Author: DawnO

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Back to School

I have been so lucky to spend a full week in Spanish school in the town of Ronda in the south of Spain. Each day has been pretty much the same: get up and ready, do my homework, go hiking/exploring the town, school from 4pm-8pm, try different tapas and wines, home to bed. Repeat. A simple but awesome life. 

I was drawn to the Entrelenguas school as soon as I read their website.


I have seen a huge advancement in my Spanish over the week. I must give credit to the conversation club that I’ve been attending weekly at the Medicine Hat Public Library which has definitely kept my momentum going. This week concepts that previously made my brain explode have been much easier to understand and use. I’ve still had my fair share of smoke coming out of my ears, but all in the name of progress!

Ronda is such an easy town to immerse into because it can be explored fully on foot. It’s famous for it’s bridges that span a gorge which runs through the middle of the town. There are 3 different bridges, but the newest one (finished in 1793) is the biggest tourist attraction in town.


Ronda also has a significant history in bullfighting. The local Romero family is credited for introducing the red cape and making it more of an art rather than just a slaughter. The oldest bullfighting ring in town still hosts an annual event. I’m thankful I wasn’t present for it.

Numerous writers and artists have gotten inspiration from this picturesque town, including Hemingway’s ‘For Whom The Bell Tolls’.


Much of the time when hiking I’ve felt like I’m walking through a painting. I’ve definitely put some miles on my shoes. I consider it more like earning the ability to eat more Iberian ham.

I could definitely see myself returning here again, hopefully next time with RobO.

Tomorrow I take the train to Córdoba. It’s only 1 week until another Olson reunion. The countdown timer is running…

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‘The King’s Little Path’

Today was a bucket list kind of day. I first saw the Caminito Del Rey on Pinterest (it was actually one of the first pictures that I pinned to my travel inspiration page). This pathway 100 meters above a gorge was first built in 1901 for workers of the hydroelectric dams. Over the years it crumbled into disrepair and was nicknamed ‘the world’s most dangerous walkway’ due to the numerous (Darwin award) deaths over the years. The local government put millions into restoring the pathway and it was re-opened in 2015, which was when it made the bucket list. Now it has to be booked months in advance as only 900 people are allowed on it each day. I was pumped when I reserved my spot in January.

I am staying in the nearby town of Alora and decided to hike to the trailhead rather than take the train. Using my trusty maps.me app* I started hiking before sunrise to ensure I would be there in time for my 12:30 ticket time. It like I was walking through a dream landscape, witnessing the first rays of light on the lemon, orange, and olive groves. I followed dirt roads and paths weaving through fields and along the railway tracks and arrived to El Chorro (the train station) with plenty of time for a cafe con leche and snack.

Incidentally I almost ended up missing my entry time as I didn’t realize that I was supposed to be at the trail head 30 mins in advance. I anxiously watched the guy turn numerous people away (tickets were sold out) before he squeezed me into the next grouping (which was confusingly at my original ticket time).

The actual hike is only 7kms and takes about 2 hours (including time to snap hundreds of photos). It decidedly earned it’s place on the bucket list. There are spots where it is still possible to see the original sketchy pathway with the pristine new one built above it. I know what you’re going to ask, and the answer is: no, it’s not scary at all. In fact, not once did I get that wibbly feeling in my gut that sometimes comes along with heights. 

The old path:


I decided that I had the energy and provisions to hike back to my hotel as well, which added an exclamation point to an already fantastic day of hiking.

Tomorrow I’m headed to the town of Ronda to settle in for a week of Spanish school.

* I would like to give a shout out to the free maps.me app. If you haven’t heard of it, trust me when I say that it is a travel game-changer. Here’s how it works: you can download a country, then ‘pin’ useful places (hotels, restaurants, sights, train station, etc). Then you can use the app to look at the map or create walking/biking/driving/transit routes. Now, here’s where it really shines: you can use it in real time when you’re not on wifi or data! Without it, there’s no way I could have attempted, let alone completed an un-signposted hike. 

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Costa Del Sol Sola

When I arrived in Spain I have to admit I was a bit out of sorts. After 6 weeks of travelling with great company, ordering a table for one feels a bit lonely. Plus it was raining and anyone who knows me at all will know how much I dislike getting wet! But with the beauty of Málaga and being soaked in the Spanish language it didn’t take long to get my mojo back.

One of my first stops was the (free on Sunday afternoons) Alcazaba de Malaga, which is a Moorish palace fortress that’s kind of like a mini Alhambra. 

Up the hill is the Castillo de Gibralfaro which once acted as a lighthouse and military barracks. Now it offers sweeping views of the city and over the Mediterranean toward Africa.

No visit to a Spanish city could be complete without some church visits. The Cathedral de Málaga started on a mosque site and took 200 years to build. Because of the extensive time and cost they stopped before the second bell tower was complete. Now it bears the nickname ‘La Manquita’, which means the one-armed lady.

Being on the coast, there’s quite a beach scene in Málaga. As soon as the sun came out people flocked to the seaside paths and patios.

One morning I awoke to a bright bluebird day. I took the bus to the neighbouring town of Nerja and hiked up a creek bed to the village of Frigiliana. It’s a classic white village that appears to be dramatically clinging to the side of a mountain. I would have liked to spend more time savouring the views, maybe even with my paint set.

Nerja isn’t a bad place to spend time either.

I’ll leave you with a few pictures of markets, churches, and food. The seafood, paella, and sangria can definitely help a traveller get her groove back.


I’m moving inland today. Spoiler alert: tomorrow I’m doing the hike that is the reason that I returned to this area. So far the forecast looks great!

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Slow Travel

One of my goals for this 6 months is to take time to slow down, breathe, and savour the experiences. So far, so good, and this week in Luang Prabang is an exceptional exercise in slow travel. We have a main activity each day, but the rest of our time is spent wandering, exploring, tasting, and absorbing. This leads us to some unexpected things: sipping homemade whiskey with a local (hoping we would not go blind) then trying to plan a graceful escape from the situation, practicing English with kids in the market, and the feeling of almost floating from the awesome vibrations of a temple full of chanting monks.

One day we spend a couple of hours at the Kuang Si waterfalls nearby. At the entrance to the park is a conservation area for Moon Bears, which look like a really hairy version of the black bears we have at home. 


I had read reviews that the hike to the top of the waterfalls was underwhelming, but we decide to explore it anyway. It turns out to be my favorite part of the day. A really friendly guy in a very sketchy boat rows us about 15 minutes to the ‘source’ of the waterfalls. What looked like just a regular part of the stream is actually 45 meters deep – an underwater cave that is the reservoir for the roaring falls. 

We spend two (exhausting but worthwhile) hours at Big Brother Mouse, which is a free school where kids can go to practice speaking English. Not once, not twice, but three hilarious times I am asked if Rox is my older sister. I seem to think it’s funnier than she does.

Propelled by our discomfort from seeing tourists so blatantly disrespecting the Buddhist traditions, we spend a couple of hours on a tour learning from a young man who spent 2 years as a novice (young monk). He answers our list of monk and temple related questions. We now have an understanding so we don’t unintentionally do something rude or disrespectful. Speaking of the monks, I’m pleased to report that there is no longer ecstatic drumming at 4am, just a little bit of softer drumming. We think it had to do with the full moon, though have not gotten a clear answer on this one.

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Otherwise, we round out our days with a yoga class, biking in the countryside, a massage and herbal sauna, shopping the night market, and working our way through a long list of Laos foods we wanted to try. I have some food pics, but Rox has been much more consistent with this, so if you’re interested I suggest you check out her Laos food blog: www.delafrijoles.com.

It is in the same vein of slow travel that we had decided to take the ‘slow boat’ from Luang Prabang to Chiang Mai, Thailand. We are picked up by the slowest tuk tuk in Laos and delivered to the boat dock about 10kms away. There we board our long, narrow, wooden boat that will take us upstream on the mighty Mekong River to the Thai border. The seats in the boat are actually car seats. They are filled by about 80 people sleeping, daydreaming, and snacking. Check out the size of our food bag!


Over the 2 days (9-ish hours each day) we pass by remote villages, fishing nets, elephants bathing in the river, and many fires (it’s the time of year when farmers burn their crops). The nights we stop in local towns to lay our heads in rock hard $8 guesthouse beds.

On the 3rd morning we cross the border and take a long hot minibus to arrive in Chiang Mai. One day here to eat as much mango sticky rice as possible, then it will be the end of this Rock-Awn 3.0 adventure. A Rock-Off, if you will. We’re already thinking about a version 4.0!

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Laos Life

As soon as we get out of the airport in Luang Prabang, Laos it feels like we’re in Asia. I think it’s the tuk tuks and dusty roads that are missing in Vietnam. The city feels like a bustling small town nestled between the Mekong and Nam Khan rivers. There are wooden buildings and bamboo bridges to cross the river. We like it immediately.

The morning market is, as typical markets are, a wide range of colours, scents, and sights. I am surprised by many new types of produce that I’ve never seen before. 


We buy and taste a few things as we walk along, including a roasted honeycomb snack I had read about. It’s fresh off the grill and wrapped in a delicate banana leaf.


I unwrap it and as I bite into it I can feel each little waxy hexagon explode, releasing a squishy bee larvae into my mouth. Talk about a mix of textures. You would think that maybe the flavour would be ok because it’s honeycomb and honey is delicious. Imagine my surprise when it is salty like it had been marinated in some type of brine prior to the grill. Somehow I manage to swallow that mouthful and amazingly keep it down. This little delicacy wins the ‘worst food of the trip’ award. It is often used as one of the alternatives in the ‘would you rather’ game that Rox and I play. For example, would you rather eat a whole honeycomb snack or burn to death. I think you know my answer.

One afternoon we hike up the 329 steps up a hill to a stupa with great sunset views. On the way up people are selling these tiny birds in tiny bamboo cages. A sign says that you can release a bird and make a wish. Rox and I can’t bear to hear the helpless squeaking for freedom, so we each buy one and watch little Nelson and Sakura fly off into the sunset. Then we spend 10 minutes destroying the torture cages so they can’t be used again.


Luang Prabang is a Unesco-protected spot because of its 33 wats (Buddhist temples). We spend time exploring the different peaceful spaces, each a little different. At 4am and 4pm each day the monks pound out this repetitive drumming/cymbal smashing rhythm that can be heard all around town. It’s mesmerizing, though also an unexpected alarm clock with our guesthouse surrounded by 3 wats.

One of the things that I’ve been looking forward to is seeing the daily ‘Alms’ practice. Every morning at sunrise monks in various shades of orange walk through the streets while people put sticky rice and other offerings into their bowls. The monks also distribute some of the offerings to needy people along the route. It is a religious practice demonstrating humility and giving. When we walk through town we see these signs: 

One morning we wake before dawn and head to the main street with our cameras. We choose a quiet vantage point across the street from the action, make sure our flash is off, and wait. What unfolds next is one of the most disgusting displays of tourism I’ve ever seen. Vans loaded with loud tourists descend, fill the chairs and street, and proceed to put on a clinic of all of the things that the sign says not to do. It is a mob of amateur paparazzi making this religious ceremony into a circus. I feel so bad for the monks.

I just want to go back to bed, but Roxanne has a better idea. We follow the route a little way and find that off of the main street is where the respectful tourists seem to be. As we watch from there I have a brief moment of eye contact with a young monk. In that instant there are so many things that I want to say that it feels like my eyes are shouting. I’m sorry. I saw what you have to go through. We’re not all like that. I guess actions speak louder than words, so we mindfully observe the peaceful process and snap a few photos from a distance.

We have a few more days here with lots on the agenda, so stay tuned for more Rock-Awn adventures.

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The Goldilocks Town

Hue feels just right. I really enjoyed both Da Nang and Hoi An, but the former has fewer tourists and fewer sights, while the latter has too many tourists and lots of sights. The World Heritage town of Hue feels like it has the perfect balance of tourists and sights.


We took the bus there and the train back, each of which was worth the experience. The bus was one of the most interesting I’ve ever seen. I looked almost like bunk beds instead of seats. The train went over the famous Hai Van pass with dramatic views of the coastline.


We only had about a day and a half there so we packed in a lot of walking, biking, and tasting. We had some fun at the large, scrambled market area. There doesn’t seem to be much order to the place – you can buy packing tape right next to dried fruit. We could be at risk of eating a cleaning product if we weren’t careful to charade if something was edible. Rox bought some peanut butter/cilantro/thin rice paper snacks (surprisingly delicious) that we nicknamed ‘the Tide Pods’. We sat at a little food stand where the woman kept delivering different foods until we finally had to tell her to stop. What did we try? Who knows, but most of it was pretty tasty. I think I’m a pretty adventurous eater, but Rox has me beat on this one. She convinced herself to try a dish that Anthony Bordain once said contained ‘the broth that the gods were suckled on’. It contains an array of delicacies including congealed blood, tripe, pig knuckle, and more. Most of this stayed in the bowl but she said the noodles and broth were an un-celestial ok.

We spent about a half day exploring the Citadel, which contains the remains of royal residences, temples, and gardens. As we wandered the huge area there were times that we enjoyed being the only people around. As usual I took a thousand archway and doorway shots, but I’m sure you can appreciate why.

We rented bicycles and rode to a strangely popular destination: an abandoned water park. Graffiti artists have pretty much covered the place. It has an eerie feel to it. Later a local asked us if we had seen the ghost. Cue the shivers and goosebumps.

Many of you will know that back home I’m not a coffee drinker. I have a fancy coffee one or two times per month or so. In Vietnam my pendulum has swung to the opposite end, and I have found myself averaging two coffees per day. It is nearly impossible to resist the delicious Vietnamese coffee (with sweetened condensed milk) or the aforementioned egg coffee, coconut coffee, and avocado coffee. Now add another to the list: Hue’s specialty salty coffee. It tastes a bit like salted caramel and I’m sure the gods would have chosen it to suckle on instead of that weird meat dish.

Vietnam has been great, but it’s time for Rock-Awn to move on. Laos, here we come!

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Beware of the Old Ladies

Rock-Awn arrived to Hoi An with great anticipation. Both of us have read glowing reviews about this sea and riverside town. As we wander along it seems to be an underwhelming mass of scooters, tourists, and tailor shops, until we get into Old Town. Though it is a very touristy area, I can understand the charm. There are lanterns everywhere, historic Vietnamese buildings, and great street food (including a surprisingly delicious ‘Vietnamese pizza’).

As we’re checking into our hotel, the receptionist gives us some helpful tips for visiting the city, including this gem:

Receptionist: When you’re in the market area, watch out for these old ladies. They will try to get you to follow them.

Us: Okay.

Receptionist: They will be these old ladies, and once they’ve taken you to a different area of the market they’ll distract you and steal your bag.

Us: Okay.

Receptionist: You’ll know when you see them because they look really old, probably like 40 years old or so.

Us (sad faces): Okay… thanks.

Old Town is at it’s best at night when the lanterns are lit. They hang like jewelry in the streets and shops.

We enjoy some relax time in local coffee shops (hello avocado coffee!), one of which has a beautiful, frequently photographed patio area. After the 8th or 10th time of being photographed it was hard to resist the occasional photo bomb. Picture this (plus one other) zany face in a tourist’s vacation slideshow.


We make good use of our hotel bicycles to explore the rice fields and beach.


One morning we rise before the crack of dawn to take a bus trip to Mÿ Són, the ancient ruins nearby. Our early departure was not to see the sunrise as it is often foggy with humidity, but to avoid the crowds. It pays off as our group is the first to arrive. The ruins are not extensive like those that I visited in Cambodia, but it was nice to see them in the process of excavation.

Next stop is the city of Hue (pronounced ‘Hway’).

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Rock-Awn 3.0

I meet up with Roxanne in Da Nang and we easily slide back into our travel team of Rock-Awn. Our roles are fluid and shifting, but she often researches food and I often research logistics. We spend our first day catching up as we walk along the long stretch of beach. The fishermen repair their nets and prep their little round boats while women sort through buckets of tiny snails. Exhausted from walking in the sun, we spend the afternoon by the pool then set out to find a good street food dinner. Da Nang is not super touristy, so it’s nice to see street side vendors filled with Vietnamese patrons. We settle on delicious fried noodles then set off to secure a good viewing spot for one of the main attractions: the Dragon Bridge. On Saturday and Sunday nights the colour changing dragon breathes out flames and water in a spectacle that attracts both tourists and locals alike. We cycle out to the Marble Mountains, which is a grouping of 5 hills each representing a different element. The largest one has numerous caves, temples, and pagodas all over it. Each of the caves is a little different. One has some really creepy images and my favorite one is filled with magnificent sunbeams. Rox read a food blog which leads us to cycle to a obscure little restaurant at the end of an alleyway. There we eat what I am crowning ‘best meal of the trip (so far)’. This honour should not be taken lightly. Remember that I was just in India and Singapore. It’s called Bánh Xèo and there are some steps to eating it. 1. Take 1 thin rice paper and place a Vietnamese pancake onto it. Do not worry about the shell on the shrimp; it adds to the texture: 2. Load it up with cucumber, greens, and some pickled radish-type thing: 3. Scoop on some secret recipe peanut sauce (which may contain pork liver) and a mystery meat stick. Start rolling it and twist to remove the stick and leave the meat: 4. Roll it up, dip it into more special sauce, and devour it: 5. Wipe your messy hands and the drool pool that it hanging off of your chin from it being so delicious. 6. Repeat at least 3 times. We revisit it again the next day to ensure quality control and to present them with the trophy. We also enjoy trying new fruits at a local market (mangosteen for Rox and soursop for me) and sipping delicious Vietnamese coconut coffee. Moms can probably stop reading now… We have seen this Lady Buddha statue from the beach. Turns out it is the tallest one in Vietnam (67m) and is located in an area called Son Tra. We decide to grab a ‘Grab’ (the local moto-taxi) to take us out there. Let’s just say it gets my heart racing, especially when my driver passes a bus on the winding road then later when, while driving, I watch him type something into his translation app.  Want to know what he was translating? ‘Hope you have happy in Vietnam.’ I guess I am happy that we didn’t die.
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Singapore Swing

I spend 2.5 days with Raman’s family. It’s a nice time to observe the typical day to day activities in an Indian village. The family communicates with me through food, photo albums, and the occasional translation from Gagan, Raman’s brother. As is often the case when there’s a language barrier, I seem to be a step behind most of the time. For example, on my last evening I accept delicious dinner, seconds, and dessert from Raman’s Mom, then about an hour later I’m served a special meal by Auntie next door.


One day Raman’s Dad and Gagan drive me to a mountain temple. There is a huge tree, it’s branches filled with red fabric. Gagan tells me that you tie on a thread and make a wish, then when it comes true you return and untie one. He has untied 1 and tied 2 today.

Serendipitously I am leaving on the same flight as an Uncle. On the way to the airport we meet Raman and Gurvinder for a goodbye, then visit the Golden Temple in Amritsar. This is the central religious site for the Sikh faith and they feed a meal to about 1 million visitors per day. It would be a peaceful place to sit for a couple of hours.
I am immensely grateful to Raman and her family for their generosity.

After a red eye flight I arrive in Singapore. My first impression is that it is clean and modern. RobO still teases me about our time in Lima, Peru when I experienced reverse culture shock (They were walking dogs on leashes! Ermegerd!) and I can feel those same feelings bubbling up. There’s no honking, people use crosswalks, and there’s toilet paper in every bathroom. I see dogs on leashes, and raise it with people jogging on groomed riverside paths. Am I still in Asia? I’m ok with it though. It’s a nice reprieve, especially knowing I’ll be back in the chaos of Vietnam in 36 hours.

Naturally, I’m drawn to the colours and vibes of Chinatown and Little India. I pause and breathe in temples and mosques, snap photos of street art, and sample foodie paradise.


Late afternoon I settle in at Gardens by the Bay, one of the main attractions. It does not disappoint. Imagine the Bellagio Fountains meet Avatar.


People often ask me what is on our bucket list but it’s really too long and diverse to summarize. At night I check off one of the weirder items on the list: sleep in a capsule hotel. Of course, I pick the most spaceship-like one I can find. It’s really just a glorified bunk bed that’s more difficult to get into, but I like the feeling of privacy in my plastic cocoon.


Now I’m headed back to Vietnam, the central area of the country this time. Rock-Awn 3.0!

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Happily Ever After

After a day of flying, I arrive in India for my friend Raman’s wedding. Last August her parents arranged for her to marry Gurvinder and since then they have had the chance to get to know one another. Now it appears to be the best case scenario: a combo arranged/love marriage.

My driver pulls up to Raman’s family home about 10:30pm and I step into an ecstatic dance party. Raman tells me that they have had a day of ceremonies and have been dancing since 7:00. The music is so loud that my eardrums are rattling and every so often the men throw money into the air, making it rain. Raman’s friend uses a cone of henna to paint my right hand. Raman has beautifully intricate henna up to her elbows and ankles. Tradition says that the darker it is the more her mother-in-law will like her, so she’s been treating it with care.


Saturday morning the second my eyes open I’m delivered a cup of chai and plate of sweets. I could get used to this. Today is the day of ceremonies put on by the groom’s family. Raman stays at home while the rest of us don our custom dresses and have a makeup party like the ones I missed out on in high school.


We arrive bearing gifts of fruit, clothing, and sweets, then Gurvinder is ceremoniously given money by each of Raman’s family members. There’s eating, eating, and more eating, some dancing, and eating again.


A flock of Raman’s aunties have taken me under their wings and they are taking this job seriously. I am either eating or being led somewhere to fill my plate. I have made a special connection with one auntie in particular. She is deaf and non-verbal, so she has never relied on Punjabi, making it much easier and more natural for her to gesture communication with me.


With belly aches we go home. All afternoon the women sit on a bed in the living room, their legs tucked under a shared blanket. They tell Raman stories about the day and her new in-laws. She hasn’t met them yet.

Here there are no clocks, watches, or strict time schedules; a refreshing change from my time-slave western culture. In the evening, when everyone arrives the ‘Bangle Ceremony’ begins. Raman has been dreaming of wearing wedding bangles since she was 10 years old. Her mother’s brothers bless the bangles and carefully guide them onto her wrists. Here they will stay until she has her first baby, though in modern times it’s usually more like 6 weeks.

With anticipation everyone goes to bed. The house is like a big family slumber party. There are mats all over the floor and must be at least 25 people sleeping here. There is 1 bathroom. Amazingly, this does not seem to be a problem at all. Just imagine 25 people getting ready for a Canadian wedding with 1 bathroom. Here it is somehow seamless.

Remember when I said that time isn’t important here? The glaring exception is the wedding morning. At precisely 5am a parade of women wake Raman. They sing as she washes herself, then later she is swept away to the beauty parlour.

I dress in my second custom Indian gown. I start to think that maybe I don’t stand out so much; after all I have tanned skin with dark hair and eyes. One of the housekeepers says something to me in Punjabi and a cousin translates, “She says you look like a boy.” Oh, that. They likely have never seen a woman with short hair before.


We caravan to the wedding and, big surprise, we eat. Raman arrives and I cannot take my eyes off of this exquisite Indian princess. 


Gurvinder and his family are led in by a marching band. There are a series of steps and ceremonies and everything is lost in translation for me. But I don’t need to understand the words when I can feel the emotions: anticipation, excitement, joy, love.


After hours of photos, ceremonies, and eating, the energy palpably changes. It feels somber and sad. At Canadian weddings I am used to a union of 2 families, but in India it is starkly different. Raman is leaving her family to join Gurvinder’s. Her suitcases are delivered to his family and her family files through a receiving line of tear filled goodbyes.

Attending an Indian wedding is an experience that makes the highlight reel of my life. The wedding was unforgettable, but some of my favourite memories will be some of the in between times:

– Watching a man skillfully wrap 7 meters of cloth into an expert turban.

– Raman reminiscing about summer nights her family spent sleeping on the rooftop under the stars.

– A cousin walking me around the village, then the eruption of laughter from the family when he told them the things I took pictures of.

– The special presentation of toilet paper in the bathroom when I arrived (and surprisingly I was not the only one using it!).

– Raman’s Grandfather specifically finding me to gently gesture the importance of covering my head in the temple.

– The warmth and kindness I felt from Raman’s family.

Now I’m being spoiled rotten by Raman’s family for a couple more days until my flight to Singapore!