Travel Writing
Oh no. my headscarf had slipped off my head. People were staring. I
felt a women pinch my shoulder. She said something in another language
I didn't understand. I hate this place, I thought, and I was only in
the airport.
I hadn't been to Iran for seven years. The last time I had been there
I was about eight, and I could barely remember anything. All I knew
was that this was a place where women wore headscarves and the place
where alcohol was invented.
We squeezed through the moving wall that was people. A whiff of sweat
reached my nose. I held my breath. I was revolted. Hadn't people here
ever heard of something called a bath? Well, obviously not. Please,
please let us get out of here soon. I turned my head and looked at my
brother. He didn't seem too bothered about the smell, but that was the
thing with my brother. He always wore a dreamy expression on his face,
and would never do anything which would cause that dreaminess to fade.
I often wondered what he was thinking about as he was far too young to
be thinking about, you know, teen 'boy stuff'.
I turned my head a bit more so that I was looking over my shoulder. I
spotted a figure pushing a trolley laden with four extremely heavy
looking suitcases, one of which had a pink garment poking out. I saw a
man nudge his partner and point at the bit of pink visible. They both
started snorting with laughter. I looked back over at the garment and
realised it was a luminous pink bra. I couldn't help but give out a
small giggle. Who would wear such a horrid thing? Then I remembered.
That would be me. I looked at the figure, horrified to discover that
it was my dad. Damn it. That was my luminous pink bra! Why, why did I
have to pack it? I suddenly felt very hot.
"Does that mean we can go now?" said a quiet voice.
I kept on creeping just the same, but I looked at him over my shoulder.
mind was focused on other things other than his father. He thought that if he
I heard a bump behind me, I spun round and saw a book on the floor, it flipped open to a ...
what I was doing? I believe you have eyes at the back of your head."
The Smith’s a family of 4 were at their vacation cabin enjoying a beautiful summer day in Salt Lake City, Utah. They had decided to go camping, while they were out gathering wood for a fire they heard a strange noise. It sounded like an elephant and a pig. The oldest girl told her parents what she had heard and they didn't believe her, they thought she was losing her mind. Until the next night while the kids were asleep John and Joanne heard the same noise their oldest daughter Elizabeth had heard the night before they looked out of their tent to find a strange looking creature with the body of a elephant and the head of a pig standing about 20 yards. They didn't want to scare their kids so the next day when the kids woke up John and Joanne
Without bothering to even look back, Clary immediately left the happy and safe atmosphere of the brightly lit little house that rested up top the small hill, setting off into the unknown. Her small hands gripped the leather reins, while she rode through the familiar village in which she'd learned to call home over the last several years. The town was usually ridiculously cherry and tranquil at night. Red brick shops, including the bakery, small bookshop, and other business's sat in perfectly adjacent straightened cordial rows. Many of their doorway's lit brightly by soft lanterns. Plants growing in pots added a nice touch and splashes of color to the establishments, which interrupted the annoying, continuous cobblestone pathway on which Wayfarer
The sound of a telephone ringing crossed with toilet flushing comes from my laptop. It is 3am in Chicago and I am super jet lagged. I click the green video button and on my screen appears two of my friends in Dubai. It has only been a day since I got back from Kenya, but I have missed these guys already. They get right into catching me up on their lives as I look for a pair of headphones so we don’t wake up everyone in my house.
(Talking To Myself) “What should I write about?” “ I should write about my trip to Hawaii, Nah!! that ‘s too boring” “Ooh-- I should write about Mike, that might help me get my grades up and I should probably change his name to John or something like that” “So let’s get started”
Slowly opening my dreaded eyes and blinking rapidly to shake off my state of unconsciousness, I peek outside of the airplane window to see where we were at. Scanning with my eyes to the top view, I could see the beautiful white miniscule stars that shines across the sky. Shifting my eyes down to the bottom, I glimpse at the vast amount of city lights that springs across the land. As I brainlessly stare through the window of the plane, I felt a slight bump on my shoulder. “Con trai, chúng tôi đang ở đây.” I glanced over my shoulder to hear the first few words my father spoke to gain consciousness upon landing in my parent’s holy majestic birthplace, Vietnam. Exhausted and excited, I replied back
I looked back longingly at my car on the other side of the road, itching to run back to it
bad as I expected it to be. The queue seemed to flow by. Like fish in
but as two branches of the same genre. Jan Borm mak es distinction almost as Fussell
The issue is whether the traveling time that miners take to get to the face of the mine counts as working time under the Fair Labor Standards Act. The State of Confusion should adopt the majority’s opinion and hold travel time as work time. This position held that because the workers were under employer supervision, physical exertion was involved because they are performing a service, and the worker is doing this work to benefit the employer travel time should count as worktime. Lunch time does not count as worktime because the employee is not supervised and it is for their benefit, by contrast travel time is worktime because there is supervision, it is not the employees own time, and it is for
As I sat up and looked around, I realized that I must have been asleep
and lowered its head again. This time my heart stared to thump. Was it going to