The moment I set a foot in that magical place, I realized what she meant. I was Basque, I was home. That smoky smell, the music, the long family-style tables, the Pelota Fronton (pelota court), the wrinkled faces of those old men playing cards (mus, a Basque card game, to be exact) reminded me of my grandpa. It didn't just look like home, it felt like home, it was home. I still get goosebumps when I think about it.

Maybe it’s the climate with long, cold, dark nights. Maybe it’s just the psyche of the people. Whatever the reason, we Scots are never slow to turn a celebration into a party. The winter months in Scotland are scattered with festivities—Halloween, Guy Fawkes (or Bonfire) Night, St Andrew’s Day, Burns Night, not to mention Christmas! But when it comes to celebrations, aboon them a’ (above them all), is Hogmanay.

The Eve of Sankt Hans is tied to the feast of Saint John the Baptist (Sankt Hans in Danish, “Hans” being the diminutive for Johannes), who was born on June 24th, but Danes celebrate on the eve before. This celebration has though existed a long time before Denmark became christianized in the 10th century. Originally, it was the summer solstice being celebrated, a fertility festival with several customs and rituals connected with nature, the wish for good fortune, and the hope for a fertile harvest in the autumn. 

The word “celebration” has its origin in the latin Celebrò. We can translate that as “gathering together” or “an assembly,” both of which are precisely the type of activities that Covid-19 is preventing us from doing! This prohibition inspired me to reconsider the subject of celebrating from an alternative point of view—religious celebrations.

After spending a majority of the year pruning, meticulously trimming and caring for each vine as it grows, the critical moment of picking the grapes arrives. The “vendemmia” (harvest) is like the birth of a healthy newborn baby after waiting nine months. The winemakers only feel relief once the grapes are in the cellar! Phew!

Now is the moment when Jake will feel a cold shiver in his spine. He will hear a runner saying “did you see the guy who was gored? He really looked bad, I bet he will not even make it to the hospital.”   Another  runner will answer “I heard he has died.”

Move over, Mardi Gras. Slow down that samba, Rio de Janeiro. There’s another Lenten carnival that’s just as fun a party—plus it’s got monsters. I’m talking about Ptuj’s kurentovanje.

This year has been one of the most challenging on record, especially in the travel world, so it may seem counterintuitive to talk about celebrating anything. Bad news plagues our social media and televisions, the entire world is stressed out. It is in these times, however, that celebrating is more important than ever. Small victories are all around you if you look for them.

When we think about witches, what normally comes to mind is an ugly, old woman with a wart on the tip of her nose, casting spells over a boiling pot. At least, this is the way Hollywood has portrayed them. It is 100% different from what we consider a witch in the Basque culture. We call them “sorguiñe”, which means “the one that gives life”.

The American Myth was still alive in my mind until, married to an American, I finally visited the States and slowly, by living there, came to realize how much that myth—like all myths—existed more as a vehicle for escapism from the pains of daily life. And despite its power and influence over popular culture, it didn’t necessarily correspond to reality. 

As you travel around Scotland you may spot a very strange sight that is likely to stop you in your tracks: hundreds of strips of cloth—or cloots as they’re known in Scotland—tied to the branches of trees. These are called Clootie Wells and are places of pilgrimage that link us to Celtic ancestors over countless generations. 

If we read the newspaper headlines, and watch the TV news it certainly seems like there isn't much to be cheerful about; all we seem to hear about are wars, terrorism, the exodus of populations, hunger and now the Covid-19 pandemic. But are we able to see what is right in front of us from an objective perspective?

Travel being a significant expense for most people, gives us incentive to find a return on our time and money. It’s helpful to examine the biases that hooked me to the story, to crack them open, and call them out. Myths and legends work this way: they require not just a willing believer, but a wanting one too. They are very much chicken and egg.

One of the most storied areas in the Czech Republic are the Krkonoše Mountains, on the border with Poland. Krkonoš is the Czech name for the famous local mountain spirit, also known by his German moniker Rübezahl... who sometimes takes the form of a giant.

Here are some ideas for those wanting to check out more than just a country’s top 3 or most known sights and cities. Not that these are totally off the radar, but many folks probably know about these places and figure they’ll give’ em a miss. If you are in that camp, then here are a few reasons to reconsider these destinations next time you make your travel plans. 

From the stories and legends evolved a unique set of superstitions that existed to give protection to people and the things they held dear. We might scoff at them today, but imagine a time, not so long ago, when life was so hard and tenuous that your very survival might depend on a good harvest or an easy childbirth. It’s easier to understand how these beliefs could become so deep-rooted and firmly held.   

Discover some of Guide Collective’s favorite places to enjoy drinks, dishes, and impeccable vistas in part 1 of this series: Wine, Dine, and Views.

As a Copenhagener and a tour guide, I have often taken visiting friends and tour groups out to the harbour to see the Mermaid, but I am wondering about what they see—is it just a famous statue, like the Statue of Liberty in NYC, that you need to Instagram yourself with, or is there more to the little mermaid? What does she represent for the Danes and for foreigners?

The mayor of Dronero, not knowing what to do anymore, decided to ask the devil for help: "Devil, can you build a bridge for us that the waters of the stream do not carry away?" "Certainly, I can, but in return, the first soul that crosses the bridge is mine."

English tour guide and travel poet, Charlie Rawson, brings the sensory images of autumn in the woods of Bristol to life in this evocative poem.