She rests her head on his shoulder as they contemplate the world, the world as seen on the departure board at the Munich Airport. Seemingly in no hurry, the couple embodies the airport for me. Airports are places of great emotional rollercoasters. We say goodbye and hello. We love them. We hate them. If ever there were a place of to loathe and love, the airport would be it.

My flight back to Denver from Munich was set to leave the next morning. And when you are paranoid about being late, you don’t want to stay too far away from the airport for fear of a flat tire or traffic. So I stayed in the airport to ensure I wouldn’t miss my flight. I decided to roam Munich’s great space of departure and arrival, much to the suspicion of several severe looking Munich police officers. I wanted to see the space without the hurry I usually see it in or without the cloud of intoxicating excitement of heading on a new adventure. I just wanted to see the airport as a casual observer.

My first stop was the departure board. I could stare at these screen for hours, contemplating who is headed to Dusseldorf or over to Angola. These boards, like the rest of the airport, can either send us into a fit of joy or just a fit over a delay or cancelation. We look to the screens for guidance, as many are doing today. They tell us where we are going and when. They suggest if we will miss our flight or make it. Our traveling fate lies in what the departure screens tells us.

I continue my tour of the airport as an observer to the typical airport sports bar. You know the meal here isn’t going to be 5 star. It is merely sustenance for the road. There is always a game on to distract from the inevitable goodby or the exciting hello a flight away. We distract ourselves with games in the airport to kill time or prolong it. I have my last supper in Munich with many doing the same. It is where the airport breaks bread before jetting off to other lands.

After a few too many suspicious stares from airport security, I decide to get a whiff of fresh air. The Munich Airport is almost cut into two parts, with a great space dividing two terminals. Right in front of my terminal is an expansive piazza, under a glass dome of a roof keeping it all together. It is where many take their first breaths of Munich, whether coming home or traveling away from it. The air stings any exposed patch of skin. Europe is still in the freezer and Munich is no exception. This is perhaps where the saddest of exchanges take place, those saying goodbye. It is the airport’s “to be continued” scene.

While pondering those tearful goodbyes, I decide to head back inside to go see why so many love airports, myself included. A grouping of people, mostly without luggage, stand awkwardly dispersed facing a wall of automatic doors. With the opening of each automatic door, you can almost hear heartbeats skip. The eyes become more attentive, in search of the familiar face. And once they catch those eyes, it is never sadness you see here or anger for that matter. It is the joy of welcoming another to a new place. I watch as families collect their children or couples reunite. There is no more hopeful of a place.

Now, it’s my turn to say goodbye. I head through security, discovering the enhanced pat-downs in the U.S. have made their way to Germany. I perch at my gate after going through a second security. They must have the video footage of me trolling the airport yesterday. And finally, it is the other hope at the airport, the plane parked at the gate. I can breathe a sign of relief from this perch. No security line or airline mishaps are going to stop me from traveling today. And in looking at the planes parked at the gates in a uniform fashion, I realize my next plane ticket must be booked. The dichotomy of the airport has come full circle.

I learned a great deal about travel in Italian apartments, one in Sorrento and the other in Florence. Behind the walls of these structures were families I grew to call my Italian families. Behind the walls I learned that travel isn’t solely about seeing and doing. Travel is about people. Travel is about connections that come in shared spaces.

Picked up in a strange city by a man holding my misspelled name on a flimsy piece of paper, I placed my trust in another to drop me off at my assigned apartment in Florence. I was studying abroad for a semester, a little more wide eyed, if that’s possible, at the time on Florence and travel as a whole at the tender age of 20.

 The names Gucci, Cavalli flashed rapidly through my window view in a rickety white van. On a one-way, busy street, one I quickly noticed seemed to be dripping in Florentine high fashion, the van screeched to a halt. The driver threw my bags on the sidewalk and headed for the driver’s seat. I shouted, “Quale numero?” and received the most rapid of responses. With giant golden handles and a list of buzzers before me, including my neighbors, Gucci, I rang the bell. Jet lagged and unsure, an elderly man warmly greeted me with the double kiss, motioning me inside. I would meet his wife and the other student I would be sharing this home stay apartment with for 6 months. And throughout the walls of that apartment in Florence, I learned a thing or two about the Florentines.

In case you haven’t heard, travel and accommodation hunting company Go With Oh has launched a Blogger Competition, inviting travel bloggers to share five reasons why they are oh so deserving (pun intended), creative and all around wonderful to receive a month of accommodations throughout four of their European cities. The blogger must list five reasons why they want to Go With Oh to their selected city. The blogger then will be tasked with documenting their stays and travels. This is my hat in the ring of the five things I would most like to experience in Florence. If you would like to see me in Europe this fall and/or enjoyed this post, please let me know by leaving a comment.

 For Loriana’s Cooking

You won’t find this attraction in any guidebook, but in studying abroad in Florence, my stomach grew with each passing meal at Loriana’s table. She was my Italian host mom, serving up risottos I only could dream about upon returning back to the United States. We would dine in a kitchen no bigger than an American closet, discussing our cultures, our dreams and our lives. It was a sacred space. Dinnertime in that very kitchen was everything about Florence to me. While the world compliments Italian cuisine, it is the Florentine flair for flavor I crave.

For Church Perch People Watching

Florence crawls in church steps, steps that turn into chairs for anyone with throbbing feet. I haven’t perched on enough of these steps. I haven’t seen every church or piazza in the city. Part of what makes an Italian city so appealing to me are these spaces where the goal is not so much in seeing an attraction, but watching that place go by.

For Gelato Research

Being the supposed birthplace of gelato, my time spent in Florence consisted mostly of grabbing gelato as a “snack”. I reasoned if I walked and ate my gelato nightly, it wasn’t so bad for my waistline. The gelato in Florence is some of the best I have ever tasted, so much so that I didn’t mind when the Bacio dripped all over my hands, down to my sandals as I hit the cobblestone streets of this living, breathing, outdoor museum. If I could return to Florence, I would make it my job to taste as many gelato flavors as possible. That’s the sort of spoonful you take for granted when you get back home.

For The Noises

I frequently woke from my Renaissance apartment in Florence to the sound of vespas traveling well beyond any city’s speed limit. The garbage trucks were even more annoying in their loud screeching, and yet, I miss them. Head into any piazza in Florence and there is a song in the air. It might be someone trying to scam you, an Italian man looking for a date or just the sigh of the casual traveler seeing Brunelleschi’s dome for the first time. You can’t recreate the noises of a city and Florence has her own. Music, yelling, traffic, Italian, I will gladly experience the noises of the city again if given the chance.

For The Indoor and Outdoor Art

A lifetime could be spent exploring the works inside and out of Florence. From strolling through Renaissance sculpture in Piazza Signoria to marveling at the Ponte Vecchio under a midnight blue sky, the details of the city require more than one visit. I want to take my search for Florentine treasures inside, over the Vasarian Corridor and down to the Bargello. Florence’s art scene proves, there is always more to see.

As I head out for Opening Day in Denver, I bring you this week’s Suzy Stumbles Over Travel. In case you are new to this site, each week I ask writers and readers to submit their favorite travel post of the week. I read each submission, comment, tweet the article on Twitter, stumble the piece using Stumbleupon and post a link to the article on my Facebook page. The following week I select my five favorites to be featured here and the stumbling begins again into the next week.

Just a few things to keep in mind, please only submit one post per person each week. Your submission must be travel related. Please leave a link to your post in the comment box below rather than sending it to me on Twitter, Facebook, etc. You have until the end of the day on Friday to leave your submission. Anything left past Friday will be carried over into next week’s submissions. I will get busy promoting the articles by the end of the day on Sunday. Be sure to follow me on Twitter, subscribe to my stumbles on Stumbleupon and “like” me on Facebook to make sure I give your post the attention it deserves. Check back here next Monday to see if your submission made my five favorites of the week.

The 5 Favorites of Last Week

“You Don’t Choose A Life, You Live One” From A Girl With Gumpton

Submitted by Melanie

After the Peace Corps, Melanie returns home to the USA, choosing to settle into to a settled life with an apartment, 9 to 5 job and all that goes with the two. What she discovers is that this step is not necessary for her to live the life she wants, a life a travel.

“The TSA Strikes Again” From The Epic Adventurer

Submitted by Julia

Julia recounts all of the troublesome reports about the TSA in the United States. She complies several links to news articles in case you have missed some of the injustices of the TSA. Travelers going through airport security might want to think twice about just allowing such an agency to take civil liberties, and in the process put a damper on traveling in the US.

“Old Copán—Copán Archaeological Site, Honduras” From Trans-Americas Journey

Submitted by Eric

Trans-Americas Journey share their experience of visiting the Copán Archaeological Site in Honduras. The UNESCO World Heritage Site consists of hieroglyphic stairs, secret tunnels and loads of history. The post breaks down the price of each attraction at Copán, weighing if each and every ticket entry is worth the price.

“That Time We Tried To Make Sense of Russia” From Ready Set Jet

Submitted by Gillian

Gillian tries to make sense of Russia, at 2AM no less. She tackles its many superlatives, the country’s bests and worsts. She battles with the images of the country she created in her mind before seeing the very sights for herself.

“Meteora, Greece: A Hard Act To Follow…” From The.Most.Alive

Submitted by Ash

Ash provides us with some eye candy and a want to head off to Northern Greece. He explores an area known as Meteora, the Suspended Rocks. The landscape of large sandstone rock formations litters with six monasteries. Ash spends some time hiking around these rock monsters, lending enough inspiration to get up and go do yourself.

Don’t forget to leave your submission in the comment box below. You have until the end of the day on Friday to submit.

It was on Good Friday in 1788 that the bells of St. Louis Cathedral in New Orleans went silent. The silence of the bells for the holy day inadvertently failed to alarm the city of a raging fire that would destroy much of New Orleans, the cathedral included. This would not be the beginning or end of the cathedral’s troubles, but like most aspects to New Orleans, there is an insatiable spirit to move on, fires, hurricanes and all.

St. Louis Cathedral sets up in Jackson Square, the center of the original settlement of New Orleans. It boasts of being the oldest continuously active Catholic cathedral in the United States. While its front receives plenty of attention by day, it is its back that lights up with attention at night. A statue to Jesus stands with arms stretched to the heavens. A light casts on the big man to create a shadow rivaling all those in New Orleans.

Once the shadow of Jesus fades into the daylight, artists, fortunetellers and street performers all come out to Jackson Square. You can hear your future in this space and then head out to the nearest bar should your fate not sound too pleasing. Originally known in the 18^th century as Place d’Armes by the French and Plaza d’ Armas by the Spanish, the heart of New Orleans was redesigned and renamed after the Battle of New Orleans.

An iron fence, formal walkways and benches were added, along with the Jackson monument at its center. The bronze statue to the hero of the Battle of New Orleans, Andrew Jackson, was unveiled in this space in 1856. Inscribed on its foundations, “The Union must and shall be preserved,” again echoes the undying spirit of the city.

A few flowers suggest spring has arrived to New Orleans. A bride and groom take pictures in the idyllic space, hinting at spring’s very basis, new beginnings. It is appropriate after all for this was New Orleans’ start.

Diagonal to the square is a different scene of beginnings, one where many tourists receive their first tastes of New Orleans’ sweetness. Café du Monde, world famous for its beignets and café au lait showers in a dusting of powdered sugar. I snag a table with a view of my three beignets and of course, Jackson Square. Powdered sugar falls all over as I take my first bite, again another detail to the city you can’t recreate anywhere else.

New Orleans is all about the details. It would take a lifetime to see them all, including those in its very heart. Jackson Square sketches, tells of futures, entertains and provides subtle moments of peace. It is the beginning of New Orleans in many respects. It is the start of all of the city’s powerful particulars that make New Orleans unlike any other city in the world.

Have you been to Jackson Square in New Orleans?

The French Quarter is just three miles away from where I stand and yet, I feel like I’m in a different world. There is a sobering photograph in front of me: a picture after Hurricane Katrina and a little arrow pointing out, “You are here”. Back in August of 2005 if I had been standing under the arrow’s point, I would have been completely submerged in water and debris. A man mows an empty patch of property nearby, one where you can see the foundations of a house, the place a family used to call home.

I am in New Orleans’ Lower 9^th Ward, an area of the city that was hit the hardest by Hurricane Katrina. Over 4,000 homes were destroyed by the hurricane due in large part to a faulty levee breached by the storm’s waters. Over one thousand lives were lost in it all, a great tragedy I can only very superficially try to relate. Half of the people who died in Hurricane Katrina in Louisiana were from this very neighborhood. 

I’m not here to gawk. I had heard about Brad Pitt’s Make It Right organization and their work in the Lower 9^th Ward. While there are many other organizations helping rebuild New Orleans to this day, I wanted to see for myself the unique architecture and design of the Make It Right homes, built for those who so desperately needed them. Two years after Katrina, Brad Pitt was in disbelief that these families, friends and neighbors in the Lower 9^th Ward were still living in disarray. It appeared their own country forgot them entirely and their lives were swept away with the memory of one of the worst hurricanes in U.S history. 

Pitt set out to build 150 green, affordable and storm resistant homes for the families who lost it all in the hurricane. As I approach the area, I can see the shine of solar panels on many homes with very unusual designs. As I get closer, I admire where lives were fortunately not forgotten. While not the New Orleans you think of when a tourist visits the French Quarter, the architecture is strangely fitting in the city.

Pitt called on countless award winning architects to construct these homes for his Make It Right organization. The idea is to make it right the first time, to build homes that can weather the storm, homes that can save residents money and in the end, lend them better lives.

I wander from block to block in the very neighborhood of Fats Domino and one of the first schools in America to be desegregated. While the new buildings, the work of those who stopped to care about these people, provide such beacons of hope, it is the ruined homes I can’t wipe from memory.

I keep thinking about my own home, where I was raised, where I grew up. If a shoddy levee broke right in front of my front lawn and a hurricane of colossal proportions ripped through my neighborhood, I wonder what would remain. I wonder if anyone would help, my own country included.

I love so many things about travel, but there are also days where I shudder uncontrollably. I feel sick at what I am observing and yet at the same time hopeful for the glimmers of change. I am angry that my own neighbors in the Lower 9^th Ward have either had to leave their homes for good, or wait for someone to notice their mess, 7 years after the storm.

The U.S. pours an obscene amount of money overseas, as we try to police the world. We spend and we spend. I am angered today that we have forgotten these people in our very backyard of the Lower 9^th Ward. Luckily there are some like Pitt in positions of power, influence and wealth that do, as they should. They extend an arm of help when one’s own country will not.

I came to the Lower 9^th Ward to hopefully, in some small way, make a difference, to show those who just head to the French Quarter of the city and think it all must be fine and well here that it is not. Our country doesn’t appear to be taking care of their own. It is left up to individuals to help our country pick up the pieces of natural disasters and levees that should be built right the first time. I also came to the neighborhood to see the hope of help, of beaming faces from porches built to last. I notice a family on their green dream of a porch, clearly happy to be alive and have a roof over their heads. They might also be beaming for they have seen Brad Pitt in person.

I make my way out for dinner on the edge of the French Quarter. A tourist and a local have an exchange while waiting for an open table. The tourist asks the woman if she was affected by the hurricane. She says she is from the Lower 9^th Ward, lost her home and simply had to rebuild, slowly and surely. Luckily for exchanges like these, perhaps someone will notice, volunteer, donate and in the process help those who are forgotten with the next passing storm.

For more about Make It Right and how you can help, visit Make It Right online.

Back from New Orleans, I bring you this week’s Suzy Stumbles Over Travel. In case you are new to this site, each week I ask writers and readers to submit their favorite travel post of the week. I read each submission, comment, tweet the article on Twitter, stumble the piece using Stumbleupon and post a link to the article on my Facebook page. The following week I select my five favorites to be featured here and the stumbling begins again into the next week.

Just a few things to keep in mind, please only submit one post per person each week. Your submission must be travel related. Please leave a link to your post in the comment box below rather than sending it to me on Twitter, Facebook, etc. You have until the end of the day on Friday to leave your submission. Anything left past Friday will be carried over into next week’s submissions. I will get busy promoting the articles by the end of the day on Sunday. Be sure to follow me on Twitter, subscribe to my stumbles on Stumbleupon and “like” me on Facebook to make sure I give your post the attention it deserves. Check back here next Monday to see if your submission made my five favorites of the week.

The 5 Favorites of Last Week

“5 Aspects of Montreal I Love” From Sam’s Playground

Submitted by Sam

Sam details five captivating aspects to life in Montreal. From four seasons to summer festivals, he provides some compelling reasons to head up to the distinctive city and a few of his favorite things about Montreal.

“Packing For Paris” From All Things Paris

Submitted by Erin

Erin shares her tips of what to pack for Paris in the spring. While I can’t resist a good packing post, I appreciated how Erin incorporated fitting into Paris and not standing out as a tourist. Also her packing guide can be applied to most places in Europe.

“Family Kayaking in Southern France” From Raising Curiosity

Submitted by Julie

Julie and her family take to the waters below Pont-du-Gard in southern France. She presents a fine family activity or anyone activity to seeing the area’s Roman remains. Julie also lends practical information for spending the day kayaking in this part of the world.

“Train Madness: The Never Ending Voyage to Montreal” From L’appel du Vide

Submitted by Liz

Liz details one of the longest train delays from Montreal to Washington D.C., some 12 hours. From lack of communication about the problem to the hours of people watching on the train, Liz tells her travel delay horror story, one we all can relate to on our travels when something goes wrong.

“The Glory of Xiaolongbao” From Flip Flop Caravan

Submitted by Kelly

Kelly samples a distinctive taste of Shanghai, Xiaolongbao. The form of dim sum hailing from the city over a century ago has become every traveler’s first taste of the city. Kelly explains how these envelopes of dough are made and how to avoid disaster when eating them.

Don’t forget to leave your submission in the comment box below. You have until the end of the day on Friday to leave your submission.

“You can always order more,” he says slowly, surely and calmly. Worried about having just the right amount of Memphis barbecue, I was quickly assured to settle down. There is also more to be had.

The streets of Memphis seem deserted, until you round the corner to go to Charlie Vergos’ Rendezvous. Turn down into the unsuspecting alley and a whole crowd is waiting to sink their teeth into Rendezvous’ famous charcoal-broiled pork ribs. I am no different as I grab a seat at the bar upstairs to wait with the masses for a table. It all began in 1948 when Charlie Vergos decided to convert his diner’s basement into some of the city’s best barbecue with the miraculous discovery of a coal chute. Presidents and the King himself have all dined below Memphis for the ribs and Greek hospitality in the Deep South.

“Buffalo or Ram?”, the bartender says with the most stern of faces as he examines my I.D. He is referring to college football and testing if I am really 21 and from Colorado. I say neither. Clearly he isn’t in touch with Colorado football. Being in the South, it is mostly college football country, but in Colorado, the majority of people care only about the Broncos. He hands me back my I.D., forever suspicious of my intentions.

Finally my name is called. I’m not a buffalo, ram or bronco. I can only think about one animal. I order up Rendezvous’ famous charcoal broiled pork ribs. With its dry rub seasoning, I realize the best barbecue does not need a sauce. Coupled with beans and slaw, when in Memphis, even if you must face intense questioning to get your pork and beer, you must order up some barbecue.

With a bursting stomach, I take to the streets of Memphis to walk off some of those ribs now clinging to my stomach. I don’t walk long once I find the city’s old streetcars. Memphis has three streetcar routes that go by way of authentic vintage trolley cars. Harking back to Memphis’ past, you can take the Main Street Trolley, the Madison Avenue Route or the Riverfront Loop for a different taste of the city besides barbecue. Adorning bright pinks and purples and more subdued greens, the rickety cars can be heard long before they arrive.

I take the Riverfront Loop, a 2.5 mile long circle with views of the Mississippi River for the heft price of just $1. I mostly take in the views from within the old timey streetcar. Even after the car has made its loop, I notice most of the riders are just along for the ride. They don’t have a destination. Their destination is a wooden seat on the streetcar.

I quickly discover all of Memphis is either within Rendezvous or on Beale Street, the city’s equivalent to Bourbon Street in New Orleans. Police keep watch on the debauchery and even serve as photographer to a couple or two.

The next morning, I realize I don’t have time to visit Elvis Presley’s Graceland, his over the top mansion. Leaving the tour for another time in Memphis, I do have the time to wander through the National Civil Rights Museum. Set up in the Lorraine Motel, the museum details the struggle for African American freedom. The museum can be found in the motel for it was on the balcony of room 306 that Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated on April 4, 1968.

The 1950s exterior is still in tact, along with two cars of the era. Within the museum, you can see two of the rooms preserved to look as they did when Martin Luther King Jr. checked in to 306. I pause within that very room and you can sense a presence, a struggle. Unfinished business is in the air, the business of equality and freedom.

Memphis falls right on the border with Tennessee and Arkansas. Its history has been long linked with the penning of blues, the recording the first bars of Elvis Presley and barbecued pork. It has also been a place of change, of strife and pilgrimage. You can feel the past, present and future of Memphis, mostly from the drooping wooden paneled window of an antique streetcar.

Have you been to Memphis?