We were so thankful for those sandwiches - they were enough to hold us over until we finally made it to Kolkata. And not only did he give us sandwiches, he also gave us free psychology evaluations too. It's one of my favorite travel memories ever.
-Ashly and Carlos
happynomadcouple.com
spliceclothing.com
September 2017
We were traveling by overnight train from Varanasi to Kolkata. According to the train schedule, the journey should have taken about 12 hours. We ate dinner before boarding and planned to eat our next meal in the morning right after disembarking from the train. Due to an unforeseen delay, we were at a standstill on the tracks for hours and ended up 5 hours behind schedule, making the whole journey now 17 hours instead of 12. We were in a sleeper car with 4 beds. We had the bunk beds on one side and on the other side was an older Indian gentleman. When he noticed us talking in the morning about how hungry we were and how we didn't bring any food, he struck up a conversation with us. Turns out, he is an Indian psychology professor who has taught at Universities in both India and the U.S. before. He told us he was on a trip with his students right now who were in a different part of the train. One of them came to check in with the professor and he sent her to to go bring us sandwiches from their class's collection of food (I guess they were more accustomed to delays than we were). We were so thankful for those sandwiches - they were enough to hold us over until we finally made it to Kolkata. And not only did he give us sandwiches, he also gave us free psychology evaluations too. It's one of my favorite travel memories ever.
-Ashly and Carlos
happynomadcouple.com
spliceclothing.com
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On the Haute route. Photos by Mark Gallardo.
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Switzerland
September 2011
While living in Paris in 2011 I decided to explore Europe’s most famous high mountain trek entitled “the Haute route”. It passes from France to Switzerland (Chamonix to Zermatt), from the famous Mount Blanc to the arguably more famous Matterhorn. The route crosses the greatest collection of 13,000ft plus mountains in the Alps. The going had been amazing but also brutal and I had been caught in some early fall snow storms on multiple occasions… and the snow just kept on coming in September! On some high mountain passes the only markers were blazed flat stones (unstacked) and in snow storm conditions it was a very trying and stressful time.
Needless to say when, mid-trip, I finally came down from a snowy pass with the hopes of sleeping in a mountain hut, warming up, doing laundry, and enjoying a warm meal, I was crushed to learn that the hut had just closed for the season. I spotted a day hiker coming back to his vehicle and explained my situation. He offered to drive me 5 miles down the mountain to where hotels were open. Upon arriving he negotiated the rate down for me and made sure that I had all that I needed, including the bus schedule for returning to the trailhead the following day. He is a principal reason that I love Switzerland: kind people, a peaceful ambiance, and mind-numbingly astonishing alpine beauty.
-Mark
September 2011
While living in Paris in 2011 I decided to explore Europe’s most famous high mountain trek entitled “the Haute route”. It passes from France to Switzerland (Chamonix to Zermatt), from the famous Mount Blanc to the arguably more famous Matterhorn. The route crosses the greatest collection of 13,000ft plus mountains in the Alps. The going had been amazing but also brutal and I had been caught in some early fall snow storms on multiple occasions… and the snow just kept on coming in September! On some high mountain passes the only markers were blazed flat stones (unstacked) and in snow storm conditions it was a very trying and stressful time.
Needless to say when, mid-trip, I finally came down from a snowy pass with the hopes of sleeping in a mountain hut, warming up, doing laundry, and enjoying a warm meal, I was crushed to learn that the hut had just closed for the season. I spotted a day hiker coming back to his vehicle and explained my situation. He offered to drive me 5 miles down the mountain to where hotels were open. Upon arriving he negotiated the rate down for me and made sure that I had all that I needed, including the bus schedule for returning to the trailhead the following day. He is a principal reason that I love Switzerland: kind people, a peaceful ambiance, and mind-numbingly astonishing alpine beauty.
-Mark
The monastery. Photo by Mark Gallardo.
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Preparing for an unexpected guest. Photo by Mark Gallardo.
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Davit Gareja, Georgia
27 May 2008
Years ago while traveling through the former Soviet republic of Georgia I took what was meant to be a day trip away from the capital, Tbilisi. My aim was to explore the eastern-most front of the ancient Christian world and to look out over the leading western edge of the ancient Islamic world (towards modern day Azerbaijan). The site of interest, called Davit Gareja, was a rock-hewn monastery from the 6th century, replete with monastic cells, churches, refectories and living quarters.
Arriving by bus into a small rural village I looked for a taxi to take me the remaining miles to the site. The journey down the bumpy dirt road with my driver was wonderful. We exchanged stories about his life in Georgia and about my time traveling around Caucasia. He waited for me to tour the site and then, on the drive back to the highway where I was meant to catch another bus back to Tbilisi, he invited me to stay the night with him and get to know his friends. As was my way I wholeheartedly agreed.
That night was a fascinating insight into small village life and into the hearts and generosity of lovely people. They were all so pleased to have me and to share and receive stories and food. The next day I made my way back to my guesthouse in Tbilisi and was nearly evicted. The landlady was incensed because I hadn’t come home the previous evening and accused me of committing unsavory acts at overnight bars and brothels. After many tense moments of pleading and explaining, she finally allowed me back into my room and to complete my stay with her.
-Mark
Photo by Aida Molina.
Rome, Italy and Munich, Germany
October 2018
I was in Rome and about to go to Florence. I had two days left and was traveling by myself. I had been lonely and missed home. I emailed a friend of my mom's, he lives in Munich. I had not seen him for thirty years but he always cared for my mom and I had told him I was going to Italy. I told him how lonely I was and that I was nervous about going to Florence, etc. He called me on the phone and insisted I come to Munich for the weekend. He paid for me to fly from Rome to Munich business class!! He picked me up from the airport with his son and we went to get ice cream and coffee. I spent the weekend at his home with his family. He cheered me up, we talked about my mom, we went to a museum. It refreshed me. He gave me a beautiful picture of my mom that he had taken. It made me cry. He renewed and inspired me to keep going and finish my trip. Thank you Robert!
-Aida Molina
October 2018
I was in Rome and about to go to Florence. I had two days left and was traveling by myself. I had been lonely and missed home. I emailed a friend of my mom's, he lives in Munich. I had not seen him for thirty years but he always cared for my mom and I had told him I was going to Italy. I told him how lonely I was and that I was nervous about going to Florence, etc. He called me on the phone and insisted I come to Munich for the weekend. He paid for me to fly from Rome to Munich business class!! He picked me up from the airport with his son and we went to get ice cream and coffee. I spent the weekend at his home with his family. He cheered me up, we talked about my mom, we went to a museum. It refreshed me. He gave me a beautiful picture of my mom that he had taken. It made me cry. He renewed and inspired me to keep going and finish my trip. Thank you Robert!
-Aida Molina
The beehive houses. Photo by Mark Gallardo.
Syria
November 2007
I fell in love with Syria long before the civil war. On my first trip in 2007 I was traveling with a friend through the Orontes Valley in search of the fabled “Beehive Houses” of Sarouj (whitewashed conical mud-brick structures of one chamber, accessed by a single, small opening). Leaving the nearest city, Hama, with its famous massive ancient norias (4-5 story tall waterwheels in the center of the city), we knew it would be a tough day of traveling as there was no public transport to this remote desert location. As we had bussed to the closest town we could get to, we started trying to thumb a ride and were picked up almost immediately by two wonderfully kind men in their ramshackle truck. Our plan had been to first visit Qasr ibn Wardan (6th century Byzantine military base/palace and church) and then make our way to the beehive houses. Although we had asked to be dropped at an intersection with the idea of walking up to see Qasr ibn Wardan, they would have none of it. Instead, although they had never been there themselves, they insisted on driving us down the side road, up the hill to the site and dropping us at the entrance. Upon arrival they opened their doors, ran around the truck to open the doors for us, shook our hands and even hugged us. They were clearly elated to have the opportunity to meet us (the first North Americans they had ever met) and were so proud and pleased to be able to share their homeland with us. I remember feeling so safe and at home despite being in such a far off place. I began to realize that this type of loving kindness, while initially so shocking, was actually the norm in Syria. People made it their business to take care of travelers and in so doing led me to fall in love with that amazing land.
-Mark
November 2007
I fell in love with Syria long before the civil war. On my first trip in 2007 I was traveling with a friend through the Orontes Valley in search of the fabled “Beehive Houses” of Sarouj (whitewashed conical mud-brick structures of one chamber, accessed by a single, small opening). Leaving the nearest city, Hama, with its famous massive ancient norias (4-5 story tall waterwheels in the center of the city), we knew it would be a tough day of traveling as there was no public transport to this remote desert location. As we had bussed to the closest town we could get to, we started trying to thumb a ride and were picked up almost immediately by two wonderfully kind men in their ramshackle truck. Our plan had been to first visit Qasr ibn Wardan (6th century Byzantine military base/palace and church) and then make our way to the beehive houses. Although we had asked to be dropped at an intersection with the idea of walking up to see Qasr ibn Wardan, they would have none of it. Instead, although they had never been there themselves, they insisted on driving us down the side road, up the hill to the site and dropping us at the entrance. Upon arrival they opened their doors, ran around the truck to open the doors for us, shook our hands and even hugged us. They were clearly elated to have the opportunity to meet us (the first North Americans they had ever met) and were so proud and pleased to be able to share their homeland with us. I remember feeling so safe and at home despite being in such a far off place. I began to realize that this type of loving kindness, while initially so shocking, was actually the norm in Syria. People made it their business to take care of travelers and in so doing led me to fall in love with that amazing land.
-Mark
The poem written in Mark's journal.
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The poet. Photo by Mark Gallardo.
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Orchha, Madhya Pradesh, India
2004
On my first trip to India I was focused on getting to know the great historical and spiritual cities and sites. However, in planning the trip I had never heard of the ancient town of Orchha in the northern state of Madhya Pradesh. Although it had some great, albeit worn down classical northern Indian architecture, it was a largely forgotten stop for tourism. The plan was to stay just a night or two. On arriving it was immediately clear that the locals, who were extremely friendly and curious about western travelers, were unused to tourism. In the first few minutes of being there I noted one dignified and mysterious old man with a bright shine in his eye who kept on speaking to me in Hindi (a language I did not understand). I remember his long, regal white hair and beard and his proud yet humble and playful energy. Pretty soon he had the local men translating for him. I was amazed by how interested he was in getting to know me. He was so curious about my family, my home, my interests. Soon he had invited me to his home which turned out to be a kind of lean-to built onto the back of a building. I learned that he had no local family but that his sons sent him money for rent. He was a retired high level Indian rail worker and also a poet. He shared and read his published volumes of poetry (none of which I understood) and I loved his passion and enthusiasm despite the absence of a translator. Soon he was giving me cooking lessons as we prepared puri (a kind of oil fried tortilla) on his cement floor. Our meal was humble but wonderful and delicious. It felt so natural for him hugging me and laughing with me as we used hand signals and drawings in order to communicate with each other.
As I came back to visit him over the course of my time in Orchha we grew closer and, incredibly, I began to regard him a dear friend who was almost like a grandparent to me. In preparing to move on with my travels I remember him coming to tears and requesting to see my journal. His goodbye gift to me was a poem he wrote for me in Hindi directly into my book. One day I will have that poem translated, but in all the years that have passed since that day, I’ve enjoyed holding onto the magic of what I think he wrote, of what I remember of that very special friendship that we shared.
-Mark
2004
On my first trip to India I was focused on getting to know the great historical and spiritual cities and sites. However, in planning the trip I had never heard of the ancient town of Orchha in the northern state of Madhya Pradesh. Although it had some great, albeit worn down classical northern Indian architecture, it was a largely forgotten stop for tourism. The plan was to stay just a night or two. On arriving it was immediately clear that the locals, who were extremely friendly and curious about western travelers, were unused to tourism. In the first few minutes of being there I noted one dignified and mysterious old man with a bright shine in his eye who kept on speaking to me in Hindi (a language I did not understand). I remember his long, regal white hair and beard and his proud yet humble and playful energy. Pretty soon he had the local men translating for him. I was amazed by how interested he was in getting to know me. He was so curious about my family, my home, my interests. Soon he had invited me to his home which turned out to be a kind of lean-to built onto the back of a building. I learned that he had no local family but that his sons sent him money for rent. He was a retired high level Indian rail worker and also a poet. He shared and read his published volumes of poetry (none of which I understood) and I loved his passion and enthusiasm despite the absence of a translator. Soon he was giving me cooking lessons as we prepared puri (a kind of oil fried tortilla) on his cement floor. Our meal was humble but wonderful and delicious. It felt so natural for him hugging me and laughing with me as we used hand signals and drawings in order to communicate with each other.
As I came back to visit him over the course of my time in Orchha we grew closer and, incredibly, I began to regard him a dear friend who was almost like a grandparent to me. In preparing to move on with my travels I remember him coming to tears and requesting to see my journal. His goodbye gift to me was a poem he wrote for me in Hindi directly into my book. One day I will have that poem translated, but in all the years that have passed since that day, I’ve enjoyed holding onto the magic of what I think he wrote, of what I remember of that very special friendship that we shared.
-Mark
View from the park. Photo by Elizabeth McCarthy.
Kuching, Malaysia
12 January 2013
Amanda and I were visiting Kubah National Park, but we knew we would not be ready to leave by the time the last bus back to town left. The ranger at the entrance to the park told us to come back at 5 pm, and he would call a taxi for us since we did not have functioning cell phones. We returned to his station before 5, but he had already left! Luckily some men were sitting nearby, and one of them called a taxi for us.
-Elizabeth
12 January 2013
Amanda and I were visiting Kubah National Park, but we knew we would not be ready to leave by the time the last bus back to town left. The ranger at the entrance to the park told us to come back at 5 pm, and he would call a taxi for us since we did not have functioning cell phones. We returned to his station before 5, but he had already left! Luckily some men were sitting nearby, and one of them called a taxi for us.
-Elizabeth
Out to dinner at a Syrian restaurant in Erbil.
Erbil, Kurdistan (located in northern Iraq)
11 May 2019
Upon arrival at our hotel in Erbil, one of the front desk workers was excited we spoke English so he could practice. He became friendly with us. Mark ended up spending a couple hours helping him with his English language resume. The three of us also went to dinner together one night, and he showed us around town after we ate.
-Elizabeth
11 May 2019
Upon arrival at our hotel in Erbil, one of the front desk workers was excited we spoke English so he could practice. He became friendly with us. Mark ended up spending a couple hours helping him with his English language resume. The three of us also went to dinner together one night, and he showed us around town after we ate.
-Elizabeth
Visiting the equator in Pontianak. Photo by Elizabeth McCarthy.
Pontianak, Indonesia
10 January 2013
My friend Amanda and I wanted to buy bus tickets from Pontianak to Kuching, Malaysia on the island of Borneo. We got ourselves to the correct area, but the first company we tried did not have any regular (cheap) tickets left. Instead of convincing us to buy her more expensive tickets, the ticket agent pointed us across the street to a competing company she thought would have some. They did, so we got the tickets we wanted.
-Elizabeth
10 January 2013
My friend Amanda and I wanted to buy bus tickets from Pontianak to Kuching, Malaysia on the island of Borneo. We got ourselves to the correct area, but the first company we tried did not have any regular (cheap) tickets left. Instead of convincing us to buy her more expensive tickets, the ticket agent pointed us across the street to a competing company she thought would have some. They did, so we got the tickets we wanted.
-Elizabeth
The couple enjoying their honeymoon in Ireland. Photo provided by Kaitlyn Elyse.
Cork, Ireland
January 2018
My husband and I were traveling in Ireland for our Honeymoon January of 2018. We were in Cork and I broke my tooth. Had to get up very early in the morning to go to their Emergency Dental clinic as it was first come first serve. The man ahead of us not only gave me his spot in line so I could be first and be seen as I was in so much pain but then gave us a ride back to our hotel. Super nice older man. Wouldn’t accept any money and just loved the conversation and company.
-Kaitlyn Elyse
January 2018
My husband and I were traveling in Ireland for our Honeymoon January of 2018. We were in Cork and I broke my tooth. Had to get up very early in the morning to go to their Emergency Dental clinic as it was first come first serve. The man ahead of us not only gave me his spot in line so I could be first and be seen as I was in so much pain but then gave us a ride back to our hotel. Super nice older man. Wouldn’t accept any money and just loved the conversation and company.
-Kaitlyn Elyse
With the brothers who repaired the bicycle. Photo by Mark Gallardo.
Lithuania
11 July 2011
In the summer of ‘11 I was primarily involved with a humanitarian project I had dreamed up. It was a fundraising event to generate money to be used as micro-credit loans for women’s small businesses in Myanmar (Burma). The idea was that I would ride my bike across Europe as well as hike across the highlands of Scotland and blog/email about it. The hope was that people would sponsor the miles I had traveled and the money generated would be donated to a non-profit working in Myanmar with whom I was affiliated.
The trip started in England from where I flew to Poland to start cycling. My friend in London had loaned me his newly tuned-up bike and I was off. Everything went well for the first couple of weeks through Poland and Belarus, although there were some amazing thundershowers that made the trip a bit more colorful.
When I came to Lithuania, however, I encountered an obstacle that I could not handle: the bike began to break down (particularly the crankshaft was starting to loosen and click, threatening to come undone all together and render the bike unusable). I had the equipment and knowledge for basic bike repair, but nothing to handle a catastrophe of this magnitude. Deep in the rolling forest of southern Lithuania, I pulled over into the only gas station around. In fact it was the only building of any type I had seen for many miles. There was a young man working behind the cash register and I struck up a conversation with him as I bought a drink. His English was amazing and he showed such enthusiasm for my project. When I explained about the bike breaking down, he thought about it and said he knew of a pair of brothers in the next city who ran a bike repair shop out of their garage. He gave me directions (without any road names: go 5 kilometers to the village, then go left, then straight past two intersections, then right for two blocks…then right again, then you will see a small pink toy bicycle on a pole low to the ground in the front yard of a home in a residential neighborhood...then walk up to the garage and knock).
I was very dubious as to whether this plan would work out but desperate as I was, I went for it. Sure enough I found the pink bicycle toy indicating the shop and went up and knocked on an otherwise unmarked garage. When two rather intimidating men rolled up the door and greeted me in Lithuanian I pointed to the bike and they immediately understood and started working on it. I spoke no Lithuanian and they no English. As one of the brothers worked I showed the other photos of the humanitarian project and pantomimed what I was doing and why. All of a sudden a light went on in his eyes and he smiled brightly as he understood why I was riding my bike across his country. Without a moment’s hesitation he then used the only English I ever heard him speak: “No charge” he said and smiled at me. He then explained to his brother who completely agreed. As they sent me on my way I was overcome with an incredible sense of gratitude, joy, and humility. Wiping the tears as I smiled and pedaled my way over the next kilometers, I knew that one day I would not only have a beautiful story to share but a magnanimous act to emulate.
-Mark
11 July 2011
In the summer of ‘11 I was primarily involved with a humanitarian project I had dreamed up. It was a fundraising event to generate money to be used as micro-credit loans for women’s small businesses in Myanmar (Burma). The idea was that I would ride my bike across Europe as well as hike across the highlands of Scotland and blog/email about it. The hope was that people would sponsor the miles I had traveled and the money generated would be donated to a non-profit working in Myanmar with whom I was affiliated.
The trip started in England from where I flew to Poland to start cycling. My friend in London had loaned me his newly tuned-up bike and I was off. Everything went well for the first couple of weeks through Poland and Belarus, although there were some amazing thundershowers that made the trip a bit more colorful.
When I came to Lithuania, however, I encountered an obstacle that I could not handle: the bike began to break down (particularly the crankshaft was starting to loosen and click, threatening to come undone all together and render the bike unusable). I had the equipment and knowledge for basic bike repair, but nothing to handle a catastrophe of this magnitude. Deep in the rolling forest of southern Lithuania, I pulled over into the only gas station around. In fact it was the only building of any type I had seen for many miles. There was a young man working behind the cash register and I struck up a conversation with him as I bought a drink. His English was amazing and he showed such enthusiasm for my project. When I explained about the bike breaking down, he thought about it and said he knew of a pair of brothers in the next city who ran a bike repair shop out of their garage. He gave me directions (without any road names: go 5 kilometers to the village, then go left, then straight past two intersections, then right for two blocks…then right again, then you will see a small pink toy bicycle on a pole low to the ground in the front yard of a home in a residential neighborhood...then walk up to the garage and knock).
I was very dubious as to whether this plan would work out but desperate as I was, I went for it. Sure enough I found the pink bicycle toy indicating the shop and went up and knocked on an otherwise unmarked garage. When two rather intimidating men rolled up the door and greeted me in Lithuanian I pointed to the bike and they immediately understood and started working on it. I spoke no Lithuanian and they no English. As one of the brothers worked I showed the other photos of the humanitarian project and pantomimed what I was doing and why. All of a sudden a light went on in his eyes and he smiled brightly as he understood why I was riding my bike across his country. Without a moment’s hesitation he then used the only English I ever heard him speak: “No charge” he said and smiled at me. He then explained to his brother who completely agreed. As they sent me on my way I was overcome with an incredible sense of gratitude, joy, and humility. Wiping the tears as I smiled and pedaled my way over the next kilometers, I knew that one day I would not only have a beautiful story to share but a magnanimous act to emulate.
-Mark
With Mohammed at his house.
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Wadi Rum, Jordan
5 December 2007 While touring through the incredible deserts of southern Jordan in late 2007, I had been blown away with the other-worldly landscapes that only southern Utah could approximate. In Jordan, however, I would see random herds of camels in single file, unaccompanied by humans, making their way through the desertscape of sand and red rock buttes and globular pinnacles. On my way out of the region I decided to head for the Red Sea. However, as there were no regular buses heading that way, in the afternoon I decided to walk several miles down the sand-fringed road. My goal was to reach a distant highway where I thought I might be able to flag down a bus. About 30 minutes into my walk a truck pulled over for me, unsolicited. Mohammed spoke decent English and wanted to know why I was all alone walking in this remote area. He insisted that I get in and that he drive me to a place where I could get onward transportation. As we rode and shared stories about our homes and our travels and our families he quickly decided that the best possible thing would be for me to come to his home and spend the night, then continue on my way the following morning. My travel philosophy is to never refuse the kindness of strangers, so I immediately consented. Upon arrival at his home, his whole family was extremely happy to meet me. He sent his kids to the store to purchase wonderful food (hummus, olives, fresh bread) and his wife made us sweet mint tea. We shared the afternoon and evening in laughter and happiness, with many stories about our respective lives and cultures. The next morning, as I packed my belongings in the room that had been his room (he insisted I use it), I reflected on how fortunate I was to be in a position to accept such incredible kindness from such giving people. These kinds of experiences were and are why I travel. -Mark |
In Wadi Rum.
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Heading to a New Year's Eve party.
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Christmas tree in Jordan.
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Amman, Jordan
December 2007
Near the end of 2007 I was traveling all around the Jordan region, including Lebanon and Syria and Egypt. Amman, Jordan, became my hub to return to when tired and in need of friends. The friends were two young and amazing men who had adopted me into their families. Our relationship started when I was visiting ancient fortresses outside of Amman where public transport was sparse. At one point I was stranded at a gas station and the manager convinced the first patron in to drive me to my next destination. That was Abdul. From that moment on we were fast friends and he and his best friend repeatedly welcomed me into their homes, drove me around Jordan, shared meals with me, and made me feel more welcome than I could ever remember. When they realized that Christmas was near they drove me over 30 miles to a small Christian village just so that I could see a Christmas tree and feel at home. The suit I am wearing in the photo was one of theirs that they were lending me for a New Year’s Eve celebration. Truly lovely men.
-Mark
December 2007
Near the end of 2007 I was traveling all around the Jordan region, including Lebanon and Syria and Egypt. Amman, Jordan, became my hub to return to when tired and in need of friends. The friends were two young and amazing men who had adopted me into their families. Our relationship started when I was visiting ancient fortresses outside of Amman where public transport was sparse. At one point I was stranded at a gas station and the manager convinced the first patron in to drive me to my next destination. That was Abdul. From that moment on we were fast friends and he and his best friend repeatedly welcomed me into their homes, drove me around Jordan, shared meals with me, and made me feel more welcome than I could ever remember. When they realized that Christmas was near they drove me over 30 miles to a small Christian village just so that I could see a Christmas tree and feel at home. The suit I am wearing in the photo was one of theirs that they were lending me for a New Year’s Eve celebration. Truly lovely men.
-Mark
Waiting at the gate to enter the park. Photo by Mark Gallardo.
Madhya Pradesh, India
25 April 2019
We were in our safari vehicle outside Pench Tiger Reserve, waiting for it to open. There was a boy walking around selling chai. It cost 10 rupees per small cup, but we only had 500 rupee notes (about 7 USD), and he didn’t have change. He gave us two cups for free. We asked around among the other tourists, mostly Indians. No one could break a 500 INR note. However, an Indian tourist gave us the money to pay him.
25 April 2019
We were in our safari vehicle outside Pench Tiger Reserve, waiting for it to open. There was a boy walking around selling chai. It cost 10 rupees per small cup, but we only had 500 rupee notes (about 7 USD), and he didn’t have change. He gave us two cups for free. We asked around among the other tourists, mostly Indians. No one could break a 500 INR note. However, an Indian tourist gave us the money to pay him.
Christmas decorations in Macau. Photo by Elizabeth McCarthy.
Macau
28 December 2012
I was traveling with my friend Amanda, and we had taken the ferry from Hong Kong to Macau for a day trip. At the end of the day, we had trouble figuring out how to get the right bus back to the ferry terminal. Eventually we ended up at a hotel, where the man running things said we could take the hotel bus to the terminal free of charge.
-Elizabeth
28 December 2012
I was traveling with my friend Amanda, and we had taken the ferry from Hong Kong to Macau for a day trip. At the end of the day, we had trouble figuring out how to get the right bus back to the ferry terminal. Eventually we ended up at a hotel, where the man running things said we could take the hotel bus to the terminal free of charge.
-Elizabeth
