TOM BINGLE
EXPERIENTIAL TRAVELER, TEACHER, AND WRITER. The desire to travel comes to Tom during his fifth grade geography class. He listens to the teacher speak about far away lands and the many different cultures beyond his hometown, Toledo, Ohio. His curiosity is piqued. After graduating from Notre Dame, he contemplates and decides against going to law school. He sets out on a path to travel the world, wanting to see and learn, connecting with other people and cultures.
For the next four-and-a-half years Tom backpacks, hitchhikes, and journeys across Europe, the Middle East, Africa, Asia and Australia. He visits friends on the Peace Corps in West Africa, works on a sheep farm in New Zealand, treks up Mount Everest, and spends six months on an agricultural kibbutz between Jerusalem and Bethlehem. He returns to America, continuing his path of learning and connecting with people by way of travel. He conducts tour guides in San Francisco and goes on to receive a Masters Degree in African History at the University of California Berkeley.
He teaches English at St. Francis de Sales High School before taking a position as a Tour Director, leading African safaris for Thomas P. Gohagan & Company. Today Tom creates and sells travel programs for clients seeking an in-depth experience of a region, its people, and culture. His domestic and international tours feature cultural meet-and-greet hours, educational excursions, local celebrations, and historical observances.
Tom is an experiential traveler, drawn to bringing people together from all over the world and fostering a sense of a small community. His desire to learn different perspectives and ideas remains constant.
One day Tom hopes to write about his travels, connecting and reaching out to people through stories. Other possibilities include a return to teaching, living overseas, and hosting a travel show in the spirit of the great George Pierrot of the World Adventure Series.
Below Tom presents selected portraits taken during his stay in France and Viet Nam. He shares THOUGHTS ON A WALK, a personal reflection at an hour when the fear of writing had quieted.
For the next four-and-a-half years Tom backpacks, hitchhikes, and journeys across Europe, the Middle East, Africa, Asia and Australia. He visits friends on the Peace Corps in West Africa, works on a sheep farm in New Zealand, treks up Mount Everest, and spends six months on an agricultural kibbutz between Jerusalem and Bethlehem. He returns to America, continuing his path of learning and connecting with people by way of travel. He conducts tour guides in San Francisco and goes on to receive a Masters Degree in African History at the University of California Berkeley.
He teaches English at St. Francis de Sales High School before taking a position as a Tour Director, leading African safaris for Thomas P. Gohagan & Company. Today Tom creates and sells travel programs for clients seeking an in-depth experience of a region, its people, and culture. His domestic and international tours feature cultural meet-and-greet hours, educational excursions, local celebrations, and historical observances.
Tom is an experiential traveler, drawn to bringing people together from all over the world and fostering a sense of a small community. His desire to learn different perspectives and ideas remains constant.
One day Tom hopes to write about his travels, connecting and reaching out to people through stories. Other possibilities include a return to teaching, living overseas, and hosting a travel show in the spirit of the great George Pierrot of the World Adventure Series.
Below Tom presents selected portraits taken during his stay in France and Viet Nam. He shares THOUGHTS ON A WALK, a personal reflection at an hour when the fear of writing had quieted.
WORLD GALLERY PORTRAITS.
It is springtime and artists in Antibes, France are out, hearing the call to create and add joy to the day. A young man blows into his trombone. Children peek through the gates for a glimpse of the dancers. An older man plays his guitar, living his dream. The passersby stop and listen to the music.
Nestled in the heart of Paris, France on the Left Bank opposite Notre-Dame is Shakespeare and Company, a bookstore and haven for writers and artists. Inside an older gentleman sits behind a table amidst his books, ready to help and honor the bookstore's long-standing tradition and belief: "Be not inhospitable to strangers lest they be angels in disguise."
In and around Ho Chi Minh City (formerly Sai Gon), Viet Nam, a man, a child, and a woman take in the day. They are strangers to each other but connected through the shared bond of heritage and history. Each is a living link through the past, present, and future. In a country moving forward.
BOREAS PASS.
An alley of aspens and blue skies.
THOUGHTS ON A WALK
BRECKENRIDGE, COLORADO
SEPTEMBER 2009
by Tom Bingle
Looking for aspens and some activity for my dog, Sadie, I headed to a familiar trail following a late 19th-century railroad line, Boreas Pass. I headed up the trail by way of the forest to Bakers Tank, a former water station for the steam trains. The day was lovely, warm with sunshine, a little wind, bright blue and alive.
Soon Sadie and I were in the wilderness, a gift of the Colorado forest. The path was sodden, soft to the foot as it seemed years of organic materials have layered to welcome the explorer. Roots, exposing their bones and the human foot traffic through the years, crisscrossed the sunlit path. Solid stumps and twisted pine logs marked the winding edges. A few steps ahead a pile of decaying logs showed one stripped of its bark, hinting at past struggles with the wind. Sadie, a few yards in front, turned back to look; she waited for me to catch up with her. I walked, thinking about the logs and how the dark skin of each resembled the saltwater crocodiles of Australia's Kimberley. Nearby wildflowers perked up, ready for the fresh duvets of snow coming early. Under nature's bounty, the weeds seemed to rise in a single, graceful wave.
I know this path has tolerated many walkers, but the tranquility of open space gave me the feeling of being the first on an untouched ground. Like many places in the neighborhood, there was silence, or was there? I listened, hearing the squirrels banter with the birds chirping in the trees. In the distance children's gleeful voices echoed through the air. Sadie was now at my side. We walked under an umbrella of sunlight piercing through the forest shadows; it cast a symphony of light and darkness working together in a harmonious chord. A powerful, deep feeling stirred inside me as I took in the warmth and beauty all around. The plants tilted toward the sun, reaching to meet it for nourishment; each petal and flower bending and leaning in for the light.
I found myself doing the same, stretching my body with each step forward. I pushed my calves, hamstrings, and hips. The exercise enlivened the walk, each part of me feeling the sun.
The forest gave way to a short opening, and around the corner was a bank of aspen trees. A singing chorus of yellow, green, and bronze leaves swayed in a gentle motion. I walked an alley of aspens; it was magnificent. Along the hillside, aspens covered the rock scape with a color reminiscent of lemon-lime ice cream. Today there was both life and decay on the branches. The lower part of a tree showed its wounds and bruises from living, often with dark gashes and slashes contrasting sharply with the mellow yellow bark. Yet the treetops emitted a feeling of lightness, freedom, and youth. Strong in scent was the smell of mold on the floor surrounding the aspen trees. The green forest of pines and firs provided an unusual, faint humid sensation. The fallen, aspen leaves hinted at a period of demise. I thought again and saw a rebirth. Not a demise.
BRECKENRIDGE, COLORADO
SEPTEMBER 2009
by Tom Bingle
Looking for aspens and some activity for my dog, Sadie, I headed to a familiar trail following a late 19th-century railroad line, Boreas Pass. I headed up the trail by way of the forest to Bakers Tank, a former water station for the steam trains. The day was lovely, warm with sunshine, a little wind, bright blue and alive.
Soon Sadie and I were in the wilderness, a gift of the Colorado forest. The path was sodden, soft to the foot as it seemed years of organic materials have layered to welcome the explorer. Roots, exposing their bones and the human foot traffic through the years, crisscrossed the sunlit path. Solid stumps and twisted pine logs marked the winding edges. A few steps ahead a pile of decaying logs showed one stripped of its bark, hinting at past struggles with the wind. Sadie, a few yards in front, turned back to look; she waited for me to catch up with her. I walked, thinking about the logs and how the dark skin of each resembled the saltwater crocodiles of Australia's Kimberley. Nearby wildflowers perked up, ready for the fresh duvets of snow coming early. Under nature's bounty, the weeds seemed to rise in a single, graceful wave.
I know this path has tolerated many walkers, but the tranquility of open space gave me the feeling of being the first on an untouched ground. Like many places in the neighborhood, there was silence, or was there? I listened, hearing the squirrels banter with the birds chirping in the trees. In the distance children's gleeful voices echoed through the air. Sadie was now at my side. We walked under an umbrella of sunlight piercing through the forest shadows; it cast a symphony of light and darkness working together in a harmonious chord. A powerful, deep feeling stirred inside me as I took in the warmth and beauty all around. The plants tilted toward the sun, reaching to meet it for nourishment; each petal and flower bending and leaning in for the light.
I found myself doing the same, stretching my body with each step forward. I pushed my calves, hamstrings, and hips. The exercise enlivened the walk, each part of me feeling the sun.
The forest gave way to a short opening, and around the corner was a bank of aspen trees. A singing chorus of yellow, green, and bronze leaves swayed in a gentle motion. I walked an alley of aspens; it was magnificent. Along the hillside, aspens covered the rock scape with a color reminiscent of lemon-lime ice cream. Today there was both life and decay on the branches. The lower part of a tree showed its wounds and bruises from living, often with dark gashes and slashes contrasting sharply with the mellow yellow bark. Yet the treetops emitted a feeling of lightness, freedom, and youth. Strong in scent was the smell of mold on the floor surrounding the aspen trees. The green forest of pines and firs provided an unusual, faint humid sensation. The fallen, aspen leaves hinted at a period of demise. I thought again and saw a rebirth. Not a demise.
A view from Boreas Pass: Mount Baldy on a September day.
I walked. Beyond the aspens and on the horizon, tips of early autumn snow came into view. I held my breath for the majestic beauty I was about to see, have seen, and will always need to see in life. The western slope of Mount Baldy in all its grandeur at 13,000 feet high greeted me, enveloped me with its panoramic splendor. I drew closer to the trail's edge on Boreas Pass and stood still, suspended in the humbling moment. I said a prayer, feeling blessed. I thought about my son away at college and seeking his own path, how proud I was of him. My heart warmed from the joy that came with being his father and having watched him grow from a toddler to a young man making his way in the world.
I lingered a little longer before heading down the trail, where other walkers were also enjoying the mid-morning day. A man reached out to Sadie, who always attracted people to her.
"Hello, there," the man said. "What a great dog. What's the breed?"
"A mutt," I said, "one of the best."
The man and I talked a few minutes more about the weather, the beautiful day, and the great town of Breckenridge being a wonderful place to live. We nodded to each other, to the breathtaking sights surrounding us. We said goodbye.
Sadie and I neared the end of the trail. We took one last view of the Ten Mile Range rising from north to south with Quandary Peak on the left at 14,000 feet high in the skies. Below was Goose Pasture Tarn and the healthy, abundant trees and survivors of pine beetle deforestation. I looked back to the mountains, at the ski runs cutting swaths like a retro haircut spelling a name of the latest fling across the terrains.
Besides the immersion into light and dark, forests and clearings, I noticed the ever present force of time had melted away. For once time was walking with me, not hovering, not clamoring.
The world moved forward, and I was grateful for my short climb in a forest, always so foreign but friendly this mid-September morning.
I lingered a little longer before heading down the trail, where other walkers were also enjoying the mid-morning day. A man reached out to Sadie, who always attracted people to her.
"Hello, there," the man said. "What a great dog. What's the breed?"
"A mutt," I said, "one of the best."
The man and I talked a few minutes more about the weather, the beautiful day, and the great town of Breckenridge being a wonderful place to live. We nodded to each other, to the breathtaking sights surrounding us. We said goodbye.
Sadie and I neared the end of the trail. We took one last view of the Ten Mile Range rising from north to south with Quandary Peak on the left at 14,000 feet high in the skies. Below was Goose Pasture Tarn and the healthy, abundant trees and survivors of pine beetle deforestation. I looked back to the mountains, at the ski runs cutting swaths like a retro haircut spelling a name of the latest fling across the terrains.
Besides the immersion into light and dark, forests and clearings, I noticed the ever present force of time had melted away. For once time was walking with me, not hovering, not clamoring.
The world moved forward, and I was grateful for my short climb in a forest, always so foreign but friendly this mid-September morning.
Sadie looks back on a walk through Boreas Pass.
What you do today
can improve all your tomorrows.
-Ralph Marston
can improve all your tomorrows.
-Ralph Marston
