Saturday's Wall Street Journal had an entire section titled Travel. Besides the articles, a few pages had short travel vignettes from several people. I found them of great interest, and apparently the people who produce this fine newspaper must have thought travel was a worthwhile topic. There are entire magazines devoted to the subject of travel as well as anthologies and ezines that center on travel.
The photo for today is a group of penguins, known as a raft if they are in water, but on land, the term used for this group is a waddle. We were fortunate to see a waddle of penguins at the Cape of Good Hope in South Aftica. Located about 50 miles south of Capetown, it's a fascinating spot to visit. I wrote a few lines in my travel journal, but silly me did not think to focus on this one spot for a full travel essay. A missed opportunity.
Unless you happen to be a travel journalist, most of us write little or none about some of the places we've been, especially the foreign spots. If you're a writer who would like to be published, or published again, travel essays are ones that editors are often looking for.
One of the ezines that has published two of my travel stories is Dave's Travel Corner About halfway down the Home page, you'll see a place on the right hand side that says Submit an Article. Click on that, and you'll get full information needed for submission.s You'll also find a page of al those who have written for this ezine, in alphabetical order by first name. I checked, and sure enough, my name is listed. I clicked on it, and both my article/essays came up. It'a an interesting site.
Use your favorite search engine to find places where you can submit travel essays. Many appreciate, or even require, photos to accompany your piece. Try keywords like 'submissions for travel essays' or 'where to submit travel essays.'
You may have noticed I use the term 'travel essay' rather than article. The reason being that an article is filled with facts about a place--the topography, places to stay, places to eat, touris sites and more. A travel essay has much of the same but is more personalized. The 'human touch' is within the essay. It might contain the reason for your visit, the people you met, how the place and the people affected you.
One of my favorite travel essays has been published in the USA and in Europe. It's about a special trip my husband and I took with an interesting person as our host. You can read it below. The next time you travel here or abroad, take good notes and write a travel essay when you return home.
Joe’s Castle
As soon as the iron gates came into view, the conversation in our rented van ceased. All six of us leaned forward for a better view while we drove slowly onto the park-like grounds of Zbraslav Castle. Huge trees stood guard over various sculptures on either side of the lane we traversed.
“There it is,” Joe told us.
'It' was Joe’s boyhood home, a home that had been occupied by enemy soldiers during World War II, then taken over by the communists, a home that Joe had fled over fifty years earlier. Joe is the Baron Joseph Barton-Dobenin, the oldest of three sons who were raised in a thirteenth century castle that sits in all its majesty a few miles outside of Prague in what is now the Czech Republic.
We pulled up in front of the colorful castle and scrambled out of the van while Joe spoke to the guard on duty. Our visit here started in jest at one of our Dinner/Bridge sessions. Joe’s wife, Elizabeth, had said, “You know what? We should all go over to Prague and play bridge in the castle.” Six of us nodded and laughed and agreed that we should do that. Sometime. Little did we know that Joe and Elizabeth were serious, and the next time we were together, plans for our trip began to gel. Between January and May we made air and hotel reservations, rented a van, and prepared for a week’s stay in Prague, a city justifiably known as The Jewel of Europe.
We’d heard a great deal about the castle ever since it had been returned to Joe’s family when the communist government fell during The Velvet Revolution. Now, we were to see it. What had been mere words would soon be mental pictures to file in our memories and see again and again once home in Kansas.
When the communists seized the castle a few years after World War II, they turned it into a museum. Consequently, everything in it was left exactly as it had been, and the entire building was well maintained. People flocked to tour the castle, to exclaim over the masters’ paintings, the porcelain, the sculptures and antiques throughout.
Today, one end is a national art gallery. Joe’s niece and her children occupy the lower floor of the remainder of the castle, and Joe has kept the upper floor private. It continues to be furnished exactly as it was in his childhood.
His mother’s portrait still graces a wall in a salon. I gazed at the portrait for a long time. Painted in the years just prior to World War I, the woman looks regal and feminine in a froth of a dress, but her strength of character comes through as well. When Joe was only fifteen, his father died, and his mother became head of the family. Hitler had come to power, and before long, Czechoslovakia proved to be one more prize in his collection of European countries. What stories this woman might tell were she alive today.
During the war, German officers lived in the castle at Zbraslav with the Barton-Dobenin family. Joe inherited his father’s title, but he and his brothers were sent to work in the fields with other Czechs. Joe tells a wonderful story about the surrender of those same German soldiers.
When the end of the war was imminent, two American lieutenants drove a jeep, with a white towel on its antenna, up the castle road. They asked to see the officer in charge, then informed the German they were authorized to take him and his men prisoners. The Germans agreed but asked for time to get ready. While they talked outside in a courtyard, Joes’ mother joined them, carrying a large, oversized book in her hands. “Gentlemen,” she said, “would you sign my guest book?” The two Americans readily agreed, and each man signed his name. One of them wrote that he hoped they might visit again under better circumstances.
Later that day, the two Americans in their jeep led several thousand German enlisted men, who had camped on the castle grouds, and officers on foot to the American lines. Why had it been so easy? The Germans chose to surrender to the Americans rather than to the Russians who were close behind.
We wandered from room to room admiring the murals that graced the ceilings and the oriental rugs that rested on the floor. White porcelain stoves in the corner of many of the rooms provided heat on cold winter days. Large windows in every room afforded views of a winding river and dense forest that surrounded the castle and courtyard. I lingered at one such window admiring the view. Long before this, Joe and his little brothers must have done the same.
Zbraslav Castle boasts two large dining rooms for entertaining. Eighteen guests can dine at one table, while the other seats even more. Each table stretched longer than any we’d ever seen. Long white linens covered the top, and stately chairs were lined up on either side. I tried to imagine the table adorned with china, crystal, and silver, the chairs occupied by invited guests, and animated conversation and laughter filling the room. A dinner party in the castle was easy to picture.
After our wonderful tour of Joes’ castle, we got down to the business we’d come for—playing Bridge. Joe took us to the rooms he’d been given when he turned eighteen. To mark his entry into an adult world, his mother had a lovely bed/sitting room and bath redone for him. The tall windows looked down on a small courtyard and the verdant forest beyond. We toasted our hosts, with a small glass of Becherovka, a local liqueur that slid easily across the tongue. The cards were dealt, and laughter and conversation rang in the castle once more. Another memory had been etched into our lives because of our friend Joe, his warm heart, and his beautiful castle.
(C)
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