Hagia Sofia, Istanbul

 

My visit to Istanbul would have felt incomplete without exploring the renowned Hagia Sophia. Describing this leg of the journey proves challenging as the place invoked a myriad of indescribable emotions. The ambiance within was potent, as if I were absorbing 1500 years of history in a single day. Let me offer a condensed version of the extensive history of this edifice—the Reader's Digest version, as delving deeper would be a narrative far too protracted.

Originally constructed as a Christian Church in 537 AD, the Hagia Sophia now serves as a mosque. This transformation is not unprecedented, as the building has been reconstructed three times. Its fate oscillated with the political winds of Turkey, akin to a pawn in a chess game. The current president declared its reversion to a mosque in 2020, emphasizing its openness to people of all faiths. Upon entry, females must don a headscarf, and all visitors are required to remove their shoes. Designated a UNESCO heritage site, the mosque boasts separate prayer areas for males and females.

It's a place that elicits both joy and sadness simultaneously—a witness to unimaginable events like wars, plagues, and natural disasters. For 1500 years, individuals have visited, prayed, communicated with God, and sought solace beneath its expansive rotunda. Upon entering, the adage "if these walls could talk" resounded in my mind, laden with feelings, sounds, and an ineffable energy.

The atmosphere reverberated with prayers, conversations, whispers, and an indistinct melody—an ambiance delicately poised on the verge of disturbance. My curiosity piqued about the upper levels, although I refrained from ascending. While there seemed to be people up there, it didn't appear open to the public. Nonetheless, I believe these levels hold artifacts and historical information about the temple's past as it was once a living museum, providing a panoramic view of the structure's layout.
Many Christian depictions have been removed or concealed, reflecting Islamic beliefs that prohibit images during prayer. Notably, an angel's face was scratched out in the ceiling, and scaffolding hinted at ongoing renovations. I pondered the fate of displaced artwork, questioning where it went.

Despite these changes, remnants of the building's history endure. A casket and a baptismal fountain stand near the exit, testaments to the dedicated custodians who have safeguarded the structure for 1500 years—both in spirit and body. It was heartening to see this part of history preserved, a reassuring affirmation that not every trace of the past was being erased.

Port of Call: Honduras

As a child, my imagination was enraptured by Central and South America. These lands seemed like uncharted territories, brimming with adventures. Within these exotic realms lay dense jungles concealing elusive creatures and resilient people who had adapted to flourish in extraordinary environments. From the soaring heights of the Andean peaks to the lush mysteries of the rainforests and the arid embrace of certain deserts, these regions held a magnetic pull on my wanderlust-stricken soul. The pictures I saw of these places did nothing the quell the desire to visit them.

My journey to this enigmatic part of the world began when I turned thirty and took a voyage to Peru, an experience that only whetted my appetite for more. However, Central America remained an elusive treasure, beckoning me from afar. It was only this year, as part of my annual birthday pilgrimage, that I embarked on a seafaring adventure bound for the heart of Central America. The cruise I booked had its course set for the beguiling destinations of Honduras, Belize, and Cozumel.

Honduras, a nation of profound historical significance, welcomed me with open arms. Its unique heritage bore the imprint of British influence, with English being the primary language, followed closely by a Creole tongue and Spanish. The Creole dialect exhibited such close kinship with English that, with attentive ears, one could discern the whispered echoes of its linguistic heritage. My voyage brought me to the Honduran haven of Roatán, a pristine isle inhabited by a modest population of roughly 10,000, predominantly sustained by the nurturing bosom of tourism. This idyllic sanctuary is teaming with individuals who formerly called the United States home and now reside in this glorious island.

Enrolled in an excursion artfully curated by the cruise ship, I joined a mesmerizing Monkey, Sloth, and Macaw odyssey. This expedition promised up-close encounters with these captivating creatures. While the prospect of entering a monkey cage gave me pause, I did opt to embrace the experience of holding a sloth. It was here that I held a sloth, an encounter that charmed me to the core. The sloth, christened "Cid," embodied everything I had imagined – a gentle, unhurried creature with a countenance that could melt the coldest of hearts. Our guide, a gentleman by the name of Isaac, adeptly wielded a smartphone, expertly assisting me in capturing selfies with this delightful companion.

Our visit also unveiled the White Nose Coati, an intriguing blend of raccoon and anteater traits. In Central America, they often emulate the mischief-making antics of raccoons, foraging through garbage and causing a ruckus. Personally, I found them rather endearing, though admittedly, I clung to a sliver of trepidation, akin to my uneasiness around raccoons back home.

Following our memorable encounter with sloths, monkeys, and macaws, we embarked on a bus ride to explore an iguana sanctuary. This small haven serves as a shelter for thousands of iguanas, many of whom had been nursed back to health after injuries. While these iguanas are vegetarians, they harbor a mischievous streak, capable of nipping unwary fingers during feeding. Yet, a spiky-backed intruder, an iguana of a different breed, dared to infiltrate the sanctuary. Swiftly, the vigilant workers expelled this rogue, for such creatures were known to turn predatory, those iguanas are meat eaters.

Concluding our captivating tour, we found ourselves in a charming shopping enclave known as the Macaw Market. Here, we delighted in delectable chocolate, and I, of course, couldn't resist the temptation to procure some for myself. This particular cocoa confection was a testament to the island's bounty, crafted with care and comprised of a mere four ingredients—all grown and harvested locally. It was a fitting finale to an expedition that had awakened my senses to the captivating essence of Central America

Brush Studio; An Artistic Adventure

You know, I've stumbled upon this newfound obsession that's become my ultimate muse – painting classes. I've been on a wild virtual scavenger hunt through the tangled web, hunting for these elusive local painting classes. It all started back in 2022 when I dipped my toes into the enchanting world of paint by numbers. Little did I know, I was about to embark on an addiction that would consume my creative soul. Now, I'm not exactly the poster child for natural-born artistic talent, so I'll be the first to admit that I require a generous dose of guidance, maybe even a boatload of it. That's why paint by number was such a revelation. But, my friends, let me tell you, there's something even more divine – the freehand class. It's like stepping into the arena of your own artistic destiny, with some help.











Picture this: you're in a class, armed with brushes and a blank canvas, surrounded by fellow adventurers of artistic endeavors. There's a masterpiece on the horizon, and you're about to bring it to life. Now, I recently gave a little place here in Grand Rapids a whirl – The Brush Studio. Nestled downtown on Louis Avenue, it's a fusion of modern coolness and cozy vibes. The instructor was a wise and talented master of color. She guided us through the intricate dance of crafting a background, then unleashed the music and set us free. The studio walls adorned with a kaleidoscope of artwork from various classes, creating a vibrant tapestry of creativity.


This place is like a magnet for souls of all walks of life. Picture this: a man and his four-year-old daughter, side by side in the class. It's pure magic watching that little one dive into the world of colors, following the brush strokes with glee. You see, it's not a Herculean task to keep kids focused when art is involved. There was also a couple who found their bliss here, and two pals sharing this artistic voyage. Each one brought their own unique background and skill level to the canvas.

At the beginning, you're handed a pristine canvas and a palette of colors, the essentials for your creative journey. As you sail through the artistic seas, you can choose to chart your own course by mixing and matching colors, but these initial hues lay the foundation of your masterpiece.





Now, here's the kicker – our instructor, she's not just a teacher, she's a docent of the soul. She guides you on a quest to uncover hidden facets of yourself within your art. Her instructions are clear, yet they don't shackle you to recreating an exact replica of the art before you. It's about finding your artistic voice, about adapting the colors of your flowers and discovering how to bring forth a bouquet of diverse blossoms.

Her wisdom shines through in her teaching. It's tempting to fixate on every little imperfection, constantly tinkering and tweaking until you've overcooked the masterpiece. She suggests a different route – take a step back, peruse the work of your fellow travelers, and then return to your own canvas.

The enchanting part of this whole voyage is that every piece of art that emerges from that room is as unique as a snowflake. Same paint, same tools, same guidance, yet each canvas tells a different story.

As we painted away, curious souls strolled past the large glass windows, downtown's voyeuristic windows to creativity. It struck me that I've been on the other side of those windows before, peering in, wondering about the magic unfolding within. What's that project? How do I get in on this artistic escapade? And who knows, perhaps you're brushing shoulders with the next Picasso, or maybe, just maybe, it's you who's destined for artistic stardom....

Wine and Paint (Or unlimited Mimosas and messes)

I have always thought painters are so cool. It's probably because my mom can make amazing things out of paint. She has always had this talent and I have never even imagined I could do it or make anything remotely pretty. My handwriting and drawing is, well, basically, it's embarrassingly bad, so I never tried. It's not because I don't want to, its more because I don't think I'm capable and I don't want to make something ugly. Me doing this class is pretty adventurous, for me it is anyway. 

This class was something I was putting off. It seemed I was destined to take one of them. I avoided art classes like the plague since I cut my finger open on a mat cutter in 6th grade (true story, lots of blood, 6 stitches). Several times I've been invited, or my ex-husband always wanted to do it, or friends. I was terrified my work of art would be humiliatingly ugly. This was the day I got over it. 

So, I decided I would try it out and found people willing to go with me, otherwise, I was prepared to do this alone. Luckily, I didn't have to, my best friend Anna came along for the ride. It's always better with a friend. This is true of almost anything in life. 

It was awesome. They walk you through the painting bit by bit. First, they show you the painting and describe the brushes you will use and what each of them is used for typically. The instruction is extremely detailed, and you can ask questions if you get confused. They are very helpful, and they circulate around the room as you paint so they make sure everyone is following the instructions correctly. 

As you are doing this you can order drinks, or like this class it was a special with unlimited Mimosas for $10. So, for $48 each we got unlimited drinks and a piece of art to create and take home. It was very messy. I'm very messy, so it's not surprising, but you put an apron on, but sometimes that's not enough. 

Here is where we went: Grand Rapids | Wine and Canvas MI

Airport Runway 5k- GRR

So, I ran in a race for the first time in a year. I now realize, if I am sign up for a 5k, I should actually take the time to run a little before the race, like training or practice in the months or weeks before hand. You cannot (or should not) just run any race without some previous training. I did have kind of a rough summer and was concerned about so health stuff, so I hadn't really been running until about two weeks prior to the race when I got an "all clear" for some test results. 

This is not about that though; this is about how cool it is to run on a runway and donate money and time to a great cause. I chose this race initially because I thought it was super cool to run on a runway.  The year I signed up for the first time, it was cancelled for covid and when it came back, I wasn't in shape, and I couldn't attend anyway so my race fees were just a donation- which is still wonderful! Truly and honestly, I wasn't in shape for this one either, but I knew I had to do it. 

Running on an airport runway was interesting. Obviously, the airport has many runways, so planes were still taking off and we could see them over head. We ran past a private airport hangar and some private planes with a few people standing on the tarmac waving us on as the group sailed past. People at this race were very nice. The first interaction I had when I pulled into my parking space was with the car next to me. His name was Jim and he was in a wheelchair, he was using it to qualify for a different race and he was so nice. We had a wonderful little chat before I headed to the starting gate. After speaking to him I felt better. I felt less alone, less scared, and more connected to the situation at hand. 

The starting gate was an actual gate, with actual guards, and it was closed until about 15 minutes before the race. When I lined up at the start line people filled in quickly. It started off on a service road which turned into the runway. I never realized how big an airport runway was until I ran on it. When you are in a large plane you never really see the runway unless you are in the cockpit, and I imagine it probably looks smaller in the cockpit of a large plane then it does when you are on the ground running on it. 

A man who was holding his shoes ran past me barefoot. Women and men pushing strollers, small children, old people, young people, all running, all going for the same thing, the finish line. We were all stretched out over the asphalt running at different paces.  It was inspiring to see so many different people in one place all pushing themselves to be the best they can be and all going to the same destination. 

As I was running an old friend I hadn't seen in a while sidled up next to me. He was running too, we had a nice chat even though we were both out of breath, we kept going. Then towards the end, when I thought I could take no more, I was walking a bit and another woman, about my age said "You're doing great, just keep going, you are almost there" inspired by her breathy words I finished right behind her a minute less than the time I had chosen for myself. 

The donations for the race went to Kids' Food Basket, which here in Grand Rapids is kind of a big deal. Kids' Food Basket provides food to a lot of children in the area who would otherwise not eat well because of many different situations in their family life. It is an excellent program which helps out a lot of struggling families. 

Running these races is great. It's healthy for the individual. It develops an unusual comradery with strangers and a feeling of accomplishment. It is something I will do again and again and again as much as I can for as long as I can because we never really know how much we have left in us. We never know if we are in the middle until we reach the end, unless you are in a race that is.... and maybe next time I will train and write the date on my calendar or even set a reminder in my phone.

Peaks Island, The Umbrella Cover Museum

Do you ever wonder what happened to your umbrella cover? Probably not. But have you ever seen an umbrella cover and wondered how it got there and where is the umbrella it goes with? Maybe.  Well, I have news for you, my sister and I found the Narnia of lost umbrella covers in this little island off the coast of Maine. 

We took a ferry from Portland to Peaks Island. A charming little place full of whimsical looking houses and miles of beaches full of multicolored beach glass. The place really was kind of magical. 

When you get off the ferry at Peaks Island, immediately to your left there is business to rent golf carts. It's really the only way to travel on the island, they have cars; however, this is much easier and a lot more fun. 

If you are just visiting for a day, it is best to just go with the golf cart. You must be over 18 and have a valid driver's license. It was really easy to rent, and it made cruising around the island fun. The houses were gorgeous. Huge, lovely things and they all looked like bed and breakfasts, but more likely were the summer homes of people who live in Maine or on the island full time. 

There was a little grocery store, restaurants, and some other interesting businesses scattered around the island. The Umbrella Cover Museum was what drew our attention to the island. The slogan is "Celebrate the Mundane." I cannot think of a more mundane thing than an umbrella cover. 

The museum is basically one room and a bathroom. It does not charge admission but has a donation box at the entrance and sells magnets. The woman who runs it is an accordion player. Her story was fascinating, and she currently holds the world record for the most umbrella covers, and she has them from all over the world. 

The bathroom is where she puts the "Sexy Umbrella Covers". She ends her tours (and sometimes begins them) with a song from her accordion. 

Overall, I give the museum 10 stars and I would visit the island again. Just a side note: I love her Instagram posts; she shares her experiences and guests with the world. She also has a good point; we should celebrate the mundane. Maybe that's the point of life. 

This is where we went:

The Umbrella Cover Museum

Portland, Maine: Lots of Lobstah

My sister is similar to me in the fact she has an adventurous spirt. This spontaneous (and short) trip was in inspired at church. Our conversation was simple 

Her: You're off work this week?

Me: Yes. 

Her: Where are you going?

Me: Nowhere. 

Her:  You should go somewhere. I want to go somewhere, and I can this week. Let's go somewhere. 

Me: Wanna go to Maine and eat a lobster?  

Her: Sure. I've never been to Maine. 

Then after church I went to her house, and we booked a flight. It all happened pretty fast, but so does life so sometimes you just have to do things.  Even if it costs you more money than you intend on spending. Even if you have things to do in your own house. Sometimes you just have to go. 

So, we went to Maine. We flew into Portland, and it was dark, so we didn't see much. A lot of things close early as well, so there were only a couple of places with food open. In addition to its being late there was a basketball game playing, and everyone was watching so the bars serving food were packed. We did end up getting some really delicious food. It was like extra fancy bar food, curried wings, Brussel sprouts, and fries that had some really amazing seasoning. 

The next day we walked around Portland a little bit. We found a place with Lobster rolls, oh my. Lobster Rolls are basically lobster with sauce on a toasted hot dog bun.   

For dinner we went to Luke's Lobster and had a whole Lobster. They pull them out the ocean that day so they are super fresh. There is instructions on how to crack it. Our server brough it already taken apart. "Lazy Lobster" she called it. We were intending on doing it ourselves, so this was a major disappointment. She said people keep breaking the lobster crackers, which seems odd that they wouldn't have an overabundance of them considering its a lobster place. 

One more thing, the pier can be dangerous, wood is uneven and it's been there a long time. There are some holes and bolts that stick up. BE careful walking around.