Two weeks in Japan were not enough. After a bad break up, I decide to reward myself and go on a solo adventure. Signing up  a Japanese language course and training karate for years made my curiosity of exploring Japan even stronger. I arrive just in time for the cherry blossom season. I was expecting beautiful flowers and a little culture shock, but I didn’t realise how much I would learn from Japanese culture over the coming weeks.

I love walking under these sakura ‘tunnels’ in Kyoto.

1. Experiencing hanami during sakura season

The first time I hear the word ‘hanami’ I think, ‘Who has time to go out and do that?’ Focused on our work, personal problems and political issues that make us believe the world is a horrible place, we often forget to appreciate the small details around us. I flick through the Japanese TV channels and few of them show reporters commenting on sakura. The camera reveals close-ups, long and aerial shots of lavish pink and white blooms. The reporting consists of the lines, ‘Oooh, this is beautiful, isn’t it?’ Then the happy voiceover mentions the best places to go for a flower watch.

Hanami is a traditional thousand-year-old Japanese custom that celebrates the beauty of the blooming trees. Nowadays, it is a picnic with friends or family under the gorgeous branches in the parks. I do it with some fun strangers I meet at my hostel in Kyoto. The beauty around us helps us bond and engage in meaningful conversations.

In the spring, parks in Kyoto are a great place to try street food, have coffee and enjoy sakura.

Before coming to Japan, I used a sakura calendar to plan my trip in the cherry blossom season. Every year, the dates are different and the blooming lasts only for few days.

2. Taking a traditional tea ceremony lesson in Japanese

‘It seems easier to host a tea ceremony than to be a guest at it.’ That is the conclusion I make after my first tea ceremony lesson at a special Japanese school to which my host in Tokyo, Yuta, takes me. I feel privileged to be the only non-Japanese person to enter something that to me feels like a secret society. It is is an actual lesson where most people learn the art of being a tea ceremony master. And there is me, the outsider, who doesn’t even speak the language but is enthusiastic enough to try and understand what is happening. Yuta knows I am trying to learn Japanese so he doesn’t translate anything in English unless I make the same lost-in-translation mistake too many times.

We all must sit in seiza, a traditional form of seating. We kneel and fold our legs underneath out thighs. It gets painful after ten minutes. Those of us who play the guests line on the soft tatami mat, counting an exact number of lines. The last line marks the place where our knees have to be. I have to use certain expressions when I greet the host, take a sweet or before I drink my tea. There are rules for the position of every part of my body, for the order I use my hands to take and drink from the bowl. I fear I will hate the matcha tea when I try it and this will show on my face and everyone will think I am impolite. But the tea is not that bad, it tastes like coffee but more bitter. Regardless if I like it or not, the etiquette requires me to say, ‘mmm it was very tasty,’ with passion and in Japanese.

It is my turn to play the host. I perform the routine I have watched others do, take some of the green powder, pour water and start whisking it inside the first bowl. Everyone starts laughing as Tomoko, our teacher, comments my performance. I turn to Yuta with a confused look and he explains, ‘You are doing it too fast. Slow down.’

I think about these words long after the lesson is over. So far, I have been traveling in a rush to see and experience all amazing places in Japan. I am so obsessed with this country that I sometimes forget to eat, rest or enjoy the journey. Tomoko may not realize it, but she gave me a valuable advice on how to continue my trip without having a heart attack.

3. Walking around Kyoto in a kimono

Excited to have my ‘Memoirs of a Geisha’ moment, I decide to do something super touristy and go for a Geisha makeover, complemented with a stroll in the old town and a photo shoot. Wearing this camouflage for half a day costs at least 10 000 yen ($84) and for some reason I believe it is worth it.

I am lucky to spot a Geisha in Kyoto and hurry to take a picture. It seems like a legit image of Kyoto, one you would expect to see and photograph.

But these Geisha we love to photograph are normal women who are just having fun with their makeover. The real ones are hard to take a picture of as they come out in the evening and are usually in a rush.

But then go to the market next to Kitano Tenmangu Shrine where I stumble upon a stand that sells second-hand traditional dresses. I buy it and start making plans of how to accessorize it, instead of renting one for a short time. It costs $150 in total but I can, at least, keep the outfit.

I put on my new wooden flip flops and white socks when I go out to meet Taka who is going to show me around Kyoto. As we greet, I point at the bag I am carrying to explain my weird shoe choice. He takes me to a public toilet in the station where I can change into my kimono. I spend the next twenty minutes inside, wrestling with the belt that seems impossible to put. But I better wrap it around my waist and get out of here soon. I don’t want my new friend to think I have stomach problems. But when I do go out, I see the grumpy face of a Japanee granny in the mirror. She doesn’t say anything when she approaches me to adjust the obi belt. My back straightens from her strong pull. I show her the exit door as she starts to explain something to me. I need Taka’s help.

Both adjust and discuss my dress. I feel as useless as a shop window mannequin. Apparently, there are pieces that I have missed and this is why it is not working. But the granny manages to wrap my belt as Taka learns something new. Suddenly, he jumps in excitement, ‘Picture, picture! Where is your camera?’ He snaps a few shots before the woman is done fixing my dress. Later that day, I understand his eagerness to capture this moment. I look like a giant next to her.

She takes some plastic bags and makes a cushion out of them – the part that I missed buying.

4. Staying in a temple & chanting with monks

I feel nervous before my very first telephone conversation in Japanese. To make it more intimidating, it is with a monk from a traditional temple in the country. I would have otherwise used email and Google Translate. I write my script, practice it a few times, take a deep breath and dial the number. It works, we understand each other, even when I ask him to repeat some words several times. He starts making my reservation, asking me when I want to come and how long and want to stay. I tell him and he confirms. ‘For how many people?’ It is just for me. He is getting anxious on the other side. ‘Ugh… It is not possible.’ What do you mean? Why? ‘Rules.’ This is one of these rare moments when I wish I wasn’t a solo female traveler.

I find a temple that is lone-female-friendly in Koyasan, a five-hour journey from Kyoto to the mountains. I book by room online. It is the most I have ever paid for accommodation – $100 for one night, which is a lot for someone who usually stays at hostels or Couchsurfs.

Soon after entering, I realize this beautiful Koyasan forest is a graveyard and I am walking alone through it.

The first thing I am politely asked to do is take my shoes off at the very first entrance.

I have to take a small bit from every dish to find out if it is sweet or savoury and if I like it or not.

I expect the temple lodging conditions to be modest. Instead, I get a huge traditional Japanese room where I find a multi-course vegetarian dinner, the typical Buddhist shoji cuisine. But there still are rules for handling solo female guests – monks always come in pairs when they come to do my bed, clear my table or wake me up for the morning prayer.

Before sunrise, I am invited to pray and participate in a ritual I don’t quite understand. As the only non-Japanese person, I just sit and observe the chanting monks, soaking the serene energy in the room. Suddenly, all of us have to perform a certain routine, one after another. I watch and repeat, make many mistakes but, at least, I try.

5. Sumimasen! The importance of communicating in Japanese

Before I head to Japan, friends warn me I am going to a country where people don’t speak English. ‘Yeah, yeah. This is just a stereotype. I am sure there are plenty of locals who can communicate in English.’ Few days later, I almost end up sleeping on Shirakawago’s dark and still snowy streets, under the heavy rain. I arrive in the village at night and can’t find the way to the house I have booked. There is only one other person who arrives at the village with me, a guy about my age. I assume he speaks English and ask him if he can help me find my way, phone my hosts or, at least, show some moral support. Instead, he runs away.

From now on, I can only rely on my luck. I know how the house looks – dark wood and thatch roof. Just like any other house in the area. There are no street lights. Soon after wandering around, my clothes and backpack are soaked. I look like a sad character from a romantic French drama, alone and confused under the rain. My luck better works now. I start making plans to hide somewhere I won’t freeze and wait for the long night to pass, wearing layers of wet clothes.

Then I see a shadow in the distance. An umbrella, a person. I start shouting, “Sumimasen! Sumimasen!”, which means “excuse me!”. He hears me and turns. This time in Japanese, I ask for directions. He takes me to the house, where a warm home-cooked dinner waits.

Ironically, the house I have booked is called ‘Furosoto’ – bath outside.

Even though it is spring, Shirakawago’s streets are still snowy.

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In a way, the pictures I take of Sofia in the winter reflect my minor mood.

The fountain in front of the National Theater Ivan Vazov is now a playground. Can you spot the snowman in the picture? He’s waving at you.

Standing next to the mosque, I have a great view of the Orthodox church in the background. If I turn right, I will also see the synagogue, which is very near the Catholic church. The only thing that is missing at the ‘square of tolerance’ is a Buddhist temple.

In 1925, extreme leftists bombed St. Nedelya church during a general’s funeral. The act is described as the worst terrorist attack in Bulgaria’s history. Tzar Boris III was one of the targets but one common Bulgarian trait saved his life. He was late.

The sign says ‘library’, The National Library Sts. Cyril and Methodius. In front of it is the statue of Sts. Cyril and Methodius, the two brothers who have devised the Glagolic alphabet. After their death, their work was continued, which is how Bulgaria and the Slavic countries got our own Cyrillic alphabet.

The National Library is the home of more than 7 952 238 items, including rare and old manuscripts, few of which are from the XV century.

The art statue is looking at the former tzar’s palace, now a National Gallery and National Ethnology Museum. Once, the dancer awoke dressed up. It was just a stranger who was concerned about her wellbeing in the cold.

Vasilevi brothers, selling newspapers since 1894. A sophisticated urban design that conjures the feeling of Sofia in the 19th century.

‘Some birds are more privileged than others,’ I think as I take a picture of this lone pigeon. Maybe he also regrets not migrating South.

Once a photographer, her pension now is less than $100. Feeding pigeons and begging is what she does for a living.

‘I love animals,’ she tells me. ‘I don’t put this blanket around my shoulders to stay warm. It is to keep me clean.’ Even in the coldest winter days, there is someone to give her a little love, a little warmth. A kind stranger, or a hungry bird.

‘Many photography students come to photograph me. One of them came back to tell me she has even received an award. I wish I could still take photographs but I am 80 years old and I am almost blind with one of my eyes. How can I still be a photographer?’

Others choose to sell food. Sauerkraut, pickled vegetables, and lard are the most popular winter delights here.

Roasted chestnuts, just 2.00BGN for 100 grams. This is the most popular street food in fall and winter.

Every temple has a beggar. This one wants to pose in front of my camera for some change. I like his eyes, so I agree to his price.

The post Snow in Sofia: Dramatic photos of a Bulgarian winter appeared first on Resource Travel.

I pick up my 1st class Swiss Travel Pass, courtesy of Swiss Travel System, when I arrive at Zurich Airport. The pass covers most of Switzerland, including public transportation and museum entrances in the largest cities and towns. Swiss trains are an eco-friendly way to explore the country in style. Every rail station has access to free Wi-Fi, and I am impressed to find I can plug in my laptop or phone and work as I travel. I know I am in a place where my time is valued and where trains aren’t late for more than 30 seconds. Here, public transportation is much like Swiss chocolate – premium quality and pure delight for the senses. Eating Swiss chocolate on a Swiss train doubles the pleasure.

A healthy lifestyle

My first stop is at the historic castle hotel, Schloss Wartegg. It is past midnight when I arrive in the calm, herb-scented Rorschacherberg municipality. My basic contemporary instincts are telling me to search for a Wi-Fi network before I even unpack. But there is none. I panic and try to connect with my laptop. Still nothing. My hands start to shake. What will I do with no Internet? I decide to explore the room I am in. One brochure I find tells me that the wooden furniture is made of regional materials. The mattress is all natural and the cosmetics in my bathroom are organic.

I sit on the soft bed for a moment to enjoy the silence. Coming from a big city, I’ve never paid attention to the sounds my clothes make when I move. As I won’t be able to notify my social media friends that I have arrived, I decide to look at the view outside. Lake Constance reflects the moon that seems to be somewhere between Germany and Austria.

Of course, the castle management can afford to buy a powerful router but it is their decision to create an atmosphere where guests can do a digital detox. Those of us who live in large urban areas are constantly exposed to electromagnetic radiation and pollution that has plenty of proven negative health effects. To complement this type of detox, the hotel’s restaurant also serves food that is organic and/or regionally produced. In summer, half of its products come from its own garden. Vegetables and herbs are more than organic, they are demeter. The gardener does everything according to the moon cycles, considering the garden’s ecosystem. It is an autonomous and self-sustaining organism that has individuality, rhythm, and character.

If something can’t be grown, it is bought from selected farmers from the area. Building a network of local partners is a common way to do business in Switzerland. This practice saves resources for transportation while supporting the regional and national economy.

Wartegg castle was built in 1557. Renovation works took more than 20 years to turn it into the modern, yet historic hotel it is now.

A car-free present

I take the slowest and probably the cleanest express train in the world, The Glacier Express, that will take me to Zermatt. As I travel, the train’s huge observation windows reveal gorges, valleys, passes and the eye-blinding Rhone Glacier in the Central Swiss Alps. Traveling through the glacier is as if the train has invaded someone else’s dream space. Forgetting my sunglasses is a mistake I regret.

The full train journey is a day trip that takes 7 hours. I am not a huge fan of audio guides but the one on The Glacier Express tells me interesting information, as it passes through different places. The whole experience reminds me of the famous ‘enjoy the journey, not the destination’ quote. By-line: swiss-image.ch/Christof Sonderegger.

Three-course lunch is served in all panorama cars. Those roof windows reveal a great view to the high snowy mountain peaks. By-line: swiss-image.ch/Christof Sonderegger.

The train slows down as it passed through the Oberalp Pass at an elevation of roughly 1900 m. By-lineL swiss-image.ch/Christof Sonderegger.

After a 6-hour journey, I arrive in Zermatt, home of the famous Matterhorn landmark. The village is also a great example of sustainable luxury. It all started in 1947, when the first electric car came to replace horse-drawn carriages. Ever since, motorized vehicles were never a means of transportation. Everyone who arrives in Zermatt by car has to leave it in the nearby town Tasch and board the train. It is just a 12-minute ride.

Electric vehicles maneuver around as pedestrians walk on the car-free streets. I never intended to hitchhike, but a Swiss couple stops and tells me it is not a good idea to walk to my hotel with so much luggage and orders me to jump inside their electric car. The vehicle’s back is open and I have to hold onto a metal bar, clenching my bag between my legs, as we go uphill. I fear I will fall out.

Despite its serene streets, Zermatt has great bars and nightclubs. Photo: © Leander Wenger

There is no need to take an e-Taxi as almost everything in the village is in walking distance. Photo: © Leander Wenger

Zermatt’s residents put lots of efforts to manage wastewater, recycle, save energy and use resource-saving technologies. The benefits of doing this are quiet movement, clean air and efficient buildings that preserve the environment. When I arrive at the Matterhorn-Focus hotel, I feel a little intimidated by its designer luxury, creation of the famous local architect Heinz Julen. But the owner Chris offers me a drink and tells me that the atmosphere is relaxed and informal.

The hotel’s beautiful building is made of natural materials like wood, glass, and metal. Part of it is built into the ground which makes the movement of heat economic and efficient. Matterhorn-Focus’ interior reminds me of the Herbert Wells’ ‘Time Machine’ story. For a second, I wonder if I have accidentally traveled through time.

The next morning, I get up before sunrise to enjoy the view from my balcony with a cup of coffee. I don’t have to wait for the breakfast buffet as there is a Nespresso machine in my room. The soaring sun illuminates half of the Matterhorn as the village below it is still asleep under the shadows of the morning darkness. Zermatt seems like the future when nature doesn’t need to be saved from humans. And yet, this is present. I wish for the rest of the world to wake up in this ‘now’.

The Matterhorn is famous with this shape but you won’t recognize it if you see it from its back side. Take the cable car to Glacier Paradise, the highest cable car station in Europe, to take a different picture of the mountain. By-line: swiss-image.ch/Lucia Degonda.

‘Zuri’ and its water

Zurich sounds like a dirty, boring and gray place but I decide to check it out anyway. I listen to the radio when the train approaches the station when I hear the word ‘Zuri’ several times. A city that has a short name just can’t be boring. The stereotype I had in my mind is gone when I arrive in this cute, artsy, modern and yet traditional ‘Zuri’.

Less than half a million people live in Zurich, the biggest Swiss city. By-line: swiss-image.ch/Andreas Gerth.

It is also called ‘the water city’. In the summertime, it turns into an aquatic park with bathing facilities aside River Limmat and Lake Zurich. No other European city has such a high concentration of bathing facilities. Floating in the lake with a chilled beer in hand is a super refreshing and relaxing activity for locals and visitors. After dusk, these bathing spaces transform into bars, inviting visitors to concerts, movie projections or culinary evening cocktails.

Boats are another type of public transportation in Zurich. Unfortunately, they don’t run on River Limmat during the winter, unlike the ones that cross Lake Zurich. swiss-image.ch/Christof Sonderegger

I spare a lot of plastic bottles here, as the city has thousands of public fountains and water taps from where I can drink clean water. I am also told that River Limmat’s water is drinking quality and I almost pull a glass to dip and test this theory. ‘Well, it is not like you should drink it, but nothing will happen to you if you swim in the river and the water gets inside your mouth,’ a friend of mine who lives in the city says as she stops me.

Zurich is an outdoors city with two rivers, one lake, one mountain and many gardens and parks. By-line: ST/swiss-image.ch

From food waste to biogas

Banking on the River Limmat, Storchen Zurich is the oldest and one of the most luxurious hotels in the city. Walking through their shiny entrance doors, a regular guest would never expect that sustainability is of great importance here. The 4-star hotel offers food that is cooked with ingredients from local farmers and fishermen.

I am greeted by the sales manager, Regula, who tells me that there is a special board of 6 members who come from different departments and who are responsible for finding innovative sustainable solutions. Storchen uses environmentally-friendly cleaning agents, uses recycled paper for most of its documentation and offers an electric charge for guests who come with electric cars and much more. Its tabs save 30% more water, a solution that doesn’t affect guest’s experience. But what impresses me the most is that the hotel has a system to turn food leftovers into biogas. It is called BioTrans, a giant metal blender that turns food waste into a mixture that ferments in several massive plastic drums in the basement. When I ask her how they benefit from this technology, she replies that they don’t. ‘We don’t gain anything from this system. We actually pay a company to come and take the mixture’. This company doesn’t even have to enter the hotel. Its employees use a small hole outside the hotel’s building. All done with comfort in mind.

Luxury can be sustainable

Genuine luxury is not just about great service, expensive furniture, comfortable beds, gourmet food and endless exclusive fun. We are all guests of this planet. Transitory beings, who are just passing through, leaving our marks. Hospitality businesses that realize this simple truth disprove that luxury can’t be sustainable. Giving back to our host called nature is the only way for us to keep living in abundance.

Switzerland is a country where humans, nature, luxury, and sustainability are friends. By-line: ST/swiss-image.ch

The post Swiss Sustainability: A Peek Behind the Luxury Facade appeared first on Resource Travel.

When I ask Ivan to teach me how to dance barefoot on top of a smoldering fire, I secretly expect to learn his secret trick and be one of the only people outside of their circle who knows how it actually works. He agrees to show me and we arrange to meet in Yasna Polyana, a village near the Bulgarian Black Sea Coast. Maybe he will spray my feet with something to protect them from the burning embers. Perhaps this is just a visual illusion and barefoot fire dancers are like magicians pretending to cut bodies in half. Looking forward to an exclusive story, I travel to the village, passing through flocks of storks that are covering the green meadows. It is as if they are snow. I not surprised that upon arrival I see the statue of a wooden stork, Yasna Polyana’s treasured symbol.

Ivan and his father Mihail tell me they are the last hereditary barefoot fire dancers in Bulgaria, known as nestinari, who perform an ancient Bulgarian ritual that is originally celebrated every June 3rd for St. Constantine and Helen’s day. But performances can be found during the whole summer season. Although this dance is quite commercialized and there are many who perform it, the father and son I have a chance to meet come from an 110-year-old bloodline of fire dancers. Born in 1906, Mihail’s grandmother is the first known fire dancer in the family who used to live in Bulgari, a village not too far from Yasna Polyana. Mihail tells me the story of how his grandmother’s passion to dance on burning embers would eventually take her life. His grandfather was devoutly religious and forbid his wife from performing what he felt was a pagan ritual. Like forbidden love, it made her desire to fire dance grow stronger. Years passed, and on St. Constantine and Helen’s day, Mihail’s grandfather left his wife alone and locked her in the house so that she could not go to the village square and dance with the other nestinari. Enchanted by the bagpipe’s song, she felt a desperate urge to dance. There had to be a way. She felt as if she had to dance now. Then Mihail’s grandmother thinks of a way to give her heart what it wants – she takes burning coals from the fireplace and puts them on the wooden floor. And she dances, entranced until the house starts to burn. The grandfather came home from the fields to find his house burnt with his beloved but rebellious wife inside. Devastated, the grandfather curses Bulgari, leaves the village and settles in Yasna Polyana. But this doesn’t stop his son, Mihail’s father, from continuing the tradition and thus bypassing his military service obligation.

Mihail is 17 when he tries fire dancing for the first time. He admits it took him a lot of effort and years to learn how to perform. Like any skill, nestinarstvo also requires practice, patience, and persistence. Mihail believes he has passed these traits to his son, Ivan – a young IT specialist by profession. There is a stereotype, even in my open mind, that fire dancers perform a religious ritual, foretell the future or induce a trance state that makes their feet feel freezing cold before they step on the red smoldering coals. But Ivan quickly busts this stereotype by describing nestinarstvo as an art. ‘You have to make the audience feel the emotion, it is a mix of different components – history, ritual, focus, dance and talent,’ he told me. Ivan has a huge responsibility as he is the last person in the family who can continue the bloodline and carry on its tradition, which is one of the reasons why his father often nags him to get married and have children.

It takes hours for the fire to start dying, which is when I decided to put my 100 years old national dress on. I realize it is sewn during the same period that Ivan’s great grandmother used to be alive. It is not that every Bulgarian has one, it’s just I am a huge fan of the traditional clothing and I have an authentic collection. And I want to make this unique experience as amazing as possible. The musicians start to play and Ivan takes a paddle to spread the embers into the shape of a star, or a starfish, that he then reshapes into a circle. The heatwave hits my face and I begin to doubt my desire to risk getting severe burns, ending in a hospital. But it is probably too late. Dressed in a museum-quality piece, everybody who has gathered around the circle is looking at me. But Ivan hasn’t told me his secret yet. How can I perform a magic trick without knowing what the illusion is? I almost give up the idea to become nestinarka and hope he and the locals forgot about my irrational intentions as I watch how Ivan’s bare feet put out the burning embers. And then suddenly he comes to me and grabs my hand, ‘You said you wanted to try. Are you ready?’ I panic and freeze for a moment, feeling like a melting ice statue. He is expecting me to really do it. But this is not fake. My delicate bare skin will touch the fire. Everybody is looking at me. It all happens in a few seconds that felt like minutes. It is as if the bagpipe is also playing on slow motion, as if it is trying to calm me down and encourage me to do it. ‘Do you think I am ready?,’ I insinuate he has maybe forgotten to tell me something. ‘You must feel it. Do you?’ Like the grandmother who died from her fiery frenzy, I crave to jump into the fire. It consumes me. I feel it. I grasp his hand, taking the leap.

It is quite a show as I wave my legs in a frantic motion rather than dancing. It burns. I almost run through the embers to reach the cold, soothing grass. But then the adrenaline hits me and I want to try this again. I’m high from this, jumping into the fire two more times. If I can ‘dance’ on fire without burning my feet then I must be invincible. It’s empowering. Maybe this is how storks feel when they fly. Examining my feet, I spot only one tiny red mark. Now I finally realize what is nestinari’s secret trick. It is to have trust in yourself and your destiny. And just jump.

Nestinarstvo can be observed at the following locations in Bulgaria:
Bulgari Village, every June 3rd
WakeUp Open Air Festival (check with festival’s program) in July
Jeravna National Costume Festival in August

Disclaimer: I don’t recommend trying it for yourself. There is a serious danger of getting severe burns and there have been cases when locals had to call an ambulance for tourists who have tried fire dancing.

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