Roar’s Staff Writers and Editors get together in a collaborative travel article to share their summer adventures and experiences.
This article was first published in print on 16 September 2024.
Ruth Otim, Comment Editor
I hadn’t been back home to Addis Ababa in four years. In such a short time, the city I knew had completely changed. Old restaurants I went to as a child no longer existed, skyscrapers were erected where shacked houses once were and my small family home dwindled beside the burgeoning city. With all these changes one thing remained: my grandfather’s old hotel in the historic district of Piassa. He used to own the hotel back in the 80s and sold it a few decades later. Now, his hotel sits as a historic site with its own plaque! Returning back to his old hotel was nostalgic; seeing it survive the development around us reminded me that some things can never be replaced.
Angelika Etherington-Smith, Staff Writer
A couple of years ago my family and I spent two weeks on the road in the Lake District—a trip that made me realise just how much I enjoy hiking. This summer, instead of going north, we went south to sunny Cornwall. As it was my first time in the area, I was not sure what to expect. Happily, we drove away a week later with strong tan lines and an even stronger affection for the place. If you love an active holiday, are on a budget and love the woods, sea and mountains, Cornwall might be just the place for you.
I always thought of Cornwall as just one of many British seaside areas, but never considered how much great hiking you can do there. From visiting waterfalls to hours-long walks near the countryside and the sea, the trip helped me learn more about the area’s history and understand the local people.
What’s more, travelling by car allowed us to have a more flexible approach to our time away and to visit many more locations than we originally planned—for example, were able to stay for a firework night at Land’s End. That evening, full of music, laughter and gorgeous lights brightening the sky, concluded a day of hiking through flower-covered mountains and was perfect contentment on a student budget.
If you’re keen to learn more about the county, St Michael’s Mount and Falmouth are must-see locations. Climbing the Mount, exploring the gardens and then grabbing a traditional Cornish ice cream was definitely a highlight. If you’re one for the views—or chilling on the beach with hundreds of happy dogs—St. Ives, Padstow, Gwithian or Maenporth are unmissable. It may not be Berlin or Paris, but I’ve discovered that Cornwall has its own distinct and alluring charm.
Nia Simeonova, Editor-in-Chief
In May, at the end of my semester abroad at Georgetown University, Washington D.C., I got to visit two iconic American cities. From the first breath of fresh air, I knew I was at the edge of the world in San Francisco. From the huge man-made Golden Gate Park to the tiniest street in Chinatown, I could feel that this city had been born in a sudden spark. The Gold Rush Era marks the start of its story and its past is an undeniable feature of the city.
Five hours later, I was sitting on a train entering New York City. NYC, on the other hand, is reborn every day. Sparks fly all around. Alas, any clichéd metaphor would not suffice to describe it. A melting pot? An ant nest? A sad bluesy note, coming from a saxophone at the corner of a Harlem street? Impossible.
Evelyn Shepphird, Culture Editor
It was the first days of August and the roads were long and golden on the seven-hour drive from Los Angeles to Yosemite. Yosemite—illustrious among its 428 peers in American National Parks for the eternity and gravity of its towering granite, tranquil winding paths and thundering waterfalls, was first protected in 1864. The park has been immortalised in the dramatic photography of Ansel Adams, Apple Macbook screensavers and recently, the documentary ‘Free Solo’ which serialises the attempts of rock-climber Alex Honnold to scale granite face El Capitan with no ropes or supports.
Yosemite was an unmissable, if inconvenient, part of my flatmate’s tour of my home state. Her instruction – imprecise and freeing – was to show her why I love my home: Yosemite was proof of the varied wild that exists in California and not England. Re-fuel stops on the drive acclimatised her to the heaviness of the air in the west—the auspicious sense of immediacy, the promise that lingers past the interstates and in the riverbeds. Yosemite itself has a grand majesty and an eternity beyond those man-made constructs of palaces and paintings. It calls to hikers and artists alike and a sense of ambitious wonder makes hikers grin at each other on their ascents, high-five at their summits.
However glorious, the park is not my home. I shook with fear, clinging to sheer granite cliff faces on one hike and the drive was too long to do regularly (and too inconvenient: we managed to get both a cracked windshield and a speeding ticket on the journey).
I call Los Angeles home– with sun-baked pavements and a muted shimmer to each rising obelisk, the palm trees and the glittering, self-contained skyscrapers. LA really is this: wide, open paved roads, fresh-cut fruit, labyrinths of highways, squat one-story houses, glimmering cars, golden and dry—and mine. It is no more artificial than anywhere else—where I’m from is cool night air, open car windows and glittering costumes for celebrity concerts. It’s soft colours, all: sun-bleached and glowing, in hot, quiet peace.
Jagoda Ziolkowska, Culture Editor
If you’ve ever watched a screensaver that changes between different postcard-like views from time to time, you have almost certainly seen Cappadocia, even if the name doesn’t ring a bell. Remember those rocky valleys that look as if they came straight from Dali’s dream, with colourful balloons floating above them? That’s the region of Türkiye I’m talking about.
Since balloon flights depend on weather conditions and can easily be cancelled, every guide advises staying in Cappadocia for at least a few days to make absolutely sure you catch this view at least once. Unforgiving work deadlines made that impossible for me: I had to cross Europe by car in less than a week.
Luck or summer? I’m not sure. Suffice it to say that after arriving in Göreme around 5 p.m. the previous day, by 4:30 a.m. my family and I were squeezing into a bus that took us straight to the balloon giant still lying on the ground.
The concept of the venture is simple yet brilliant: gather everyone while it’s still dark to create an unforgettable image of the sunrise punctuated by a hundred ascending balloons that can be watched from the ground or–like us–from the giant itself. The flight lasted about an hour, but it was not enough time to chance upon fitting language with which to describe it: ‘surreal’ comes close. Especially since our 7 a.m. return to the hotel (and return to the heavy, mouth-watering scent of baking pastries) let us watch cars casually bringing the baskets back into town.
Claire Ducharme, Staff Writer
As students, we all love a good deal. It just so happened that the best return journey back to uni after my semester abroad included a 24-hour layover in Lisbon. Anything to save a couple of pounds, right? Well, landing in Lisbon at 6 a.m., I wasn’t as enamoured with my idea. I set off to find an airport seat to doze on (purse snuggled in my arms) and by 9 a.m., my curiosity had returned. Time to visit Lisbon! With no plan (or a working device), I relied on street signs.
I began with Tram 28 which introduced me to many beautiful sites in the city. Admittedly, it was a bit too cramped to see the window, so I followed my instincts (or other tourists) and hopped off when it felt right. Following the route on foot, I stumbled through Portas Do Sol, past the Lisbon Cathedral and into a little garden where I met another solo traveller. After visiting the vibrant Baixa district and the iconic Terreiro do Paço square together, my energy waned—it was time for lunch in the historic neighbourhood of Chiado. I spent the rest of my day wandering, meeting some Portuguese students and even venturing to the resort town of Cascais for a dip, before heading out to the bohemian Bairro Alto to get a few drinks.
In no time, I had to leave the lovely capital. While I didn’t stay for long or save as much money as I had hoped, I learned about Portuguese, Angolan and Brazilian cultures and Lisbon’s fight against gentrification. While I’m sure I’ll be back—hopefully with more time to spare—I’ll be sure to research my next trip beforehand, both for preservation and planning purposes.
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