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a bus ride - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing

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Upon the bus ride that new day, the clouds blossomed pink as if in visual empathy with the poppy red paint below.

Riding in that double decker, cherry red to complement the rosy sunrise, the Thames was a great and meditative view.

We would climb the spiral staircase to the top deck and rush to the seats at the front. In our hands was our imaginary wheel and we drove that routemaster through the London streets. We may have been kids, but we riding high, grins broader than the Thames.

Upon the bus ride, rocked as if we were in a great silver cradle, there is a sense of tranquil togetherness.

The bus ride with Liv is my favourite time of the day all year round. Yet, at this time if year we travel in the golden hour, when the sunlight is just right, soft and warm. It is as if we are the protagonists of some classic movie, the lovers riding along, unaware of the heroes they will become.

The bus ride is my meditation. The same chill music in my earbuds, the same view passing as a beloved and rewatched movie.

We ride this silver cocoon over the earth, our eyes on the trees that grow in their infinite patience, leaves breathing out our oxygen, bathing in the same light as we soon will. I feel the movement of the wheels over the road, following the curves and greeting each slope in its smooth way. These bus rides are my meditation, a chance for my thoughts to greet the horizon, salute the clouds and ready my feet for the day ahead.

The bus rocks us from side to side as we travel these familiar roads, our brains afforded the time to daydream or rest. There are those who chatter, their voices rising and blending together in the sweet ritual of friends. Some absorb themselves in music, others drift into worries that will erase themselves on arrival, when their body rejoins the world of moving and speaking to others. And so it goes on that way, all of us together and separate, feeling all the same turns and bumps.

The bus is a clanker, yet under the faded yellow paint is a classic - the shape transporting me back to childhood. As it passes I barely see it at all, my mind painting a picture over the top, a picture of what it could be if it were restored. Call me nostalgic, but there was love in those old designs.

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Essay On Journey By Bus – 10 Lines, Short and Long Essay

Key Points to Remember When Writing Essay on Journey by Bus

10 lines on journey by bus, a paragraph on journey by bus, short essay on my first journey by bus in english, long essay on journey by bus for children, what will your child learn from journey by bus essay.

Essay writing  is a valued part of learning, helping students be creative and improve their writing. An Essay on a journey by bus in English is an excellent topic for young learners. It lets them share their experiences and ideas. Like a journey by bus essay for kids, this kind of essay helps children talk about what they see, feel, and experience during bus rides. This practice allows them to become better at storytelling and see the world differently.

It is beneficial to keep some critical points in mind before delving into the nuances of our essay topic. This ensures that your essay is structured, coherent, and relatable.

• Choose a specific journey:  A particular trip often leaves a lasting impression, making it easier to describe.
• Describe the surroundings:  Mention landmarks, nature, or even the weather during the journey.
• Talk about the people:  Who were your co-passengers? Are there any exciting interactions?
• Emotions and feelings:  How did the journey make you feel? Are you excited, tired, or curious?
• Sensory descriptions:  What did you see, hear, or smell during the ride?

Before we embark on a descriptive journey, let’s touch upon the essence of a bus journey in a concise ten-line format:

1. I embarked on a memorable journey by bus to the mountains last summer.

2. The bus was vibrant and filled with eager travellers of all ages.

3. As the bus moved, I saw the cityscapes morphing into green pastures.

4. The winding roads took us through tunnels and across bridges.

5. Local vendors at stops sold delicious regional snacks.

6. I met a fellow traveller, Ria, and we exchanged stories and laughs.

7. The scenic beauty outside, with floating clouds, was mesmerising.

8. A sudden downpour made the journey even more magical.

9. We halted at a viewpoint, capturing the panoramic beauty in our cameras.

10. By evening, I reached my destination with a heart full of memories and a diary full of tales.

Starting a narrative with just a few lines on a journey by bus can vividly paint a picturesque scene in a reader’s mind. So, let’s illustrate one such journey concisely:

Every bus journey is an unfolding story, and mine was no different. It was a balmy afternoon when I boarded the bus from my hometown to a quaint village. The rhythmic hum of the bus, combined with the changing scenery outside, was hypnotic. With their bustling markets, the towns gave way to serene countryside vistas. Children chased after the bus, waving, and farmers were seen working diligently in their fields. At one point, the bus had to navigate through a narrow path with dense foliage on either side, the leaves almost brushing against the windows. It felt like passing through a green tunnel. This short journey became an unexpected retreat from the daily hustle, a refreshing reminder of our world’s diverse tales.

Everyone remembers their first time for many activities, and my first journey by bus was a memorable chapter in my book of life. Let’s delve into this short narrative.

Growing up in a small town, buses were a novelty for me. The first time I stepped onto one was with a heart full of excitement and a curious mind. I remember the rustling of tickets, the conductor’s call, and the hushed whispers of passengers. The engine roared to life, and with it began my adventure. The bus swerved through turns, showing me parts of my town I had never seen before. Children on the streets waved at us, and we passed many cyclists going about their day. The journey felt like a moving film, where every scene was intriguing. By the time the bus stopped at my stop, I had reached my destination and embarked on a new-found love for bus journeys.

Journeys  are often more about the experiences on the way than the destination itself. Here’s a long essay for students detailing the varied emotions, observations, and tales from a bus journey, broken down into specific segments for clarity.

Preparing for the Journey

Preparation is the first step to any successful endeavour. My journey by bus was scheduled for the early morning. I packed my bag the evening before, ensuring I had all the essentials—water, snacks, a notebook, and a pen. I also made sure to charge my phone and download a playlist to keep me entertained. There was palpable excitement and a hint of nervousness as I anticipated the journey ahead.

Boarding on Bus

The bus station was buzzing with activity. People were rushing, vendors were calling out, and buses were honking. Amidst the cacophony, I found my bus, painted in vibrant colours, standing tall and majestic. I handed my ticket to the conductor, who gestured towards my seat. I settled in, buckled up, and awaited the journey to begin.

The Scene Inside the Bus

The inside of the bus was a world in itself. Ahead of me sat an old couple, their heads buried in a shared newspaper. To my left, a young mother tried to soothe her crying child, and right across the aisle, a group of teenagers laughed and chatted animatedly. The air was filled with myriad conversations intermingled with the engine’s hum. The bus became a tapestry of diverse tales and experiences.

My Journey by Bus

As the bus rolled forward, the city’s bustling scenes began to fade, giving way to the serene landscapes of the countryside. From the window, I witnessed a tapestry of life: children chasing kites, farmers tending to their fields, and rivers flowing with grace.

Midway through our journey, the bus halted at a roadside eatery. The aroma of local cuisine filled the air, and passengers stretched their legs and enjoyed a brief respite. Over a shared meal with a fellow traveller, I learned about local traditions and stories of far-off places.

Resuming our journey, we approached a series of hills. The distant silhouette of the mountains, with the sun setting behind them, offered a tranquil view. Inside the bus, a sense of calm prevailed. Some passengers chatted softly, while others, lost in thought, looked out the window, taking in the enchanting sights.

The journey, with its blend of interactions and observations, left an indelible mark on my heart, making me appreciate the simple joys of  travel .

Reaching the Destination

Our bus arrived at the destined station as daylight began its graceful retreat, making way for twilight’s glow. The lively chatter that once filled the bus now quieted as passengers started to disembark, each carrying their unique memories from the journey. Stepping out, a wave of contentment enveloped me. The voyage was laden with precious moments and reflective thoughts despite the length and fatigue. It dawned on me that often, it’s not just the destination that matters but the many stories and experiences that come with the journey itself.

An essay on a bus journey is more than just a description of a travel experience. It’s a canvas where children paint their observations, emotions, and interactions. By penning down these moments, children cultivate descriptive skills, learn to value simple joys and develop a broader worldview. They get introduced to  the art of storytelling , where a bus becomes a microcosm of life, filled with diverse characters and tales. This essay teaches them to find wonder in everyday experiences and articulate their thoughts eloquently.

Journeys, mainly by bus, offer an immersive view of the world outside our windows. As we have journeyed through this essay, it’s evident that every bus ride is a blend of sights, sounds, and emotions. For children, writing about these experiences improves their descriptive abilities and enhances their perspective on life. When approached with curiosity and attention to detail, an essay on a simple bus journey can become a repository of cherished memories and invaluable learnings. Just as every destination has its charm, the journey towards it holds tales waiting to be told and lessons waiting to be learned.

Also Read: Best Vacations For Children 20 Essential Tips for Travelling With Children Enjoying Your Vacay: Why Having Children Shouldn’t Mean You Stop Travelling

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Creative writing about a bus journey

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What Is Creative Writing? (Ultimate Guide + 20 Examples)

Creative writing begins with a blank page and the courage to fill it with the stories only you can tell.

I face this intimidating blank page daily–and I have for the better part of 20+ years.

In this guide, you’ll learn all the ins and outs of creative writing with tons of examples.

What Is Creative Writing (Long Description)?

Creative Writing is the art of using words to express ideas and emotions in imaginative ways. It encompasses various forms including novels, poetry, and plays, focusing on narrative craft, character development, and the use of literary tropes.

Table of Contents

Let’s expand on that definition a bit.

Creative writing is an art form that transcends traditional literature boundaries.

It includes professional, journalistic, academic, and technical writing. This type of writing emphasizes narrative craft, character development, and literary tropes. It also explores poetry and poetics traditions.

In essence, creative writing lets you express ideas and emotions uniquely and imaginatively.

It’s about the freedom to invent worlds, characters, and stories. These creations evoke a spectrum of emotions in readers.

Creative writing covers fiction, poetry, and everything in between.

It allows writers to express inner thoughts and feelings. Often, it reflects human experiences through a fabricated lens.

Types of Creative Writing

There are many types of creative writing that we need to explain.

Some of the most common types:

• Short stories
• Screenplays
• Flash fiction
• Creative Nonfiction

Short Stories (The Brief Escape)

Short stories are like narrative treasures.

They are compact but impactful, telling a full story within a limited word count. These tales often focus on a single character or a crucial moment.

Short stories are known for their brevity.

They deliver emotion and insight in a concise yet powerful package. This format is ideal for exploring diverse genres, themes, and characters. It leaves a lasting impression on readers.

Example: Emma discovers an old photo of her smiling grandmother. It’s a rarity. Through flashbacks, Emma learns about her grandmother’s wartime love story. She comes to understand her grandmother’s resilience and the value of joy.

Novels (The Long Journey)

Novels are extensive explorations of character, plot, and setting.

They span thousands of words, giving writers the space to create entire worlds. Novels can weave complex stories across various themes and timelines.

The length of a novel allows for deep narrative and character development.

Readers get an immersive experience.

Example: Across the Divide tells of two siblings separated in childhood. They grow up in different cultures. Their reunion highlights the strength of family bonds, despite distance and differences.

Poetry (The Soul’s Language)

Poetry expresses ideas and emotions through rhythm, sound, and word beauty.

It distills emotions and thoughts into verses. Poetry often uses metaphors, similes, and figurative language to reach the reader’s heart and mind.

Poetry ranges from structured forms, like sonnets, to free verse.

The latter breaks away from traditional formats for more expressive thought.

Example: Whispers of Dawn is a poem collection capturing morning’s quiet moments. “First Light” personifies dawn as a painter. It brings colors of hope and renewal to the world.

Plays (The Dramatic Dialogue)

Plays are meant for performance. They bring characters and conflicts to life through dialogue and action.

This format uniquely explores human relationships and societal issues.

Playwrights face the challenge of conveying setting, emotion, and plot through dialogue and directions.

Example: Echoes of Tomorrow is set in a dystopian future. Memories can be bought and sold. It follows siblings on a quest to retrieve their stolen memories. They learn the cost of living in a world where the past has a price.

Screenplays (Cinema’s Blueprint)

Screenplays outline narratives for films and TV shows.

They require an understanding of visual storytelling, pacing, and dialogue. Screenplays must fit film production constraints.

Example: The Last Light is a screenplay for a sci-fi film. Humanity’s survivors on a dying Earth seek a new planet. The story focuses on spacecraft Argo’s crew as they face mission challenges and internal dynamics.

Memoirs (The Personal Journey)

Memoirs provide insight into an author’s life, focusing on personal experiences and emotional journeys.

They differ from autobiographies by concentrating on specific themes or events.

Memoirs invite readers into the author’s world.

They share lessons learned and hardships overcome.

Example: Under the Mango Tree is a memoir by Maria Gomez. It shares her childhood memories in rural Colombia. The mango tree in their yard symbolizes home, growth, and nostalgia. Maria reflects on her journey to a new life in America.

Flash Fiction (The Quick Twist)

Flash fiction tells stories in under 1,000 words.

It’s about crafting compelling narratives concisely. Each word in flash fiction must count, often leading to a twist.

This format captures life’s vivid moments, delivering quick, impactful insights.

Example: The Last Message features an astronaut’s final Earth message as her spacecraft drifts away. In 500 words, it explores isolation, hope, and the desire to connect against all odds.

Creative Nonfiction (The Factual Tale)

Creative nonfiction combines factual accuracy with creative storytelling.

This genre covers real events, people, and places with a twist. It uses descriptive language and narrative arcs to make true stories engaging.

Creative nonfiction includes biographies, essays, and travelogues.

Example: Echoes of Everest follows the author’s Mount Everest climb. It mixes factual details with personal reflections and the history of past climbers. The narrative captures the climb’s beauty and challenges, offering an immersive experience.

Fantasy (The World Beyond)

Fantasy transports readers to magical and mythical worlds.

It explores themes like good vs. evil and heroism in unreal settings. Fantasy requires careful world-building to create believable yet fantastic realms.

Example: The Crystal of Azmar tells of a young girl destined to save her world from darkness. She learns she’s the last sorceress in a forgotten lineage. Her journey involves mastering powers, forming alliances, and uncovering ancient kingdom myths.

Science Fiction (The Future Imagined)

Science fiction delves into futuristic and scientific themes.

It questions the impact of advancements on society and individuals.

Science fiction ranges from speculative to hard sci-fi, focusing on plausible futures.

Example: When the Stars Whisper is set in a future where humanity communicates with distant galaxies. It centers on a scientist who finds an alien message. This discovery prompts a deep look at humanity’s universe role and interstellar communication.

Watch this great video that explores the question, “What is creative writing?” and “How to get started?”:

What Are the 5 Cs of Creative Writing?

The 5 Cs of creative writing are fundamental pillars.

They guide writers to produce compelling and impactful work. These principles—Clarity, Coherence, Conciseness, Creativity, and Consistency—help craft stories that engage and entertain.

They also resonate deeply with readers. Let’s explore each of these critical components.

Clarity makes your writing understandable and accessible.

It involves choosing the right words and constructing clear sentences. Your narrative should be easy to follow.

In creative writing, clarity means conveying complex ideas in a digestible and enjoyable way.

Coherence ensures your writing flows logically.

It’s crucial for maintaining the reader’s interest. Characters should develop believably, and plots should progress logically. This makes the narrative feel cohesive.

Conciseness

Conciseness is about expressing ideas succinctly.

It’s being economical with words and avoiding redundancy. This principle helps maintain pace and tension, engaging readers throughout the story.

Creativity is the heart of creative writing.

It allows writers to invent new worlds and create memorable characters. Creativity involves originality and imagination. It’s seeing the world in unique ways and sharing that vision.

Consistency

Consistency maintains a uniform tone, style, and voice.

It means being faithful to the world you’ve created. Characters should act true to their development. This builds trust with readers, making your story immersive and believable.

Is Creative Writing Easy?

Creative writing is both rewarding and challenging.

Crafting stories from your imagination involves more than just words on a page. It requires discipline and a deep understanding of language and narrative structure.

Exploring complex characters and themes is also key.

Refining and revising your work is crucial for developing your voice.

The ease of creative writing varies. Some find the freedom of expression liberating.

Others struggle with writer’s block or plot development challenges. However, practice and feedback make creative writing more fulfilling.

What Does a Creative Writer Do?

A creative writer weaves narratives that entertain, enlighten, and inspire.

Writers explore both the world they create and the emotions they wish to evoke. Their tasks are diverse, involving more than just writing.

Creative writers develop ideas, research, and plan their stories.

They create characters and outline plots with attention to detail. Drafting and revising their work is a significant part of their process. They strive for the 5 Cs of compelling writing.

Writers engage with the literary community, seeking feedback and participating in workshops.

They may navigate the publishing world with agents and editors.

Creative writers are storytellers, craftsmen, and artists. They bring narratives to life, enriching our lives and expanding our imaginations.

How to Get Started With Creative Writing?

Embarking on a creative writing journey can feel like standing at the edge of a vast and mysterious forest.

The path is not always clear, but the adventure is calling.

Here’s how to take your first steps into the world of creative writing:

• Find a time of day when your mind is most alert and creative.
• Create a comfortable writing space free from distractions.
• Use prompts to spark your imagination. They can be as simple as a word, a phrase, or an image.
• Try writing for 15-20 minutes on a prompt without editing yourself. Let the ideas flow freely.
• Reading is fuel for your writing. Explore various genres and styles.
• Pay attention to how your favorite authors construct their sentences, develop characters, and build their worlds.
• Don’t pressure yourself to write a novel right away. Begin with short stories or poems.
• Small projects can help you hone your skills and boost your confidence.
• Look for writing groups in your area or online. These communities offer support, feedback, and motivation.
• Participating in workshops or classes can also provide valuable insights into your writing.
• Understand that your first draft is just the beginning. Revising your work is where the real magic happens.
• Be open to feedback and willing to rework your pieces.
• Carry a notebook or digital recorder to jot down ideas, observations, and snippets of conversations.
• These notes can be gold mines for future writing projects.

Final Thoughts: What Is Creative Writing?

Creative writing is an invitation to explore the unknown, to give voice to the silenced, and to celebrate the human spirit in all its forms.

Check out these creative writing tools (that I highly recommend):

Read This Next:

• What Is a Prompt in Writing? (Ultimate Guide + 200 Examples)
• What Is A Personal Account In Writing? (47 Examples)
• How To Write A Fantasy Short Story (Ultimate Guide + Examples)
• How To Write A Fantasy Romance Novel [21 Tips + Examples)

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The Bus Stop

Written at the literary estate workshop, by julie cutler.

I left the house, on that cool breezy Tuesday morning, made up for work, not too prim and proper, but just enough I hoped to catch someone’s eye that day at the bus stop.  The young man, whose name, I did not know, caught my eye for the last couple of weeks, and I was really hoping he would notice me, but alas he did not. What was his name I wondered, as I walked towards the bus stop near Carpenders Park Station. Would I have the courage to say hello, after seeing him quite a few times previously, but I was bought up to have manners, and was way too shy to say hello to him.  He had been at the bus stop every morning for the last few weeks,  We so happened to share a journey each day, I guessed he worked in Watford, as he got off at the same bus stop near the town centre each day, and I got off at the one before him, near Bushey Arches to travel to my work place, at Wickes.  I really wanted to say hello, he had caught my eye every morning, on his phone chatting away to his friends I believe.  Did he have a girlfriend I wondered? Was I being too forward? Oh how I did not want to give off the wrong impression.

He looked so smart in his suit, his long dark hair tied back away from his shoulders.  I always like the smart rugged look: cleanly shaven, but with an air of confidence.  How embarrassed would I be it I just went up to him?  I had to make up an excuse to talk to him. That particular Tuesday morning, I had slipped my watch in my handbag, so I could make up a conversation, and ask him what the time was.  I approached the bus stop that sunny Tuesday morning, feeling more apprehensive than normal.  I had to speak to him; he had been playing on my mind for so long.  I had been single for a while now, and so wanted to meet a nice man to settle down with.  I saw him, and yes the chemistry was there, he gave me butterflies just looking at him..  He stood there in his smart grey suit, as I approached the bus stop, his hair flowing in the gentle breeze,  I felt the breeze go through my hair.  Would I have the guts to talk to him today.  He wore a light blue shirt under his suit, his black shoes, smartly polished.  I knew I had to ask him the time, enough was enough, any reason to talk to him.  I casually, as I could walked up to the bus stop and asked him the time.  He answered with a broad smile on his face, had he noticed me, I did not try and stick out too much, I never did, but I just had to talk to him.. At last I had summoned up the courage to talk to him. He seemed so polite. Wednesday the next day would I have the courage to carry on the conversation….

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the journey, creative writing

The Journey

It was pitch black. Ben was just rousing after being knocked unconscious. How had he got here and, more to the point, where was here?

Looking around him, Ben could see nothing. No lights or windows were visible through the darkness. Feeling terrible, Ben slowly got up on his feet and stumbled forward until he hit a wall. He searched the walls for a light switch or someway of escaping from this unknown and terrifying situation. He was unsuccessful. All he found were lumps of moss, and some sharp rocks protruding from the wall. Ben slumped onto the floor and thought about how he could have arrived in this enclosed, lightless room.

It was a dismal morning. The weather was being kind to England for the middle of December, but it was a school day towards the end of term. It was quiet in the house. No noise could be heard other than three alarms trying hard but failing to wake up four very sleepy people. After hearing his ‘beep-beep, beep-beep…’ alarm for ten minutes, Ben finally managed to pull himself out of bed. He turned on the light, which blinded him at first, and went to the bathroom to wash.

When Ben had finished, he was met by an unfamiliar face. His sister Laura without makeup. Laura was thirteen, two years younger than Ben, and she hardly ever left her room, let alone the house without putting makeup on. It was quite a scary sight to Ben. She looked like a cross between a monkey and a pile of hair. She charged past him, into the bathroom and slammed the door in his face.

This is a preview of the whole essay

Usually, Ben would have got Laura back for that but it was too early in the morning. Ben went into his room and got dressed for school.

Ben’s room was not small, but it wasn’t large either. He had cupboards on the left, opposite the windows, and a bunk-bed, with a desk underneath, in the middle of the room. Well, it should have been a desk, but Ben just used it as a place to dump anything he couldn’t be bothered to put away.

Once Ben was ready for school, he went downstairs to have breakfast, where he saw his mum, still in her dressing gown, cooking him a big fry up. Bacon, eggs, sausages, beans, hash-browns, mushrooms. Ben’s mouth was watering. Having almost swallowed everything whole, Ben said goodbye to his mum, who was clearing up, to Laura, who shouted at him for disturbing her whilst she was putting on her makeup, and to his dad, who still hadn’t stirred from his slumber even though builders had started demolishing the house next door.

On his way to school, Ben passed the builders who had stopped working to decide weather to blow up the garage or just knock it down.

Ben met his friends at the bus stop and they all boarded the number 142 bus. They went to the same school and wore the same boring plain black suit with a white shirt.

The day went quickly for Ben. First he had maths, then a chemistry test that the previous class had gone through and left all of the answers on the board. English, Latin and history followed. None of them were Ben’s best subjects.

After lunch was sport. Ben was good at football and had managed to make it into the A team. He scored some good goals and was disappointed that football practice was only one hour long.

Ben and his mates took the bus home. When they were nearing Ben’s stop, several people were pointing out of the window into the distance. Smoke filled the air and almost completely blocked out the sun. Ben jumped off the bus and followed the smoke

Ben darted round the corner only to see a huge crowd of people around his house. He approached the crowd. People were talking. ‘I heard that the builders blew up the garage and accidentally blew up the house next door,’ one man said to another.

‘No, no, no. It was terrorists,’ another man said.

‘Or a meteorite’

‘Whoever or whatever it was, it was bad. A woman got trapped inside!’

At that moment, something inside Ben told him to run. He dropped his school bag and charged through the crowd. When he reached the house, he realised that the first comment that he heard was correct. The builders had misjudged how much explosive was needed and had blown up most of Ben’s house as well as the garage. In fact, where the garage once stood, was a huge crater filled with bits of burning car. Ben did not stop to look at the damage; instead, he rushed inside his own house and shouted,

‘Mum! Mum, where are you?’ there was silence. Ben scrambled over bits of house that had fallen into the hall, and ran into the kitchen.

‘Mum?!?’ The kitchen was almost normal apart from the fridge which had fallen onto the floor.

Ben ran upstairs and into Laura’s room which had a ‘KEEP OUT’ sign on the door. Ben chose to ignore it.

‘Mum?!?’ the ceiling collapsed. Ben ran into his room.

The smoke was now forcing its way into Ben’s lungs. He knew that he didn’t have much longer. ‘Mum?!?’ still no reply. He was about to leave when he saw her. Lying underneath his upturned bed was his mum. Ben tried to pull her out but all of his junk from his desk had pinned her to the floor. Smoke had got into Ben’s blood stream and was flowing around his body. He collapsed onto the floor. The room was spinning around. A pair of hands grabbed Ben’s mum and hauled her out from beneath the bed.

‘Mum!’ Ben squeaked. He was weak and slipping into unconsciousness. A different pair of hands grabbed Ben and pulled him towards the door.

‘Don’t struggle,’ a stern, evil voice said. ‘You will only make it harder on yourself.’

Ben passed out.

Document Details

• Word Count 1019
• Page Count 2
• Subject English

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Essay on “A Journey by Bus” Complete Essay for Class 10, Class 12 and Graduation and other classes.

A Journey by Bus

6 Best Essays on ” A Journey by Bus”

Essay No. 01

A journey by bus is dull and boring. Once we occupy a seat, we remain stationary there till we reach on destination. We cannot move freely in a bus. Heat in the summer and cold in winter make the journey troublesome and unbearable.

I seldom travel by bus, but this summer I had to travel by bus to Manali since the entire family was going on a summer vacation by bus. Our luggage was loaded on the roof of the bus and I managed to get a window seat, much to the envy of my cousins.

We left at 6 o’clock in the morning. The weather was quite pleasant. Sunshine was filtering in through the windows on the other side of the bus, so my side was quite cool. A cool breeze was blowing and it was very refreshing. All family members started chatting although a few elders tried to catch some sleep since everyone had woken up quite early.

We had packed sandwiches and cold drinks which we had for breakfast in the moving bus itself. It was a lot of fun since everyone had to pass the eatables on the bus. I was carrying storybooks, magazines and the morning newspaper with me. First I read the newspaper to catch up with the latest developments and then went through the magazine for some time.

It was lunchtime and we decided to stop at the roadside Dhaba is one of the villages of Punjab. The food was very delicious and different from what we eat at home. Everyone stretched their tired limbs and some people even lay down on the cots for some time.

After lunch, it became quite hot. I drew the curtain at the window and decided to sleep for some time. With a full stomach and rocking bus, I fell asleep within a couple of minutes. When I woke up I could not believe my eyes. The bus was negotiating steep curves and I realized that we had entered the hills. Tall trees cast their shadow on the road and a very fresh wind livened everyone up. The children started singing songs and the elders joined by clapping vigorously. It was getting chilly and we took out light woolen to cover ourselves. We refreshed ourselves with hot tea and started to enjoy the lovely scenery.

We could see terraced forms, small streams of water, and waterfalls running down the mountainside and the local hill people cheered whenever they saw our bus. There were apple orchards, plum trees, and tall chinar trees. It was like a dream come true and was just like the storybooks that we had read. As dusk started to fall, the conductor announced that we had reached our destination.

One didn’t know how time flew and this bus journey was very different from the usual dull and loving journeys. I will remember this bus journey all my life.

Essay No. 2

A Journey By Bus

It was a fine day. I decided to spend the evening at Connaught Place. I got ten rupees from my father. I left my house at 6 p.m. to catch the bus for Odeon.  

I stood in the queue and waited anxiously for my turn in vain. I joined those who were struggling at the door of the bus. With great difficulty, I also got my chance to get on the bus. I got a seat. Hardly had I sat on my seat when I saw a very old man. He was standing near me. He looked very sad. I looked at him. I got up out of respect. I offered my seat to him. But to my great surprise, a fashionable young lady rushed towards the seat. She pressed herself into the seat. The poor old man looked at her helplessly. He had to keep standing. The lady felt no shame. She kept on looking at the poor old shamelessly. I felt very angry at her behavior.  

The passengers inside the bus were talking loudly. Some were talking about politics. Some were talking of soaring prices. Others were discussing their personal problems. The family quarrels were the subjects of their talk. I was looking outside thinking about the sad incident.

The journey was not long. It was quite short. By now our burs reached Pant Hospital. There may people got down. May others boarded the bus. As usual, the bus moved on. An old lady began to feel giddy. She requested a young man to provide her with his seat. This proud young man refused flatly. This was very bad. We should show respect to ladies. Young ladies also should offer their seats to old and sick people.  

At the Ajmeri gate, three passengers got down. They paid the fare. The conductor did not issue tickets to them. I got a chance. I said to the conductor. “Mr. conductor, you did not issue tickets to the passengers. You are dishonest. “With these words, I pulled the chain. The bus stopped. I asked the conductor to tear the three tickets. The conductor was perplexed. Some other passengers called him a thief. I rebuked him. The dishonest conductor felt ashamed for his dishonest act. He tore three tickets and threw them out. Again the bust started.

The bus was now running in New Delhi. My destination was quite near. At Minto Road, the driver applied the brakes suddenly. He saved a cyclist. All the passengers got a jolt. My head struck against a lady’s she cursed me. I kept silent. I got down at Odeon.

Essay No. 3

Delhi is a big crowded city. The Redline bus is the sole means of conveyance for the lower and middle-class people. Many people cover short distances on their bicycles. The rich people alone can afford to hire a scooter, a rickshaw, or a taxi because their charges are very high. The bus stops provide a busy scene at peak hours. The people stand there in queues and bear the scorching heat, the biting chill, and the raindrops pouring down. Waiting for the bus is the most unpleasant thing. One feels bored and disgusted. Everyone criticizes and curses the Redline owners and showers abuse on them and holds them responsible for the irregular bus services. The loose politics is discussed there and sometimes the same turns into a quarrel. A daily passenger of the Redline bus has a lot of bitter experiences to narrate if he has the time to do so and if there is somebody who finds the time to listen to him. The buses getting punctured or disorderly on the way tell upon the nerves of the office goers. The rude behavior of the conductors, the rash driving and the rush of the passengers, and the lack of direct buses are troublesome. However, early you may start for your duty, still to reach there in time is quite uncertain.

Last Sunday, I had a mind to see the film Jagriti at Natraj Talkies. My wife and children were pressing me hard for it and were waiting anxiously for the day. I had arranged to purchase the tickets in advance. The picture had to start at 3 p.m. It was not safe to reach the cinema hall on the two-wheeler. So I decided to hire a three-wheeled scooter. The scooter driver demanded Rs. 50, since the distance was 15 km. I had to change my mind and ultimately decided to travel by the Redline bus.

We stood in the queue at 1. p.m. It was lunchtime. There was no bus in sight. There was no breath of air, so the people were panting. Everyone was perspiring due to the scorching heat. We kept waiting for the bus impatiently for 45 minutes. A bus arrived. I asked my wife and children to board the bus. The driver stopped the bus a bit away. The people broke the queue and ran towards the bus. The bus was packed to its capacity. Luckily, I boarded the footboard. A few other passengers too got in. The conductor gave the bell and the driver started the bus. To my utter dismay, my wife and children were left behind. I asked the conductor to stop the bus. He showed no concern and paid no heed to my genuine request. He called me as a careless fellow. The bus had gathered speed. I had to jump off the running bus. I fell flat on the road. My clothes got soiled and torn. I got many bruises and got my ankle sprained. My children got worried and were crying. Anyhow, I reached them limping. My hair got powdered with dust. I was perspiring. My wife was in tears. She asked me to return home but how could I do that? I had spent Rs. 100 on the tickets and that amount would have gone waste. I cheered her up and picked up the courage for the next trial. It was 2-30. I was feeling pain. I had to take a glass of hot milk. There was no time to wash out the bloodstains from my clothes or to change my clothes. I was shocked to find my purse containing Rs. 160 missing. I did not break this news to my wife lest she should get more worried.

Luckily, an empty bus arrived there. I asked my wife and children not to lag behind that time. There were a great pushing and elbowing and somehow I forced them in. They occupied a seat and heaved a sigh of relief. I too got on the bus after some time. I asked my wife to purchase the tickets. I too sat on the seat. I noticed that one of the earrings of my wife was missing. My wife started weeping when I told her about it. We asked all the passengers and searched for the same near the seats. Then we left the seat and searched for the earring around the footboard and the ground but to no effect. Our seats too were occupied by our fellow passengers who were least concerned about our loss and injury. The tedious journey and the hollow preaching of the people only added to my grief. Our destination was near. I requested the driver very humbly to stop the bus. He gave a break. My wife and children had got down. I was limping in pain. The driver abused me for delaying the bus and started the same. I could not jump down that time. I was at the driver’s mercy. A few passengers came forward and forced him to stop the bus. He had to stop the bus against his will, half a furlong ahead. I joined my family bearing all the insults and pain.

The picture had started before we reached the hall. We could not enjoy the film since we had missed the introductory part. Only a little money was left with us for the cold drinks during the interval. The picture was over. We hired a scooter and made him the payment on reaching home.

I have come to the conclusion on the basis of my own bitter experience to avoid traveling by a Redline bus at peak hours especially when you are with your kids.

The Redline buses are mostly overcrowded. The conductors patronize pickpockets and men of loose morals. The honor of young ladies is always at stake. They present a scene of daily scuffles between the students and the conductors. Rash and reckless driving result in frequent accidents. Sometimes the drivers do not stop the bus at all and at other times they keep the bus standing for more than half an hour at the same place. A journey by a Redline bus is both time-consuming, uncomfortable, and risky for life. The conductors always try to overcharge the passengers.

Essay No. 4

Traveling by bus is the cheapest mode of travel. It is, therefore, the favourite transport of the poor people, and villagers, who prefer to travel by it. This in turn makes traveling a nightmare for a city dweller, which is not used to such kinds of the crowd. For some who are used to orderliness and cleanliness, a journey by bus is often very uncomfortable and full of hardships.

Last week there was a train strike and I had an Interview to attend. Left with no other option I had to travel by bus. On the appointed day when I reached the Bus Stand, I found that the ticket window was closed. I went and stood in the queue that had formed in front of it. It was a long wait. The window did not open for the next one hour. Luckily before people could grow restless, we saw the bus enter the terminal. As if on cue the ticket window opened. There was a mad rush to obtain tickets. People who until now were standing peacefully pushed and shoved each other to reach the counter. Some broke the queue and tried to forcefully buy the tickets. This made the people who were standing at the front of the cue to protest. And soon a scuffle ensued between some of them. Before they could resolve it, the bus gave a warning hoot. Somehow I managed to buy a ticket and board the bus.

The bus was an old one. The seats were torn. And fruit peels were strewn all over the floor. An old villager sat next to me. It appeared that he had come straight from his fields. Because he was smelling of manure and fertilizers. This smell was blown away from the wind that came through the broken window panes.

Soon the bus rolled out of the bus stand. When we came to the highway my neighbor in the bus lighted a beedi. I requested him to put it off. But my pleas fell into deaf ears. Fortunately, before the matters could get worse, he got down at the first stop. From there a young man got on the bus and sat down next to me. There-after the three hours of the journey destination went by like a second. And before I realized the bus had reached my destination.

My journey by bus had been a mixed bag of experiences. And yet I cannot say that I enjoyed it.

Essay No. 5

Most buses in the city are extremely crowded. The number of buses on the road is not enough to meet the demands of the growing population of the country. I am used to travelling in crowded buses but I would love to share my experience with you.

The ordeal of travelling in buses begins at the bus stop itself. Till the bus comes one has to wait patiently at the bus stop. There is every possibility that the bus might come late. Once the bus arrives all the passengers rush into it without giving the others a chance to get in. Lines are broken and there is a lot of pushing and pulling. Once one gets into the bus one is squashed from all four sides because people are standing in the aisle and all the seats are occupied.

Feet get trampled upon and no one even apologizes after stepping on your foot. It is almost impossible to buy a ticket because the conductor also is hidden somewhere behind all those people. People pass their money down the line and the ticket comes back to them the same way. Whenever the bus brakes there is a great push from the rear of the bus and all those standing in front begin to fall over each other. Pick-pockets, and eve-teasers have a great time doing their jobs while all this goes on. When the bus stop finally arrives everyone rushes out. There is pandemonium as the driver is told to stop. There is a lot of screaming and banging and shouting and if one manages to get down at the stop that one has to, it can be considered as a great achievement. Traveling on a crowded bus is an experience that can be and should be avoided if one can help it.

Essay No. 6

My uncle lives in Himachal Pradesh. He works in a bank in District Mandi. He got accommodation there provided by the bank. He had invited me to spend a holiday with him. So I decided to visit him during the summer vacation.

I got up early in the morning took up my bag and reached the ISBT Kashmir gate at 5 a.m. I boarded a DTC bus. I bought the ticket on the bus. At 5.30 a.m. it started moving out of the bus terminal.

As soon as it crossed the Delhi border it picked up speed. Soon it crossed Panipat and then passed by Karnal. At Shahbad it stopped for 15-20 minutes. The passengers got down and took snacks and drinks. Some went to the toilets.

The bus again resumed its journey. I looked out of the bus. We passed by fields and houses. At Ambala, a few passengers got down and some boarded the bus. Then it reached Chandigarh. It stopped there for ten minutes. Our next stop for lunch was a Kirtpur Sahib. There I had my lunch. Other passengers too did the same. After half an hour it again set out for is journey.

We passed by Swarghat. It is at a higher level. We were among the hills. The bus stopped for ten minutes. Some policemen boarded the bus and after checking the goods they got down.

Next, we reached Bilaspur. It was 2.30 p.m. The driver stopped the bus just for fifteen minutes. I ate some pakoras and took tea. Our journey again began at 2.45 p.m. I felt a cool breeze blowing I saw trees, houses on the top of hills, fields where crops had been grown. The scenery outside looked very beautiful. Below I saw water flowing calmly. Our next stop was Sunder Nagar. The bus went up in the town passengers got down it. A few local passengers boarded the bus.

The driver started the bus once again. We passed by many villages. Our bus along the Byasa River. Exact at 5.30 p.m. We were at the Mandi bus terminal. All the passengers got down one by one. My uncle was there to receive me. It was a nice journey.

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Journeys - Descriptive Writing

Subject: English

Age range: 11-14

Resource type: Lesson (complete)

Last updated

11 June 2020

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A lesson on writing a descriptive piece about making a journey.

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Journeys - Travel Writing

7 lessons on travel writing/ writing concerning travel. A nice mix of imaginative writing and transactional writing, excellent preparation for KS3 students going into KS4. Lessons include: Descriptive writing Writing informal letter Writing a postcard Writing a formal letter Creating a travel brochure Debate/group tasks with given scenario

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Walk Across California

An epic journey whereby one foot is put in front of the other to discover, up close and personal, who and what and where is the golden state. photos by robert boscacci ’14, frederic larson, and edward rooks. illustrations by edward rooks., day one: dance.

Dancer  David Popalisky  and a dozen of his students were twirling in the sand at San Francisco’s Ocean Beach on a fog-chilled June morning, reaching skyward. They were performing a traditional Native American blessing dance with which they’d greet the new morning for the next 15 days as they walked across California—from the crashing waves of the Pacific through the vertiginous streets of San Francisco, gritty west Oakland and the bucolic East Bay hills, through the vast, hot Central Valley to the pine forests and glorious granite peaks of Yosemite.

“I bless the space above me, I bless the space below me, and I bless the space within me,” they chanted in unison, repeating the age-old phrases and steps that Popalisky, an associate professor of theatre and dance, taught to the SCU students who’d signed up for his one-of-a-kind spring 2012 course, Walk Across California. Popalisky spent nearly two years planning and raising money for a journey that gave students a singular firsthand experience of the Golden State’s extraordinarily diverse cultures and environments.

“We welcome the adventure of this walk, whatever it may bring,” said Popalisky, a 6-foot-3 sprite with vast reserves of enthusiasm, curiosity, and patience. He asked his fellow travelers what they wanted to bless as they embarked on the two-week trek that would bring them face to face with migrant farmworkers, Miwok Indian elders, the mother of a murdered Stockton boy, park rangers, politicians, ex–gang bangers, and graywater reclamation experts.

“I bless our feet,” someone shouted.

“I bless the sky,” someone else said.

“I bless the van I drive,” chimed in  Edward Rooks , cracking up the Santa Clarans circled in the sand with him. A gentlemanly naturalist and wildlife artist from Trinidad (and husband of SCU Professor of Biology  Janice Edgerly-Rooks ), Edward Rooks proved an invaluable member of the team, driving the white Toyota van stuffed with tents, food, and other supplies; teaching plein-air drawing and what it means to have a line of perspective; and identifying the various birds, bugs, and snakes that appeared along the way: red-tailed hawks and turkey vultures, red admiral butterflies and wood-boring beetles, garters and rattlers. Electrical engineering student  Russell Wetherley ’13  later called him  Rooksus Edwardius  in a comic ode to the wise goateed chap who can survive in many climes but whose “preferred environment is an air-conditioned minivan along California highways.”

The class satisfied two core SCU requirements that underscore the Jesuits’ holistic vision and social activism: arts and experiential learning for social justice. Students kept a daily journal of encounters with the people and landscapes of California and, as a final project, produced a thoughtful, creative work that spoke to the story they’d just lived and taken in with all their senses as they hoofed 225 dusty miles.

Why do this?  That was a question the walkers heard many times from folks they encountered along the way. In part, it was for fun and credit.

“Yosemite was in the description,” said  Chris Lum ’13 , a biology major from Hawaii. “I’m down for adventure.”

The walkers weren’t doing it to raise funds or awareness for a cause. It was to try to get to know our home better. When folks along the way heard that, they wanted to share their stories.

DAY TWO: FOOTWEAR

Blisters. That’s what you get when you walk 15 miles a day. The walkers, whose quarter-long preparation for this epic hike included 5-mile walks around the rose-scented Mission Campus and surrounding urban zones—as well as readings about Native Americans, food justice, and environmental sustainability, and the nature poetry of Kay Ryan and Wendell Berry—got plenty of blisters. Most of the blisters started on Day Two, after a day walking from Tilden Park to Mt. Diablo in 106-degree heat. In addition to the daily circle for the blessing dance, students gathered ’round for twice-daily foot-care sessions. That helped. But there’s no escaping the sheer physicality of the walk.

“My feet are destroyed,”  Julie Herman ’14  said cheerfully a few days later. She’s a biology major who writes poetry.

Along with the monumental question that Popalisky asked of the people they met—“What sustains you?”—there were elemental questions that had to be answered frequently: Is my water bottle filled? Is that a shade tree?

Robert Boscacci ’14 , a communications major, took photographs and wrote poems about the people and landscapes: There’s the curly-haired urban farmer Max Cadji of the People’s Grocery in Oakland, where the Santa Clarans hiked on Day One after riding BART under the bay; the spaghetti they cooked that night in Berkeley’s Tilden Park; the spectacular sunset the following evening on Mt. Diablo. Boscacci rigged a “Lawrence of Arabia” hat flap with a small white towel to shield the back of his neck from the blazing sun. And he swapped images and words along the way with poet and essayist  Rebekah Bloyd , a lecturer in creative writing who served as chaperone and descriptive writing coach. The whole group wrote portraits of places and people along the way—describing who and what they were now, and trying to imagine what they would be and do in the future. Stopping for lunch in a meadow near Marsh Creek Springs (hard-boiled eggs and peanut butter and jelly), the students composed a group haiku that Bloyd jotted in her notebook:

Nearby stream chortles Cool water passes on rock Destination ahead

That evening, the destination was the farm of Kim and Matt Scarlata, who raise organic tomatoes: Purple Cherokee and Berkeley Tie-Dye, as well as a variety named for their daughter, Maddie Rose. There aren’t as many farms in the area as there used to be. At a dinner the Scarlatas hosted, one neighbor talked about how hard it is for farmers to turn down big offers to buy them out.

This is part of California’s story, too. It was a clear night and the walkers slept on the Scarlatas’ lawn, sleeping bags drawn in a circle under the open sky and the shooting stars.

DAY FIVE: ASPARAGUS, BANKRUPTCY, COMMUNION

After a grueling stretch along Highway 4, they came into Stockton single file in their lime-and-silver safety vests, walking the shoulder of a road littered with broken bottles and dead rodents and raccoons, while big rigs roared past. The route into town took the group past piles of human waste near a homeless camp along a graffiti-scrawled highway overpass. A few blocks farther along, they saw the bullet hole in a downtown building where a teenager had been shot to death. A police car was circling the block, and the cop stopped to ask what they were up to—and to make sure they understood they were heading for a perilous place. Its murder, foreclosure, and unemployment rates make Stockton one of the most troubled cities in the country.

But these walkers were not lost. They were on their way to meet the wired-up St. Francis of Stockton, Fr. Dean McFalls, who shepherded them around town. He is a kinetic 57-year-old dervish of a priest with close-cut, salt-and-pepper hair who ministers to the poor and homeless people in his predominantly Spanish-speaking parish at St. Mary’s Church, a run-down Gothic red brick building where multitasking Fr. Dean, clad in a brilliant spring green robe, juggles calls on multiple cell phones during Mass while someone else is giving a benediction. Fr. Dean took the Santa Clarans on a nonstop tour of Stockton that began in City Hall with Stockton Mayor Ann Johnston, who asked energetically, “Why don’t you tell me where you’ve been? Real quick!” In retrospect, the encounter was understandably brief: Johnston was dashing off to a city council meeting whose import was felt around the country. A few days later, Stockton officially became the largest city in the nation to declare bankruptcy.

In the park across the street, they met a woman whose son was killed by the police and was holding a one-woman Occupy protest. Then along came a remarkable young man named Michael Tubbs, a recent Stanford graduate who’d grown up in Stockton’s crime-ridden housing projects and had come home to run for city council. (He made national news when Oprah Winfrey gave his campaign $10,000; in the November election, he won.) Tubbs stood next to the bronze of Martin Luther King Jr. and talked about children dying in Stockton “because they were born into poverty,” friends and family members of his who’d been killed, and how “it takes courage to come here. So thanks.” He spoke of the privilege of going to college and the responsibility that comes with that education. “The question is how to bring purpose to that privilege. What are you going to do with it?”

That question lingered as the group listened to Mexican-American farmworkers and labor organizers talk of backbreaking work and of family, dignity, and justice. Francisco Aguilar, a retired farmworker who moved to the Central Valley from Guadalajara when he was 14, demonstrated the punishing work of cutting asparagus and beets, which he once did 10 hours a day for $14. The pesticides he was exposed to in the fields gave him leukemia, he said without self-pity.

“I passed through many things, but I survived,” he said. “If you fall down, get up, keep going. You can do anything you want.”

Like most of the others, Boscacci had never met a fellow like “Don Francisco,” as he took to calling Aguilar.

“I was moved by his story, and hope to spread it,” said the aspiring filmmaker, who found the entire Stockton experience sobering. “I’ve always lived in low-crime, friendly communities,” he said. But here, “the things we read in textbooks in history and social justice–themed classes are jumping off the pages and speaking to me live in the flesh. And that’s a fantastic learning experience.”

It was an illuminating and exhausting day: Along with everything else, there was Mass in the parish church—where the group met a second mother whose son had been killed. There was a Mexican feast at the community cultural center provided by volunteers whose welcoming generosity moved the students. And there was a second Mass, at sunset, conducted in a field by the river at a migrant workers’ camp.

Something about the experience of walking, constantly, changes your body’s chemistry, Fr. Dean told the group, when he later thanked them again for making the journey to the place he calls home. Walking is something he knows; he once spent three years walking to Israel. “It really plants you with the earth,” he said.

DAYS SIX AND SEVEN: GOLDEN STATE PASTORAL

In the morning, Popalisky and company got a lift to the Stockton city limits, where they climbed onto rented bikes and rode 26 miles to the historic mining town of Copperopolis, pedaling a pastoral stretch of Highway 4 past walnut groves, cornfields, and a Hereford bull breeding ranch, huffing up and coasting down the rolling foothills. Being out in the open again figured into questions that Bloyd asked the students later:  What does it mean to be open? What can be opened? What are the opened things we’ve seen?  Doors, blossoms, the sky, the self.

Far from the bleak streets of Stockton, they swam at a Copperopolis resort and slept on the lawn of the Thomas Kinkade–like town center, where  Catherine Borst ’14 , a mechanical engineering student who’s a fine violinist, jammed with a local guitarist, and Chris Lum performed a dance with iridescent LED gloves.

What does it mean to be open? What can be opened? What are the opened things we’ve seen?

On the road to Lake Tulloch the following day, Edward Rooks pointed out an osprey nest atop a phone pole. A few miles on, they came across an organic community garden run by a bearded bear of a man who invited them to pick some fruit and eat it, gratis.

“I expected to see a lot of things I’d never seen before,” Borst said, “and lo and behold, I’m seeing lots of things I’ve never seen before, like a guy in the middle of pretty much nowhere asking us to eat some strawberries.”

She, too, was stirred by what she’d seen in Stockton. “It was saddening and inspiring at the same time,” she said.

DAYS SEVEN AND EIGHT: “YOU GUYS SANG THE WHOLE WAY, RIGHT?“

Near the junction to the Gold Country village of Jamestown, the Santa Clarans were greeted by Carlos Geisdorff, a round, sturdy man with a long black braid and a trim goatee. He’s the cultural coordinator for the Tuolumne Miwok tribe that has lived on these oak-rich lands for millennia. A genial man who likes to laugh—“You guys sang the whole way, right?” he asked the tired trekkers—Geisdorff brought an air-conditioned bus from the tribe’s income-generating Black Oak Casino to ferry the group up to the wooded 200-acre “rez,” as he calls his ancestral land.

In fact, they  were  singing, sometimes. They also came up with other words for what they were doing: sweating, sitting, sliding, laughing, stumbling, persevering, staggering, swinging across, rapping, slogging, striding, moving, stomping, noticing, meandering, limping, caravanning, struggling, mincing, dancing.

Geisdorff, 36, was born in the East Bay town of Pittsburg, but his grandmother was born in a shack on the reservation where he now lives with his wife, four daughters, and 200 others. He has been teaching Miwok kids to speak their largely forgotten native language and developing ways to write it. Popalisky had come to visit while mapping out the trip. Intrigued by the class, Geisdorff invited the group to camp overnight and share a meal and some Miwok songs. The group was allowed to enter the round house and taught the right way to come and go from that sacred structure. One rule: Leave the “madness” of the world outside.

“What they’re doing is cool,” Geisdorff told me. “They’re doing what Indians have been doing forever—walking a trail.”

The group learned Miwok blessings and laughing songs. Phyllis Montgomery, a 78-year-old tribal elder, painted a vivid picture of life on the land where she and her 12 siblings grew up. She talked about surviving mostly on what nature provided, learning to gut a deer, to gather mushrooms, and to grind  nupa , or acorns, for biscuits.

“It was a hard life, but not brutal hard,” said the spry elder, who expressed wonder and thanks that she’d lived long enough to see Miwok kids graduating from college. Then she served up some ancient wisdom: “If you take care of Mother Nature, she’ll take care of you. Whenever you’re out there, don’t take more than you can use.”

You couldn’t ask for a more succinct description of environmental sustainability. That’s what the Santa Clarans were talking about the next day after saying so long to Geisdorff, who’d joined them in the morning circle blessing (Popalisky lit the ceremonial stick, wrapped in medicinal mugwort leaves, presented to the group as a parting gift). Geisdorff said, “I hope the Creator blesses you in your journeys.”

They ascended into the Sierras to Groveland, where they dug into graywater reclamation issues with Regina Hirsch of the Mountain Sage Nursery. A day off to chill, then onward to Yosemite. As they approached the valley in the days to come, they saw a California Sister butterfly, and smelled pearly everlasting flowers, incense cedar, and purple lupine.

ARRIVAL: “IT WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE.”

“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” said strapping Russell Wetherley. A member of SCU’s varsity crew team, he was describing the vast panorama visible from Half Dome, which he’d just climbed with  Diana Bustos ’11 , a recent grad who studied arts and urban education, and who shared the chaperoning duties and doubled as videographer. They were getting hugs and high-fives from their traveling buds, who’d spent the past two days in Yosemite Valley exploring on their own.

Late the next afternoon, with Half Dome in the distance and sun flickering through golden aspen leaves, Wetherley performed his Walk Across California poems, including a potent ode to Stockton.  Olivia Li ’15 , a business major, read a poem about graffiti she’d seen in west Oakland—told from the point of view of the inner-city kids who’d written it—and another about generosity.

“If you want to do something challenging, take this class,” Li said later that evening, when the class gathered one last time before Lum lit up Curry Village with his swirling gloves.

Wetherley agreed: “It will change your life.” He also acknowledged that when he first read about the course, it sounded like a hippie class. But, he said, weeks and hundreds of miles later, “This is as real as it gets.”

Borst conveyed those feelings, as well as the exhilarating swing of walking and the reverence that Yosemite inspires, in the soulful violin improvisation she performed along the Merced as a family of mergansers floated past. Environmental sciences major  Ian McCluskey ’15 , a veteran camper and hiker, offered an evocative and funny rap on the journey. Popalisky also sang, with dramatic flair, a delightful Walk Across California song, which touched warmly on everyone in the group. “Together we did it,” he concluded, “we blessed this space.”

What else did they do? They learned, as Boscacci said, how to move at what seems a snail’s pace—“which is really our natural pace.” They learned, as Borst said, many small things: how to get blisters on new parts of your feet, and the quantity of rocks and roadkill between San Francisco and Yosemite. They learned, as Bloyd said, how little time it took to be outdoors for hours each day and see that manifested on one’s skin—“because the body has its memory.” And, she said, “I was doing this supposedly incredible thing. But what was incredible was the place around me, and that dwarfed my tiny steps. And I felt that many times.”

There, at the culmination of the journey, Popalisky teared up.

“They did everything I could’ve hoped for,” he said. “They spoke with confidence and love, and expressed things they discovered about themselves and about this great state.”

They also cultivated a sense of wonder and caught stories they never could have imagined. Many have recognized that it has changed them profoundly, though exactly  how  is something still unfolding.

Would they do it again? Someone will. Another Walk Across California is planned for 2014.

• Spring 2013

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7 Out-of-the-box Creative Writing Projects for Older Adults

About this activity, welcome to a journey of creativity and self-expression.

Writing isn't just for the young; it's a timeless activity that can bring joy and fulfillment at any age. Whether you're a seasoned writer or just starting, these seven creative writing projects are designed to spark your imagination and provide an excellent outlet for your thoughts and memories. Dive into these enjoyable and easy-to-follow activities and discover the joy of putting pen to paper!

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Here is some great insight into the benefits of creative writing projects from Autumn View Gardens Ellisville.

• “Cognitive stimulation: Writing engages your brain in many ways. You're processing your thoughts, recalling memories and converting those things into written words. Journaling could help keep your brain sharp. • Processing situations: Your journal can be a way of processing things that happen to you. Some situations can be scary, stressful or confusing. Taking the time to write about them helps you look at different angles and think through the problem. • Memory preservation: Journaling is a great way to document your memories. You can write about past events you don't want to forget. Your journal is also a good way to document your day-to-day activities so you can remember them later. Journals can help you pass on your memories to family members, too. • Creativity: A journal is personal and can be used in any way you want, which means you can get creative with it. You might doodle about your day or add sketches to enhance what you write. Having a creative outlet can make you feel happier and encourage more creativity in other areas. • Stress reduction: Writing about difficult things in your life can help with stress management. Sometimes, simply getting the thoughts out can help ease your stress. • Fine motor skills practice: Holding a pen and physically writing your thoughts engages your fine motor skills. You might notice that your grip strength and manual dexterity decrease as you get older. Using those skills can help you maintain them.”

Quote: https://www.autumnviewgardensellisville.com/blog/28-writing-and-journaling-prompts-for-older-adults

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Each week, we set an activity challenge. You provide us with proof you did the challenge and you will be entered into a monthly drawing for a prize. At the end of each month, we host a zoom get together and announce the winner, socialize, reminisce and do activities together. We would love for you to join us.

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