Chủ Nhật, 6 tháng 6, 2010

Worldwide with Wee Cheng : Bangkok Notes: Home Nearer Than Ever Before – Bangkok, Thailand

Home Nearer Than Ever Before

18 DEC 2002
Here I am in Bangkok, City of Angels, after a ten-year absence. This was not meant to be a discovery of sorts, but a mere stopover on my way home. Yet, the city amazes me with the drastic changes that have taken place, and with the great hospitality my wonderful local friends have provided. From a planned two days, I have stayed six.

Vast changes have occurred in spite of the 1997 pan-Asian financial crisis that Thailand hasn’t fully recovered from. The first thing I noticed was the level of cleanliness. Ten years ago, one saw rubbish everywhere. The previous mayor ordered a cleanup of the city and enforced laws on littering – you actually risk a fine if caught littering.

Thai tourism has also gone upscale. Sex tourism, formerly a big part of the Thai tourism industry, is long gone. The country has since successfully promoted itself as a haven for eco-tourism, as well as cultural tourism. I remembered on my previous visit, every ten meters on the streets of Bangkok, a taxi or tuk tuk driver would ask if I was interested in a massage or a woman (both are the same thing, really). Six days since my arrival and no one has approached me.

Previously, a Thai holiday would mean dealing with numerous touts and arguing with less-than-honest tuk tuk drivers or vendors. The country had a sort of “wild east” image. All of that has changed. The country is orderly, and the service industry has improved significantly. Dishonest characters, which are found in any country in the world, have to be a lot more discreet for the tourist police is never far. This is what we call development.

People also seem to dress much better these days. Dan, my London friend whom I met in Bangkok, told me about the flip-flop index. Years ago, a lot more people wore sandals in Bangkok. Now they wear sports shoes. He also noticed that many snack vendors have disappeared. I guess that whilst this is somewhat regretable, being part of a nation’s heritage, the process is unavoidable. As income levels rise, it becomes unprofitable to produce and sell certain products. Customers want cleaner food and a better eating environment. This is the process Singapore and other countries have gone through. It is happening in Thailand too.

Thailand is moving steadily ahead despite existing problems in the economy and politics. Like all Asian countries, Thailand faces enormous challenges going forward. It needs to restructure its economy to deal with the rise of China’s economic might. Whilst Thailand has succeeded in providing universal primary education for its population, many young people do not move on to higher levels. This impedes the country’s ability to move up the production value chain. Thailand has to reshape its economy dramatically in order to stay afloat. I wish it success in its efforts.

The hottest thing in Bangkok right now is the King’s book about how he adopted the stray dog, Thongdaeng, its loyalty and values. Oberservers say the book is a veiled criticism on the current government and state of affairs in the country. The book has become a bestseller and the order list for it is incredibly long. Local papers also talk about how people come from the provinces to queue for hours to buy T-shirts with the pictures of the dog, with many returning empty-handed and angry, because they were sold out so quickly. If there is anything that has remained the same, it’s the Thai people’s love and respect for their King.

My American writer-friend and nomad extraordinaire, Rolf Potts, has just published
Vagabonding: An Uncommon Guide to the Art of Long Term World Travel. “Vagabonding” is about taking time off from your normal life – from six weeks, to four months, to two years – to discover and experience the world on your own terms. National Geographic Adventure writer (and veteran shoestring traveler) Rolf Potts shows how anyone, armed with an independent spirit, can achieve the dream of extended overseas travel. Find out more about his book at vagabonding.net.

21 DEC 2002
Newsflash: WeeCheng in KL, Heading for Singapore Now

After a long overnight train ride to Butterworth in northern part of Malaysia, I took another bus to Kuala Lumpur. Have been staying the last 2 nights in this ultra-modern capital of Malaysia, savouring the (surprisingly expensive – same price as Singapore) gastronomical delights of Chinatown KL. I’m now at Puduraya Bus Station, about to take a 5 hour+ bus to Johor Baru on the border with Singapore. The one-year odyssey is coming to an end soon. More later, from Singapore.

Thứ Năm, 1 tháng 4, 2010

Digital Backpacker 2000

October 2nd: Eyes say it all
After clearing customs it is clear from the first moment that I’m in a different country. The roads look like the surface of the moon except that they are filled with mud and water. The further part of the journey to Siem Reap we sit in the back of a pick up truck. There are no lights along the way, the headlights of the truck show men carrying long poles and nets trying to catch beetles high in the air. They serve them on plates to travelers on their way, just like they serve the cockroaches and fried spiders. Yummy!

In Siem Reap a Cambodian lends me his bike without charging money for it, another man gives me a coconut and doesn’t accept money for it. I’m surprised. I try to reach a Vietnamese fishing village, but the flooding makes it impossible. The people are used to living under these circumstances, most of the houses are built on stilts. I need some time to find out where the local people eat in town, the center is filled with the kind of restaurants and bars that I’m not looking for.

Visiting Angkor Wat was one of the highlights of my trip till so far. After Henry Mouhot published his “Le tour du monde” in 1860, Angkor Wat became known to the world. I left at 5 am with a hired motorbike to photograph the sunset above Angkor Wat. Many policemen and soldiers are present in the area, they make it a safer place to visit and take care that nothing gets stolen during the night. Tourists don’t need an armed guard to visit remote temples nowadays. The policemen try to sell their uniforms to tourists, but who would want to walk in an uniform like that? At the Bayon temple more than 200 faces looked icily down upon me, the shadowplay in the early morning makes it a fascinating sight. Sculptures of 12th century rural Cambodia appear on the lower part of the temple. The jungle trying to get back what mankind took from it makes me think that I’m walking in a lost city.

In the pick up truck to Phnom Penh I meet the Swedish teacher Janne (www.skolmappen.com, for the ones that can speak Swedish, visit the link “På luffen med Janne i Asien”). For the second time travel is like hell, several times the road has to be cleared in front of us. Big trucks stuck in the mud, water reaching high above the tires of our truck. Local villagers find a way to improve their income, they rebuild the bad parts of the road and ask money for it. Our driver gives it to them, he pays the police as well.

Phnom Penh is a huge city, parts of it remind me of Saigon. “Please don’t bring your gun on the schoolgrounds” says a sign at the entrance of a high school. We walk to the Tuol Sleng museum, a former high school transferred in 1976 to a security prison. The first building shows rooms with one iron bed in them, on the wall a photograph of a dead or dying prisoner, often with a large amount of blood under the bed. In another room a huge map of Cambodia is made out of human skulls, we find a box full of bones and skulls in another room, a piece of hip in a small room where we weren’t allowed to come. So many pictures of numbered prisoners on the walls of other rooms, I can’t keep my eyes off some of their faces showing despair, fear, resignation, and some of them pride. “This place gives me the creeps!” says Janne.

The next day we visit the Killing Fields, 15 km outside of Phnom Penh. Walking over teeth and fragments of bone, some of the mass graves are left untouched. Pieces of clothes that reach the daylight, a huge memorial contains over 8000 skulls clearly visible behind a glass panel. Killing children by hitting their heads against a tree. I’m speechless, this should never happen again, but history keeps repeating itself. We don’t seem to learn from it.

We go out a couple of times, in Sharky a sign says “Beware of pickpockets and loose women”, I don’t know what “loose women” are, they sure seem very friendly to me.

The road back to Poipet is infamous I hear later, it’s been called “the dancing road”. Our first pick up driver was probably a near relative of Michael Schumacher, as if we were sacks of potatoes he drove over the potholes. At least he could have treated the car a little bit better; I was totally relieved when the car decided it was time for a long break, no matter what the driver wanted. We changed trucks two times, the second had 15 people in the back, among them our smiling faces, and eight in front of it. A baby puked his mother’s milk shamelessly around him. His older brother, trying to compete peed. No place to rest my feet. Feet everywhere, people everywhere, I felt pain, cramp and there’s nothing I could do about it. Another woman felt that it was time for her to puke, Janne got some sweet stains on his T-shirt as a souvenir from her. Pain everywhere, a sore bottom. One guy had the courage to call a pick up ride in Cambodia “great fun!” Must have been a ***ing lie.

This pick up trip is my worst travel experience ever.

Laos is already spoiled by tourists, but if you want to visit Cambodia, it wouldn’t hurt to wait awhile until conditions have improved! It wasn’t easy but it was worth going there. People are generally very friendly. They are very poor but to me, we miss something else in Europe what they’ve got…

Chủ Nhật, 28 tháng 3, 2010

Expats vs. Backpackers: Why All the Hate?

It’s an inescapable fact in the foreigner scene abroad: a divide exists between backpackers and expats, and the animosity that emanates between the two sides can sometimes be as spicy as Thai green curry. Among the expat community, “tourist” and “backpacker” are often used as dirty words, whereas “expat” can be sometimes be heard with a negative tone amongst backpackers.

Having been both a backpacker and an expat myself, I’ve experienced and observed the animosity from both sides. Both expats and backpackers usually have genuinely solid reasons for any ill feelings that may exist between the two.

That said, many backpackers and expats get along just fine. Indeed, as one expat put it: “backpackers seem mostly like nice kids. I give ‘em lift when I’m going their way.” And many backpackers see expats not as a source of abhoration, but as a source of infinite knowledge about the town or city they’re in.

But one cannot ignore the snide comments, the malevolent looks, the crude jokes, and the general hostility that are often hit back and forth in touristy towns between those foreigners who are visiting, and those foreigners who are staying. Despite the fact that many expats may claim everlasting love for backpackers, the t-shirts hanging in the windows of many shops in backpacker towns proclaiming, “If it’s tourist season, why can’t we shoot them?” would have many believe otherwise.

So, let’s give each side their fair say.

Hey guys, why all the hate?

First, let’s start by defining, just so that there can be no misinterpretations, just what exactly is a backpacker, and what is an expat.

Expat is short for expatriate, which is defined by the Oxford dictionary as a person who lives outside their native country.

The Oxford dictionary doesn’t carry the term ‘backpacker’, but the Macmillan dictionary defines a backpacker as someone, especially a young person without much money, who travels around an area on foot or public transport, often carrying a backpack.

Backpackers Weigh In

kaila_expatwithflagsThe differences may lie in the very different situations that people from each side find themselves in, explains Digby Smith, an Australian who backpacked around Southeast Asia. “Expats can be on a different wavelength due to being familiar with their surroundings and often have other priorities.” Smith also acknowledges that his kind may be to blame: “In party towns and cities, I think backpackers can annoy some expats.” However, he points out that expats are not totally innocent: “I have noticed them to be rude and sometimes a bit arrogant towards local staff,” says Smith.

Backpacker Scott Gibson, originally from Canada, is a little more blunt when it comes to his feelings about expats. When asked how he feels about them, he replies simply, “not a huge fan.” He explains why: “they tend to want to share their infinite wisdom of a place with you in a very condescending way. As far as males go, I think it’s pretty pathetic to move somewhere so you can be with a woman normally out of your league because of your money.”

Johan Falk, who hails from Sweden, has been backpacking for over a year. “I feel sorry for most of the ones I’ve met in Southeast Asia. It seems like most of them are here for one reason: boom boom, except for the ones that work with dive shops or running a serious guesthouse.” Falk says he feels that most expats tend to have an I-was-here-first attitude, making other travelers feel unwelcome. All this being said, Falk qualifies that often these expats are the exception to the rule: “I’ve met so many nice expats willing to offer their time and help.”

Expats Get Their Say

kaila_backpackersgetdrunkdresslikepiratesExpats, of course, have their own take on the situation.

Anne-Marie Drozdz, an expat living in Vietnam, had one particularly off-putting experience with backpackers when she was living in Turkey, and went on a cruise: “There were 19 ’round the clock drunken backpackers,” she explains. “They were loud and disrespectful towards the Turks. They created havoc on this four-day trip.” Drozdz also explains that she felt animosity from those same backpackers when they discovered she was an expat, living in Turkey at the time.

Drozdz gives her take on the possible reason for expat animosity towards backpackers: “Expats have a deeper knowledge and understanding of the culture, language and customs of the host country and when they see backpackers barreling in for a few hours and being disrespectful or whatever, then maybe that causes resentment.”

Nicole Hill, who lived as an expat in Central America, says that expats have every right to make a stand when backpackers cross the line: “We’re the ones who have to deal with the lasting impression it creates of foreigners, Brits, Americans, whatever. Even if you’re not one of the ‘bad’ tourists, by virtue of the fact that you’re going to be moving on soon, you’ll behave differently to those of us who live and work in places.”

Manis Ender, originally from Germany and living in Thailand, acknowledges that there may be subconscious animosity towards backpackers from expats. “I have no honest interest in them, their stories, or countries they have traveled,” says Ender. “Often they just bore me on the first sight.” Ender goes further to explains that backpackers often give off a bad image, which makes him prefer to avoid them: their dress code, their pack-like behaviour, as well as their ignorant and arrogant behaviour are all things that Ender finds off-putting.

Can’t We All Get Along?

kaila_gettingalongDigby Smith thinks so. He suggests that expats be more mindful of backpackers’ predicaments: “I think that expats can forget they were once new to the area and forget that they may have been in the same position.”

Anne-Marie Drozdz thinks that backpackers should also be mindful of their surroundings, saying that they might take care to “behave reasonably towards the local community and respect the culture.” Drozdz says that everyone – expats and backpackers, should try accepting people “for what they are and respect their decisions to either travel short-term or stay in a country.” (Unless they are pedophiles, she qualifies.)

At the end of the day, it seems that each side has its valid points. The positive side is that both backpackers and expats are able to acknowledge the others’ strengths, and their own weaknesses, which is the first step towards building a strong relationship.

We certainly won’t be seeing expats and backpackers singing kumbayah on Khao San Road any time soon, but if each side is ready to make some concessions, there might be the possibility for a little more love in the world abroad.

Thứ Sáu, 19 tháng 3, 2010

The White Desert – Egypt

The Pyramids of Giza, The Luxor Temple, Abu Simbel and the Valley of the Kings, all of these attractions are at the top of everyones must see list in Egypt, but very few manage to find the time to hop in a 4X4 jeep and discover the remote destination of The White Desert.

The White Desert
The White Desert


For one thing a trip to the center of the country must be far too expensive, time consuming and difficult to plan. However, a 3-day trip from the Dahab Hostel in Downtown Cairo can be booked for a bargain price of 450e ($80) per person for 2 nights and 3 days. The trip includes all meals and transfers a visit to the hot springs, a 4X4 ride in the sand dunes that you won’t soon forget and an extraordinary night camping Bedouin style in the White Desert.

A five-hour coach ride takes you from Cairo’s downtown bus station to the small town of Bahariya, the jumping off point for safaris into the desert in Egypt’s interior. The scenery is spectacular. Vast rolling dunes disappear into the clear blue sky for as far as they eye
can see.

By mid-afternoon, the coach arrives at the guest-house where travelers are fed a traditional Bedouin meal of red sauce and potato, with rice, pita and sweet tea. Delicious. Not a lot of time to settle in though, because within the hour, you are back on the road to head to the main attraction.

The Jeep Ride
The Jeep Ride

Make sure to buy a traditional headscarf before leaving the compound to keep the sand out of your face and for added warmth at night, because the next 2 days are filled with extreme climates that will surprise even the most seasoned traveler.

Hopping into the back of a 4X4 jeep, gives a real sense of adventure. Bumping along the road in the intense heat surrounded by sand makes you fell as though you are in an Indiana Jones Movie.

Black Desert
Black Desert

It is not long until you enter The Black Desert, a nice prelude to the forthcoming White Desert. Climbing a high peak you will overlook an amazing desert vista. Black pebbles caused by erosion blowing in from the mountains cover the entire land, turning it to an ominous dark shade.

Making sure to keep with the feeling that you are truly traveling off of the beaten path, you will pass through a couple of security check points with armed guards and road blocks. The thrill is worth it because the instant you are allowed through check point number two, the terrain instantly turns to a white landscape that looked as if a blanket of snow has just fallen on the ground.

The Camp
The Camp

White monoliths jut out of the sand and become larger and more impressive until you reach your final destination. A campsite surrounded by the most amazing rock formations seen on this planet. Giant pure white sculptures resembling mushrooms, camels and hawks scatter the landscape. Made of chalk, these works of art are formed by wind and erosion. Solid enough to walk upon, yet so fragile that they can flake off with the stroke of a hand.

Stepping Back in Time
Stepping Back in Time

Bedouin guides prepare the camp putting up traditional walls made of thick material. They cover the ground with woolen blankets and start a fire to keep you warm. Three colorful walls surround the camp to block the wind with the front open to the fire. The shelter remains roofless to reveal the starry sky and everyone huddles together to settle in for a thrilling evening in the middle of the Sahara Desert.

Bedouin Camp
Bedouin Camp

Day two starts with a hearty breakfast and then it is back to Bahariya for an unforgettable 4X4 adventure through steep dunes. The ride is long and full of excitement as people are tossed about hitting heads on the roof, but laughing through the entire drive. The hot springs are a welcome change to the high-energy thrill ride.

The day ends with a hike up to a high plateau for one final look at the desert landscape and to take in that final view of the mythical Sahara Desert. It may not be the most popular trip on an Egyptian itinerary, but it is certainly the most thriling and spectacular, giving unique memories that will rival any adventure that you will experience in your life.

Egypt's Grand Canyon
Egypt’s Grand Canyon
Sculptures in the Desert
Sculptures in the Desert
Solid, yet Fragile
Solid, yet Fragile


Sourve:bootsnall.com

How I Travel: Don Wildman

Don Wildman: Tireless Explorer

Don Wildman has crisscrossed the globe as the host of the History Channel’s Cities of the Underworld. During its three-year run, the show filmed in over fifty cities across five continents. Along the way, Don went underground to visit ancient Grecian aqueducts, tombs of the pharaohs, and the churches of Ethiopian saints. Previously, he hosted ESPN’s Men’s Journal, CNBC’s Ushuaia: The Ultimate Adventure and The Travel Channel’s Weird Travels.

He is currently developing new shows, while also writing a book recounting his adventures. Online he can be found at http://www.history.com/cities-of-the-underworld.


My parents subscribed to the idea that travel should be cheap and involve the woods.

I didn’t stay in a hotel or board a jetliner until I was a teenager. In the days when gas was 25 cents a gallon, we drove everywhere and stayed in campgrounds, preferably ones with clean bathrooms (but that never stopped us). I remember the day my Dad bought our Nimrod tent-trailer from some guy for $300 and a handshake. I can still see that “things are never gonna be the same again” look in my Dad’s eye. Boom, we were off.

I inherited my father’s ordered, pared-down priorities.

For him, it was about packing. He arranged the trunk of the car as a system of honeycombed grocery bags. Into these bags went all non-perishable food and clothing and if it didn’t fit, it didn’t go. I do the same now with my suitcase or duffel. To me, travel means freedom. Freedom means lack of burden. I travel a lot in my work and each time I go I try to leave something else behind. One day it’ll be the suitcase itself…and then I’ll finally be a happy, if incomplete man.

A portrait of a happy man

A portrait of a happy man

I prefer to feel as if I’m not traveling at all.

Wherever I am, I try to immerse, as if I live in the place I’m visiting even if I don’t know the place, any people, or the language. I’ll arrive and take a few walks just to get myself nice and lost. When I’ve found my way back to the hotel, I know the streets better than any guidebook could tell me.

The misconception about travel is that we need to know so much.

We just don’t. We need to know what makes us happy and opens our minds. We need to understand culture. That our lives are more than four walls, a driveway, and a backyard. Sometimes that takes one Paris arrondissement, not six and not every landmark in the guidebook either. Sometimes it’s not using a guidebook at all.

My strongest travel influence is Bruce Chatwin or anyone who enjoys getting into trouble when traveling.

It’s the glitches that make you remember life and, certainly, travel – the attempts that failed, the trains you missed, the lines you didn’t stand in. In this regard, I don’t think there’s much difference between travel and life. If you head into both expecting a good time any way it goes, you’re already enjoying yourself.

All of that is easy to say, though, when you wanted to see the Uffizi, got up too late and missed your chance…

A painful memory.

Don under Coptic Cairo

Don under Coptic Cairo

When I’m working I travel constantly.

We pile up 4-6 trips onto each other for budget reasons. I’ve gone from Ethiopia to Egypt to Turkey to Australia in one 8-week swing. So work, for me, is travel and vice versa. Thus, if I still want to call myself a “traveler” – and I do – I have to be determined to get mine, nonetheless. So I’ve gotten better and better about grabbing a day here and there to slip off with no one in-tow . I do this by train, scooter, or bicycle. Not car. I just go to see stuff if and where I can find it.

I am a terrible romantic about travel.

I believe that I should emerge from any journey having drunk much wine with many women late at night, danced to frenzied music on river barges or wandered the dusty stacks of old, un-touristed book stores. Basically I’d like to be traveling in a movie with Audrey Hepburn. Alas, this is not available to me so I must set my expectations a bit lower, especially on my schedule.

When I arrive in a new place, the first thing I do is find a cafe, library, or park in which to write letters to important people in my life.

I have a binder filled with personal stationery and I head to this location at some off-peak moment to sit down with a beer and jot things down. There is simply no better way for me to absorb the world around me than to record it for others. It forces me to take things in. But the best part of this exercise is finishing the letters then walking them to a post office to stand in line with the local population and buy stamps. And off they go. I love the fact that somewhere in the United States my friends are receiving pieces of paper I sent to them in foreign lands. Just as radio is still utterly mysterious to me, Air Mail can make my day.

My travel style is loose.

I want to feel like I’m not traveling. I’m never going to see or do everything in the world (or the guidebook) so best to concentrate on what matters most to me. Criteria? That which makes me grow. I figure I can suss a place out in about three days’ time. One, to walk around, two, to see some sights, three days to feel like I live there. Then I can leave, preferably in my own cabin on a train. Which reminds me…

Always travel in “3’s.”

Three is the magic number for everything in my life. Probably has to do with the Trinity or something. As applied to travel, the Rule of Three is incredibly efficient. You’ll never understand a place for real in one or two days but you could in three. Same goes for hours. Break up your day in blocks of three’s and you’ll always have enough time to enjoy anything and still manage several different experiences. But not too many! Less is more – in travel and life. Pack your suitcase in 3’s and you’ll have just enough clothing but not too much. If you do a load of laundry every three days it’s nothing but fun (coin laundromats get you very, very local).

Don with an Ethiopian pal

Don with an Ethiopian pal

It saddens me when people have unoriginal experiences, when things are packaged.

Then again, I don’t have a workaday career or limited vacation time. If I did I might want more guaranteed pleasure. But I see Americans piling off of buses or gathered in groups in hotel lobbies and wonder if they’re getting much of what it was they thought they paid for.

I like to listen to local radio.

Television is worthless in any land as it is the bland-same as sitting in my own home. CNN, BBC, and ESPN. But I can tune a transistor radio to something local and tinny and be the same as a cab driver or a kitchen worker.

I do look forward to going home.

Because if the travel was good, it makes home that much sweeter.

In the back of the van

In the back of the van

Travel should be like life – and life like travel.

The point is, in a perfect world it should be one and the same. My everyday life with the people I know and love should be as lively and enlightening as traveling can be so automatically. But of course it’s not. Sadly, I’m as bad as the next guy at living ordinary life in an extraordinary fashion. So, travel is always there to notch me up to the next level, where I ought to be living all the time. And if I put enough good trips together in the years I have left, I might actually live the life I was destined for.

“How I Travel” is a new BootsnAll series publishing every Tuesday in an effort to look at the unique and diverse travel habits of some of the world’s most well known and proficient road warriors. Got ideas for who we should talk to? Drop us a note.

You’ll find links to all the “How I Travel” articles on the How I Travel archive page, you can become a fan of “How I Travel” on Facebook, and you can follow the @howitravel profile on Twitter to get updates as soon as new features in this series are published.

all photographs provided by Don Wildman and may not be used without permission


Sourve:bootsnall.com

Thứ Năm, 18 tháng 3, 2010

How I Travel: Johnny Jet

Johnny Jet: Rocket Man

Believe it or not, Johnny Jet used to fear flying. Now he seems to spend the majority of his time in the air. Born John E. DiScala, the Connecticut native first made a name for himself as an expert at collecting frequent flyer miles. Over the years, his wildly popular web site has also developed into a travel journal of sorts, in which he shares his musings from the road—along with tips for travelers to get the most from their own trips. As a travel writer he has published his work in a wide range of outlets including USA Today, COAST Magazine, MSN and Outside.

Besides JohnnyJet.com, Johnny also founded the sites AirlineNumbers.com, CarRentalNumbers.com, CruiselineNumbers.com and HotelNumbers.com which have the numbers of the companies featured so that you can speak to a human if booking online doesn’t work for you. He also created AlternateAirports.com, which helps travelers save money by pricing tickets to nearby airports. He can be found on Twitter at @JohnnyJet.


My first travel memory was riding in the back of the station wagon with my brother and sisters driving up to Canada.

It wasn’t much fun since there was no GPS. My dad was horrible at directions and he wouldn’t listen to my mom. I often wonder if they would’ve fought so much if we had today’s technology.

Johnny and friends in Kyoto

Johnny and friends in Kyoto

I have a crazy travel style.

I’m usually staying at some of the world’s swankiest hotels (since those are the ones that can afford a PR firm) and I’m popping around cities, islands and countries like a pinball. I’m rarely at one hotel for more than 3 nights but I’ve adjusted to it – I think I’m ADHD anyway. When I’m traveling on my dime I find the cheapest possible mode of transportation, and can usually score a nice place to stay but for cheap. I’m good at finding deals. Real good!

It’s weird when I’m home in Manhattan Beach I usually don’t want to leave even when I’m going somewhere exotic.

But the moment I get on the plane – I usually don’t want to go home. It’s crazy. There are times when my fear kicks in and I don’t want to travel but then I think about all those poor people who are living vicariously through me because of their own health or financial conditions so I just put a smile on my face and realize how lucky I am.

Everyone thinks that the plane air is unhealthy but it supposedly has better filters than in a hospital.

I rarely get sick (knock on wood) and the reason why is because I make a conscious effort not to touch my face with my hands. I spend 30 seconds wiping down my surroundings when I first get on a plane (tray table, controls, seatbelt, overhead compartment bin…), or rent a car (steering wheel, radio…), and of course my Hotel room (knobs, handles, remote control, light switches) with one of those anti bacterial wipes. That does the trick!

Flipping out in South of France

Flipping out in South of France

I rarely research a place I go because I like to walk in with an open mind.

I usually only find out the currency exchange is, what plug adapter I need and the best way to and from the airport. I rarely carry a guidebook anymore but if I do – it’s Frommers (I write for them).

I don’t really have a favorite place to go – I seem to like them all.

But I could definitely live in Sydney, Hong Kong and anywhere in Europe (in the summertime).

Taking a daily walk on the beach with his dad in Florida

Taking a daily walk on the beach with his dad in Florida

The oddest thing I ate on a trip was a live grub worm in New Zealand.

A Maori took me hiking and showed me what I could and couldn’t eat. Here’s the story and video .

It all depends on the country but I usually stay away from street food…

unless it’s really busy with locals.

Johnny at the Taj Mahal

Johnny at the Taj Mahal

The first thing I do when I arrive at a new place is hit the ATM.

Then I go to my hotel and drop my bags off so I can go for a walk and check out the surrounding area. If it’s real late at night I will check email and take a hot shower before jumping into bed so I can get on local time. But that usually doesn’t work too well because I’m so excited to be somewhere.

Everybody’s body is different. For me I try to get on a local time when I get on the plane.

But I usually can’t sleep well on planes and I don’t take sleeping pills. If I arrive in the morning after a long flight I do my best not to sleep. Instead I go out in the sun for a long walk and if I have to sleep I nap outside for 20 minutes and then try and stay up to 11pm. If it’s raining and cold then I’m screwed.

I never leave home without…

…my laptop (Toshiba Portege), Blackberry and … Here are the other 14 products.

Be nice to everyone and be courteous.

Johnny's mother was his favorite travel companion

Johnny's mother was his favorite travel companion

Best thing to do if going to a foreign country is to read about their customs.

A great book on this is Kiss, Bow and Shake Hands.

Pack light and don’t check bags.

You can be so much more flexible and you will save a ton of time which in turn will make your trip that much better.

With a "good kitty" in South Africa

With a 'good kitty' in South Africa

Right when I get home from a long international trip the first food I usually get is Mexican.

Because you can’t get good Mexican food out of the country except in Mexico and I don’t go there too often.

I grew up in Connecticut and have always been fascinated with air travel.

Even to this day I cannot believe these metal birds can get off the ground and carry so many people to such far distances in such a short amount of time. When I was younger, it blew me away that I could leave the freezing cold Northeast and be in hot and sunny Florida in just a couple hours.

My greatest travel secret is to be nice to everyone…

…especially the gate agents and flight attendants since they can make or break your trip. I almost always bring them a box of chocolates.

Island of Taha'a in French Polynesia

Island of Taha'a in French Polynesia


“How I Travel” is a new BootsnAll series publishing every Tuesday in an effort to look at the unique and diverse travel habits of some of the world’s most well known and proficient road warriors. Got ideas for who we should talk to? Drop us a note.

You’ll find links to all the “How I Travel” articles on the How I Travel archive page, you can become a fan of “How I Travel” on Facebook, and you can follow the @howitravel profile on Twitter to get updates as soon as new features in this series are published.

all photographs provided by Johnny Jet and may not be used without permission


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Finding the Irish Language Alive and Well in Ireland

Almost three years ago, I was on a bus heading from the airport in Dublin to city center. As an eager tourist, I listened in politely on the conversations around me, smiling at the jovial ups and downs of the Irish accent. Suddenly, a conversation caught my attention that I couldn’t quite understand. I stared intently, blatantly ignoring all of my manners, and allowed my jaw to drop slightly as I strained to hear just one word I could comprehend.

But no matter how long I listened, I would never have understood. They were speaking Gaeilge (GAYLE-guh), or Irish. No, it’s not a very strong accent; it’s actually a completely separate language. Call me an ignorant American, but I thought the language was dead; quite to the contrary as I find out. Having lived in Gaillimh (GAHL-yiev) or Galway, as it’s commonly known to us Westerners, for the past three months, I’ve had a chance to get much more intimate with the Irish language and those who speak and study it.

irish1History of the Irish Language

Irish (or Irish Gaelic, Gaelic or Gaeilge) is the classical language spoken throughout history by the Irish people. Irish is a Celtic language which has been traced back as far as 1200 BC. The language is an official language of the Republic of Ireland and in certain counties, is still used for official day-to-day use.

The language has seen a tumultuous history, which accounts for the limited use today. During the end of British rule of most of the Emerald Isle, Irish was banned and most native Irish speakers were pushed to the western half of the island. As a result, most of the prominent Irish speaking regions, or the Gaeltacht (Gahl-TACHT) areas, lie along the West Coast.

After what we now know as the Republic of Ireland established independence in 1922, speaking Irish was encouraged (and sometimes required as in the case of certain civil positions and public offices). Though this requirement is no longer in existence, most school children are required to take Irish language courses and speak Gaeilge at least a bit.

Where to hear spoken Irish

You can hear Irish spoken in most of Ireland (including Northern Ireland, despite popular belief) but some places are better than others. As mentioned above, Gaeltecht areas are regions in Ireland where Irish is still the predominately spoken language. In these regions, you are likely to see many signs in Irish (and sometimes exclusively in Irish) and find many restaurants, pubs and coffee shops where Irish is the main spoken language.

irish2
Specifically, some towns on the West Coast where you are likely to run into someone speaking Irish include Galway, the Aran Islands (Árann, pronounced AH-ren) and Spiddal (An Spidéal, pronounced Ahn Sp-IH-duhll) which are all in County Galway and Gweedore (Gaoth Dobhair) in County Donnegal (Dhún na nGall, pronounced Dawn-nee-GAHL). If you head into any of these towns you are guaranteed to find street signs in Irish and several restaurants and pubs whose names may look difficult to pronounce. If you ask around, the locals can usually point you in the best direction to hear native speakers.

People of all ages and backgrounds speak Irish. Most children grow up learning Irish in school and therefore often times know the language better than their parents (who may be out of practice unless they speak the language commonly with friends or family). Most places where Irish is spoken regularly, you will find it is intermixed with English and people will often go in and out of using Irish depending on who is around and what the conversation is about.

If you find a group of old Irish men at a pub speaking Irish, this will usually be the best way to experience the language as you can listen in without acting too creepy. Often times, you will find friends walking (for example, along the Salthill Promenade near Galway) and talking and though I don’t suggest following behind to listen in, it is an option. If you’re not in the stalking business, good ways to hear Irish in the western half of the country are to tune into the radio or news.

Raidió Teilifís Éireann (or RTÉ – the National Television and Radio broadcaster) has both a television and radio station broadcasting exclusively in Irish. The radio station, RTÉ Raidió na Gaeltachta, is available on 92-94 FM and has a variety of talking programs throughout the day. TG4, the all-Irish television station, is another place to turn if you’re desperate for some Gaeilge.

irish3
If you find access to the television or radio hard to come by, there are still two more viable options for you. The first is to head to mass at one of the local cathedrals. Some masses (again, you’ll have to ask around on this, depending on where you are) will say all, or part, of mass in Irish and most churches will say at least the “Our Father” in Irish.

Going to mass as a non-Catholic is absolutely fine, just follow those around you (sit, stand, sit, stand) or if you’re uncomfortable, stand in the back and watch from a distance. Do not, however, take communion if you’re not Catholic.

If you’re not comfortable in a church (I understand) my last suggestion is to head to a traditional Irish music session. Though hearing Irish is not usually commonplace at a trad session, you will hear great traditional music, and likely will drink enough Guinness to forget you were looking for Irish speakers to begin with.

Finding a trad session is like finding a pub in most cities in the west and most pubs will have a blackboard or a poster on their window saying when they are playing traditional music.

Common phrases in Irish

If you really want to impress your new Irish friends, there are a couple of Irish phrases and words that would be good to learn. The first (and arguably most important) is craic (pronounced crack) which basically means “fun.” You can use it to describe how good a place was (“How was Tig Cóilí?” – “Oh the craic is great tonight”) or also what’s going on (“What’s the craic?”). Once you’ve established where the craic is, and buy your Guinness, you’ll need to cheers your new friends.

The most common way to say cheers in Irish is to say Sláinte (pronounced SLAYNT-chee) which actually means “good health” (similar to the Spanish “salud”). It’s also good to check out how to say the name of the city you’re in before you get there, but tackling pronunciation can be difficult so be careful. Finally, at the end of the night, you wouldn’t want to leave without saying goodbye which is Slán (pronounced SLAHN).

Irish people are proud of their heritage. As a region that has a recent history of cultural oppression, they are eager to share their background and language with anyone willing to listen. Most Irish natives speak at least some of the language, as it’s often a required class in school. Like any language, the best way to get a feel for Irish is to listen to people speaking it and ask questions. Don’t ask them if it’s a “real” language and don’t doubt yourself when you can’t understand a couple of Irish locals bantering away.

Sláinte!

Source: bootsnall.com

5 Reasons To Add the Shetland Islands to Your Europe Itinerary

At Sixty degrees North, they are literally the UK’s “Top” islands.

The Shetland Islands aren’t just ponies and Fair Isle sweaters. Shetland is a magical, ice-carved archipelago thriving in the North Atlantic, with a unique history and culture. And with its northerly latitude, Shetland can enjoy up to nineteen hours of sunshine in midsummer. The twilight in this month is referred to as the “Simmer Dim.”

But what truly justifies the 12-hour ferry journey from Scotland?

1. Scenery & Walking

Scenery: Walls Harbour
Scenery: Walls Harbour

Shetland’s coast is spectacular yet varied. From vertiginous, storm-ravaged cliffs to sheltered beaches of pristine sand, Shetland has it all. And with nowhere on the main island further than three miles from the sea, the coast is where you will spend most of your time. Some of the finest walking in Europe can be found here. And because Shetland is part of Scotland – and has been since 1468 – there are no laws of trespass. It is perfect for walking.

Make your way quite literally to the island above all others – to Unst, the UK’s most northerly island. Be sure to pause at the infamous bus stop on the main road, which has become progressively more luxurious and quirky. This much-loved bus stop began with just a comfortable armchair, but now houses a computer, television (no electricity though) and even fresh flowers. On last inspection, there were even some bright pink shoes in a drawer. You cannot miss it; there is only one road! From here there is a panoramic view.

For those that love reaching the top of a mountain, or the end of a road, continue to Hermaness. From here it is a three-mile walk to the end of the UK – well, almost. On the most northerly hill in Britain, you can gaze over the small rocky island of Muckle Flugga to Outstack, Britain’s northernmost point. But you can’t actually walk to it. What you can do, though, is consider the charming folklore behind Outstack. The rival giants Herma and Saxa, battling for the attention of a mermaid, are said to have hurled rocks at each other, one of which landed in the sea.

The giants then set off to follow the mermaid to the North Pole. But both of them drowned because they couldn’t swim! Gazing in their wake, the expanse of Atlantic lies before you: to the north is the Arctic, to the west is Greenland, and 200 miles to the east is Norway. But wait, there is a sound carried by the wind…

2. Wildlife

Wildlife: Sumburgh Head
Wildlife: Sumburgh Head

Over 17,000 breeding pairs of gannets shriek noisily at Muckle Flugga – it is a twitcher’s paradise. But they are not the sole ornithological draw on the archipelago, not by a long shot. For those seeking cute, inimitable puffins – Shetlanders call them “tammy nories” – they can be found in numerous coastal areas; in Hermaness, between May and September, you can see 25,000 of them in one fell swoop. Iconic Sumburgh Head, a stone’s throw from the airport, also has cliffs littered with puffins, as well as kittiwakes, razorbills, guillemots and fulmars. Seabirds-and-Seals offer expert boat trip tours around one of the many seabird colonies.

The eastern island of Fetlar, with its fertile soils and green landscape, is known as “The Garden Of Shetland.” And it is home to 90% of the UK’s breeding population of Red-necked Phalarope. Each summer, these stunning, charismatic little waders have visiting ornithologists jumping for joy. But if you’re coming to Shetland seeking birdlife, watch out for the “Skooty Aalins” (Arctic Skuas) and “Bonxies” (Great Skuas) dive-bombing the unwary visitor! Nesting areas can be a like a scene from Hitchcock’s The Birds – it may be worth carrying a stick.

Perhaps you’re more interested in mammals than birdlife? Well, “selkies” (seals) are to be found in many of Shetland’s “voes” – long, narrow sea inlets, found all over the archipelago. Often, sitting with a thermos flask on a remote beach, a grey or common seal will raise its head only a few yards away. They can also be found snoozing in the sunshine, hauled out on headlands all around Shetland. Sea otters, too, sometimes play along the beaches.

Because Shetland lies close to the European Continental Shelf’s edge, the water is nutrient-rich, providing a diverse and dynamic marine environment. Harbour porpoises (“neesicks”) frolic in the sea, as do Minke whales, Humpbacks and killer whales. Maybe you will be lucky enough to see the latter while taking one of the regular ferries between the eight served islands. May-September is optimal for whale sightings.

3. Crafts & Culture

Crafts and Culture: A Factory Tour of Jamieson's Mill
Crafts and Culture: A Factory Tour of Jamieson’s Mill

Knitting is probably the best-known craft in Shetland. To that end, one animal you will certainly see plenty of is the sheep, an important island resource (and road hazard). Shetland sheep have exceptionally soft fine wool, used to produce gossamer lace, the famous Fair Isle knitwear, and fine tweeds. It is well worth taking a tour of the only mill on the isles.

From 17th – 20th June, Flavour of Shetland is held, a four-day festival of Shetland music, craft, culture and food. Be sure to sample the fresh fish and seafood on display, as well as unusual specialities such as seawater oatcakes and Shetland Black potatoes.

Although Scotland annexed Shetland in 1468, Scotland is spoken of as just another country that makes up the United Kingdom. Shetlanders are Shetlanders – an island nation, a people apart. Kilts and bagpipes do not play a part in the culture here. No, the influence is more Norse than Scottish. After all, Shetland was the first geographical landfall for 9th century Viking longboats. However, English – well, a version of it anyhow – is now widely spoken. And no trip is complete without a tale or two from one of Shetland’s outstanding storytellers.

Get two Shetlanders ’spaekin Shaetlan’ (speaking Shetland) together, however, and you may need a little assistance in deciphering the gist. Storytelling, traditional arts and crafts, music and dance all play an important role in the lives of Shetlanders. The only way to find out is to come and meet them! Will spooky stories of nocturnal goblins or “nuggles” (mythical water-horses that live under watermill streams) frighten you?

4. Music

Music: Performers at a Shetland Wedding
Music: Performers at a Shetland Wedding

Hardly a day passes without some sort of musical event in this vibrant community. And again, Norse influence is strong. Country dances and impromptu traditional sessions often take place, but there are a couple of major festivals too. Celebrating its 30th anniversary this year, the UK’s most northerly Folk Festival will be held 29th April – 2nd May. For those arriving by overnight ferry from mainland Scotland, the party starts on the 28th!

Violin playing is known as fiddling in Shetland. And one of the best times to visit is during Fiddle Frenzy, held 8th – 15th August. This festival is spread across the islands, and offers a chance not only to witness some outstanding fiddling, but to join a fiddle school during the day as well. Visitors can grapple with basic technique on Shetland’s most famous instrument, and learn of the culture and traditions that surround it.

2010 promises to be a special year – it is the centenary of the birth of Dr Tom Anderson, a man who saved and moulded the Shetland fiddle scene we know today. It is also the 50th anniversary of the Shetland Fiddlers. Fiddle playing in Shetland can be traced back to around 1700, and falls into three categories: listening tunes, ritual tunes and dance music. This is the year to try out your musical aspirations in a nurturing environment.

5. History

History: Shetland is dotted with historical artefacts
History: Shetland is dotted with historical artefacts

There are a number of very important archaeological sites in Shetland, one of which is thought to date from 4000 years ago. This can be found near the international airport, at Jarlshof Prehistoric and Norse Settlement, a complex of ancient settlements within three acres. Beginning with a Bronze Age village of oval stone huts, we slide through the epochs to an Iron Age broch (fortified tower). More recently still, there are remains of an entire Viking settlement, a medieval farmstead and a 16th Century laird’s house. The Jarlshof name comes from Sir Walter Scott – his novel The Pirates was inspired by the site.

Also in the south of Shetland is the finest of Scotland’s 500 or so Iron Age brochs. Remarkably well preserved due to its isolation – in fact, it is the best preserved broch in the world – Mousa Broch stands at a height of over forty feet. Taking the ferry from Sandwick, across to the island of Mousa, is half the fun of visiting. You can climb to the top of the tower between the two, thick, stone walls. Torches are provided in a box at the entrance – it is darker than you would imagine!

One place you really shouldn’t miss is St. Ninian’s Isle, reached via one of the very best tombolos in Europe. This is a spectacular bar of golden sand, traversable at all but the highest of tides, leading to the ruins of a 12th Century chapel. A hoard of 8th Century Celtic silver was found underneath in 1958. The buried treasure is now stored in Edinburgh, but replicas can be found in The Shetland Museum.

How to Get to the Shetland Islands & Where to Stay

The Shetland Islands are remote. There’s no way of getting away from that fact, but that doesn’t mean they’re inaccessible. Nightly ferries ply between Shetland’s port of Lerwick and Aberdeen on the east coast of Scotland. Boats also leave from Scrabster in northern Scotland via the Orkney Islands. Flights to Shetland leave from Glasgow, Edinburgh, Aberdeen or Inverness.

On arrival, it is certainly possible to travel to all the inhabited islands by public transport. There are bus services combined with ferry services, but it may be an adventure and require some planning! You can also hire a car, available for collection at both the airport and ferry terminal.

How cheaply can you stay in Shetland? Very, is the answer. There is a network of eight “bods”- buildings once used to house fishermen and their gear – at the time of writing, but you will need your own bedding. Managed by Shetland Amenity Trust, these unique historical buildings offer a real budget option. They range from £6-£8 (without or with electricity) per person per night. Check out camping-bods.com for more details.

A good budget place to start, though, is at the Youth Hostel in Lerwick, a fifteen-minute walk from the ferry terminal. There are a number of accommodation options in Shetland, but for those that really want to push the boat out, consider staying in one of the lighthouses. This is not cheap, but with a group of up to six people, it is affordable, and offers unrivalled views of some of the most dramatic scenery in Britain.

photos by Barnaby Davies and may not be used without permission


Source: bootsnall.com

Tales from the Jungle Book- Bandhavgarh, India

Seeing a tiger in the wild was a dream I had been nursing for a long time. I made several unsuccessful attempts towards this end by visiting Corbett National Park, the Sunderbans and Nagarhole. In 2007 when the rate of extinction of tigers became so alarming that it even found mention in the Finance Minister’s speech I decided that I had to visit Bandhavgarh (which had been described in glowing terms to me by various wildlife enthusiasts) before tigers went extinct altogether. With work and other commitments looming large over my life this plan did not fructify for another two and a half years after which I resolved that this was one thing holiday I had to take before the sun set on 2009.

I embarked on this quest with a friend who had also never seen a tiger in the wild before. We decided to spend four days in Bandhavgarh. We had been deprived of a sighting for so many years, we were not going to take any chances this time. We reached Umaria station, the nearest railway station one sunny afternoon in December. Recognising us as tourists from a mile away a bunch of taxi drivers descended on us, jostling with each to take us to the Forest Rest House in Tala where we were supposed to stay. An hour and a rollercoaster ride on a pot-holed road later we arrived at the Forest Rest House.

In order to start on our mission as soon as possible we decided to take the afternoon safari on that day itself. Our taxi driver got us a driver called Babloo for our safaris. Babloo turned out to be quite a resourceful nature guide as well. There are various zones in Bandhavgarh National Park but the Tala zone has the highest density of tigers so it is advisable to enter from the Tala gate. The safaris in Bandhavgarh National Park are quite regimented. Only petrol jeeps are permitted inside and the Forest Department assigns a guide to every jeep. There are various routes which the jeeps can take within the park but each jeep is assigned its route before the safari starts. There are steep penalties for drivers and guides who deviate from the assigned routes.

We embarked on our first safari with our fingers crossed. The temperate sal forests of Madhya Pradesh which were the setting for Kipling’s Jungle Book do not have the lush greenery of tropical forests. There is less undergrowth and the tree cover is not that dense. In many patches one sees sunlight streaming in and dust particles dancing in the sunrays. The colours are more muted. The leaves are a dull green, the grass is a yellowy-gold giving the jungle an eerie ambience. The calm of the jungle is occasionally pierced by the hooping call of the langurs, the loud twittering of the babblers and the high pitched calls of the chital and sambhar.

The safari started in the afternoon at which time we were informed that the big cats would generally be resting. Tiger sightings we were told usually happen towards the evening. Like in most other national parks in India there were plenty of chital (spotted deer) and sambhar to be seen. Unlike the ones I had seen before, these were not very camera shy and quite willing to pose for eager hordes of tourists. We saw a jackal in the distance which looked like a moving blue speck to us but we were assured by Babloo and the guide that it was indeed a jackal. We saw a tree which had so many langurs on it, it looked like langurs were the fruit of this tree. We were told to listen for alarm calls, which are the warning mechanisms of the herbivores in the jungle. If any of the herbivores sense that a tiger is approaching they let out an alarm call which is then echoed by others of their and other species. We kept our ears peeled for alarm calls but heard none.

Kallua and his mate
Kallua and his mate

Our safari was nearly over and we were about ten minutes from the gate when we reached a spot where some other jeeps had also halted. We took a cue from them and stopped the jeep and waited. Suddenly from the hillock on one side of the road emerged a tigress. We were told that she was known as the chor behra female. She stood on the hillock and observed the enthralled audience for a while before starting her descent. Completely unperturbed by the presence of so many people and their clicking cameras she came down the hillock, crossed the road and went over to a stream on the other side. She drank some water and disappeared into a thicket. It’s difficult to put into words the feeling when one first sees this magnificent beast face-to-face. When I first saw the tigress I felt a rush of excitement and I pulled out my camera (a Canon DSLR which looked positively Lilliputian compared to the telephoto-lens- equipped-cameras everyone else seemed to be carrying) and started clicking. This was soon tempered by a silent awe at the realisation that my dream to see a tiger in the wild had come true and the experience was everything I had imagined and more. It walked with a majestic step, with almost a royal bearing as if to tell us ‘this is my territory’. We were convinced that this was a good omen and portended good things to come.

On the second day we decided to take a morning safari since we were told that it is the best time for a sighting. Layered in many layers of woollens we set off for our first morning safari. The jungle presents a sleepy picture in the morning with mist slowly lifting with the first rays of the sun filtering in. As the sun rises the jungle awakes with sounds of various birds, insects and animals ringing through the air. In the midst of the trees close to the road we spotted a barking deer which is generally quite a shy creature, eyeing us gingerly. We spotted a lesser adjutant stork standing near a small body of water pensively. We had not planned on going for an evening safari that day but a couple of wildlife enthusiasts advised us to do so to maximise our chances of good sightings.

Following their advice we returned with Babloo to the jungle post-lunch. We spotted some red-billed vultures patiently sitting on a tree. A bright blue kingfisher on a tree added a spot of colour to the otherwise dull landscape. This time again towards the evening we saw a tigress for the second time. This time there were fewer jeeps around. The people in the jeeps which arrived before us had seen her cross the road. We first caught a glimpse of her only after that, behind some trees. Then she crossed over a large patch of low lying grass where we got a good view of her before went into the trees.

On the third day we only did a morning safari even though waking up on a cold winter morning seemed like some form of medieval Chinese torture. Like we had been told the previous day we were maximising our chances. By the end of this safari we realised that as far as tiger sightings went mornings safaris had not proved fortuitous for us. However we were luckier as far as other animals were concerned. We spotted a wild boar doing a quick sprint across the road into the trees. A jackal strode nonchalantly across the road coming very close to our jeep and went into a patch of grass. We saw the footprints of a bear which was most unusual for that time of the year since bears are in hibernation in winter. However there was no other sign of this unusually enthusiastic bear.

Some time towards the middle of the safari we began to hear alarm calls for a leopard. Babloo told us that the reason he was sure this was an alarm call for a leopard and not a tiger is that the langurs were making a big racket this time. Langurs are not too scared of tigers since tigers are not good climbers so when a tiger is in the vicinity the alpha male of the langur lets out the alarm call. However when there is a leopard around all the langurs let out furious alarm calls since they are in great danger from this agile climber. We waited at the spot where we heard the alarm calls but lady luck had forsaken us this time and we did not see a leopard.

The next day we decided to skip the morning safari and explore the Bandhavgarh Fort. The exact provenance of the fort is not known but it has been occupied by various dynasties such as the Magh, Kalchuri and Baghels. In 1617 the Baghel King Vikramaditya Singh abandoned Bandhavgarh Fort in favour of Rewa. The fort is on a hill and is mostly in a state of disrepair. As we ascended the hill we observed quite a few Malabar pied hornbill. We went to a point called the vulture point from where we could see a few nests of long-billed vultures on the sheer cliff face below us. Quite a few vultures were circling around below us. Another point on the hill was called Natin named after a dancer known as Natin who is said to have met a gruesome end there.

Legend has it that she was an enchanting dancer in the court of the one of the kings who lived in the fort. He told her that if she could cross one from hill to another while dancing on a tightrope he would give her half his kingdom. Accepting the challenge she started dancing her way across to the second hill. As she was approaching the second hill the king ordered that the rope be cut. This was done and she plunged to her death. Further up we reached a temple known as the Kabirgufa. It is said that Kabir meditated in the cave that is within the temple. The cave is also said to lead to Chitrakoot but no one in the recent past had sought to verify this. There are many tanks in the fort obviously used as water sources when the fort was populated.

On the summit is the Bandhavgarhdheesh temple. This temple is still used for worship and there is a priest who lives there. We were told that the priest has many interesting stories about his encounters with tigers but unfortunately he was not around on that day. Close to this temple are a palace and the royal treasury. The hillside is also dotted with statues of various avatars of Vishnu like matsya, varaha and kurma and various gods and goddesses. Not much seems to be known about who built these structures and most of them are not even ASI protected sites.

Since it was our last day in Bandhavgarh we decided to maximise our chances by taking an evening safari. We told Babloo that since it was our last day he should ensure that we take a final look at a tiger. He smiled indulgently at us. He must have fielded such strange requests from tourists numerous times in the past. We were told that a pair had been mating on the route we were supposed to take. And to our surprise on the route we saw a tiger known as Kallua lying on the road in a languid fashion blocking all movement of jeeps on the route. Occasionally he would lift his head to survey the audience gathered around him and would then lie down again. He rolled over on his back with his legs in the air like he was laughing over something very funny. Suddenly from the bushes emerged a tigress. She walked up to him but he seemed to be enjoying being the cynosure of the human attention so much that he was in no mood to leave. She went over to the other side of the road and sat there. Kallua still didn’t move from his spot. Clearly he preferred being photographed to her company.

After some time the guides in the jeeps on the other side started getting impatient as they had to get to the gate before it shut. So one of them started the jeep and moved ahead. Seeing this, the tiger and tigress beat a quick retreat into the trees. We could still see Kallua walking into the forest. We tried to follow him as far as our eye could keep up but he soon vanished from sight.

This was definitely an incredible end to our trip. I took back many wonderful memories of our trip. I have been told that summer is a good time for sightings so I hope to return in summer again, hopefully with a better lens for my camera this time.


Source: bootsnall.com

Market Mayhem in Luxor, Egypt

The markets in Luxor are like any Middle Eastern market – mayhem. Of course it depends on the hour and the size of the town, but in the local markets (or Souks), you find an energy that exists in no other place. They are the heartbeat of the city and are lively little cosmoses where everything in life is played out to extremes, in very small spaces.

Often you will find separate markets.One for locals – vibrant, hyperactive and teeming with life. The other for tourists – oddly enough teeming with foreigners and tacky souvenir shops, that swarm with relentless tout’s desperate to charm you into parting with your cash.

Market Luxor
Market Luxor

As Luxor is a small town, without too much trouble I stumble upon where the locals go to shop, infinitely more interesting but hard work. As I hoped it’s pumping. The sites and sounds and smells are overwhelming. The reaction to my presence is peppered with a mixture of curiosity and nonchalance. I am the target of a few comments by younger boys (which I instantly recognise are not complementary in that universal language that says – you’re a Western female and you are trash). It makes me feel uneasy and irritated for a moment, but the excitement of my surroundings quickly dispels these thoughts.

The action is in full swing and I have to dodge cloaked men on horses or hurriedly pushing carts laden with produce down the narrow cobblestone paths. There are sad faced donkeys and mangy haired dogs, women in headscarfs busily stocking up on fresh market vegetables, with squealing children, laughing and running around their feet. Not that I am claustrophobic or timid, but when you are in enveloped in an environment like this, by yourself, in a strange land, it can be ever so slightly daunting. I confess though, I find myself doing it time and time again as the thrill, the education and the fascination is always worth it.

For the umpteenth time I try to squeeze past a horse and carriage forcing its way through the mêlée. A little boy with a cheeky smile beckons to help me. Feet faltering on the unsteady ground, I lurch forward and as I do, have to veer quickly to the right, to escape head-butting the frisky horse who is as keen as I am to get out of this pickle. Doing my best to contort my body, a dark robed lady somehow manages to push past us, holding a live chicken by the feet, that is wildly flapping its big feathery wings uncontrollably (perhaps knowing what fate is shortly in story for it).

Fancy a live chicken?
Fancy a live chicken?

Again I have to twist to get out of reach from its scratchy feathers, which are fanning my arm and squawking that is reverberating through my head. Reeling to the right again my head is forced directly into the path of a big table laden with shiny, plump grey intestines and toffee, orange pigs trotters. My face is inches from this buffet of dead, fleshy smelling meat and buzzing flies are landing on me. Aghhhh!!! I feel like a bubble desperately trying to escape to the surface of the water and be free.

Whirling around dazed I finally come up for air. It’s ok. I’m back in the throng and can I see the light at the end of the tunnel, or in this case – the end of the market. Regaining my composure I soak up the last sounds and smells before I hit freedom. An amazing and heady experience. I go back for seconds the next day, but this time protected in a small curtained cabin and by my half sighted caleches (horse and cart) driver. Again it is incredible and gives me a chance to take some photos, but the rush of being amongst the action, head first surrounded by the sights, smells and sounds, although at the time it may not seem that way, is always the best high and the ultimate feeling.



Source: bootsnall.com

Five Days in Costa Rica

August, being in the middle of the rainy season, may seem like not an ideal time to visit Costa Rica. However, with soaking wet weather comes less crowds and cheaper prices, and it would seem somehow wrong to visit the cloudforests and remain comfortably dry.

No sooner had we picked up our 4×4 than the skies opened up above us. Fifteen minutes later, it was a torrential downpour. This was only the first of our road challenges; after the rain died down, we found ourselves on a windy road through the hills of Costa Rica, with huge semis and buses careening around the blind curves. Luckily, all the roads were paved until we got to La Fortuna. As we turned onto the road to our first destination, Volcan Arenal, we got to experience our first of the rocky, pot-holed, dirt roads that surround Costa Rica’s main attractions.

Volcan Arenal
Volcan Arenal

Since a major eruption in 1968, Volcan Arenal has earned the distinction as one of the ten most active volcanoes in the world. We witnessed this activity first hand from our accommodations at The Arenal Observatory Lodge. From its perch less than two miles from the base of Volcan Arenal, the lodge is the only hotel on the lava flow side of the volcano. Originally a scientific research center run by the Smithsonian Institute, the lodge is now opened to the public. The rooms are large and comfortable with balconies offering fantastic views. At night, people watch the glowing lava flow from these balconies, the restaurant veranda, or the hotel hot tub. It is an amazing show.

There are a number of trails that start right on the hotel property which sits on a private nature reserve. We were eager to head out on the Old Lava Trail, which takes you to the base of Arenal to see hardened lava paths, steam vents, and other volcano phenomena. Unfortunately, we found the trail roped off with peligro tape–danger! The hotel owner explained to us that Arenal was currently very active, and lava was flowing down that trail. We asked for other suggestions on how to get closer to the volcano, but he explained that the restaurant veranda was the absolute closest anyone could go right now. So to avoid things like dying and death we explored other parts of the reserve area. We found ourselves hiking Cerro Chato, a grueling trail that takes you up the side of a dormant volcano to the lake that has formed in its crater. We also found our way to a great waterfall. Throughout the day, Arenal would rumble and puffs of smoke would rise from the bellowing monster’s peak.

After two fantastic nights at Arenal, it was time to hit the road for our next adventure: the Cloud Forests of central Costa Rica. Though less than ninety miles from Arenal in actual distance, the road to Santa Elena has been purposely left extremely rough by the eco-conscious residents, resulting in a long, arduous journey through the sleepy countryside.

Our speed wasn’t helped by the entrepreneurial endeavors of townspeople along the way. In Quebrada Grande, we passed an unmarked left turn and one minute later, there was a very helpful man standing in the middle of the road telling us we were lost, that we needed to take that left turn we passed, and that he would sell us a map. As we backtracked, we saw that a sign pointing to our destination had been knocked over. The sale of that map was very carefully orchestrated.

The sleepy Costa Rican countryside
The sleepy Costa Rican countryside

We finally arrived in Santa Elena after four and a half hours on the road. Our first stop was the Santa Elena Cloud Forest Reserve. Santa Elena is smaller and less celebrated than Monteverde, and combined with the fact that it was low tourist season, we had the reserve almost entirely to ourselves. We happened upon only two other hikers on the trails that meandered through the rainforest’s depths. As we hiked, rain started to fall, and just as Patrick was remarking how well the arching canopy above protected us from getting wet, the skies opened up and we got drenched. We ran the last mile back to the Reserve entrance in full appreciation of rainy season in a rain forest.

We found our way through the rain to El Sol, where owner Elisabeth, as promised, greeted us with big hugs. She set us up in one of the two cabins on the property that she and her husband Ignacio rent to visitors, and arranged for a warm dinner and bottle of wine to be delivered to our door.

When we woke up the next morning, the clouds had cleared and we were greeted with an amazing view of the valley from our cabin window. Elisabeth and her crew prepared an amazing spread for breakfast in the main building, and as we ate, she gave us and the other guests recommendations for the day and predicted good weather for the next two days.

And she was right–for the next two days we enjoyed extraordinarily sunny weather for the rainy season. We hiked through the lush Monteverde Cloud Forest where every plant is growing on another and we studied flowers and trees unlike anything we’d ever seen. We saw exotic wildlife there and especially at the nearby Ecological Sanctuary–including coatis, agoutis, Morpho butterflies, insects, and some crazy birds.

While the main attraction in Monteverde is the Cloud Forest, the main industry is the cheese factory. We didn’t have time to catch a tour amidst all our rain forest visits, but we did stop at their ice cream shop, Sabores, for some of the most delicious milkshakes we have ever had. Absolutely not to be missed!

Katrina and her horse Machito...who was with pony
Katrina and her horse Machito…who was with pony

On our last day in Monteverde, Elisabeth arranged for her friend Manuel to take us on a horseback ride through the valley. This was Patrick’s first time on a horse and we figured the trail would be pretty tame. But Manuel took us down steep, rocky paths and through waterfalls and streams. Lots of fun, but not for the faint-hearted! We broke for lunch at a large waterfall at the bottom of the valley and ate on a bed of rocks in the middle of the rushing river. We returned to El Sol several hours later dirty, sore, but with big smiles on our faces.

Shortly after our return it was time to say goodbye to El Sol. Elisabeth gave us our goodbye hugs, and Katrina a parting handicraft gift. But if you stay here, be forewarned that they accept only cash, which caused us a two hour delay as we drove back to town, dealt with stringent rules and signature scrutiny at the bank, and finally returned. Plan ahead!

Our last Costa Rican afternoon was spent on the rugged roads driving back to San Jose. We spent the night at the Adventure Inn. The entire hotel is decorated in a jungle theme–amusing if not charming. But if you are willing to bear the tackiness, it is a clean, inexpensive option very near the airport.



Source: bootsnall.com

The Samoa Tsunami: Dodging a Bullet of Epic Proportions

Waves crashing on a starlit beach. A rustle of palms. Then the moon sets and the stars disappear. A slanting beam of early morning light tracks through the window and then across the room to fall directly on my face. I flip over, turning toward the cool and shady side of the bed, enjoying the opportunity to sleep in a few minutes longer. Ofu island is the secret paradise of the South Pacific. But it was an adventure to get here.

We flew overnight across the Pacific to the town of Apia, then took two puddle jumper prop planes to successively smaller islands. Then we made our way to a small village where we hitched a ride with a local fisherman across the final stretch of ocean to arrive here at one of the world’s most spectacular beaches. Snowy and cold Colorado seemed like it was a lifetime away. I kept my eyes closed. The warm overnight breeze had died down and the palm trees were still and quiet. All I could hear were the exotic songs of tropical birds and the rhythmic pounding of deep ocean surf onto the reef outside.

We were the only guests in the small family run Vaoto Lodge, the only accommodation available on the island. It was 7:10am on September 29th, 2009.

I was drifting back to sleep. A low rumbling started slowly, blending in with the whumping sound of the surf out on the reef, and the gentle swaying of the bed was reminiscent of a bunk berth on the open sea. Hmmm. Why is the bed rocking? I remember being puzzled by this strange half-dream. Then I heard a loud crash, my eyes were wide open and I was trying to orient myself. Another huge crash and now the bed was shaking. I jumped out of bed but I couldn’t stand up. Then another tremendous crash, coming from directly above us and I suddenly remembered the vertical cliff that looms over the lodge. Now that was a sound I recognized from my climbing days. That was the sound of an avalanche of rockfall as it is bearing down on you.

My wife Cheri was now sitting straight up, looking toward the ceiling and recoiling at the noise of the crash. She locked eyes with me and yelled “Earthquake!” Then another huge crash and this one was bearing down on us.I stood up but then fell again as the ground rocked wildly beneath my feet. I saw my backpack fall over onto my teva sandals. I pushed the pack out of the way, grabbed the sandals and ran barefoot out of the room as fast as I could. The ground was still shaking and I looked back over my shoulder to see car size boulders crashing down the cliff toward us! I also noticed Cheri wasn’t running next to me. She was just outside the room and appeared puzzled that I was running toward the ocean in a big earthquake. She didn’t realize the loud crashing sound was coming from rocks tumbling down off the cliff. I pointed repeatedly at the mountain above us and yelled at the top of my voice

Huge boulders were splintering apart and debris was cartwheeling down toward the lodge. The lush jungle covering the cliff was slowing the momentum of the rockfall, and the trees were shaking violently like a T-Rex was running through them. Cheri ducked and ran up to me, and we made our way to the edge of the beach. Ben, Deb and their daughter Rain, the owners of the lodge, had run for cover there as well. I stood there transfixed for a second. Everything had happened so fast but it felt like we were moving in slow motion. As the shaking ended, time seemed to suddenly catch up and resume normal speed again. I looked up and saw large plumes of dust rising from the cliffs and suddenly the big blue ocean seemed eerily quiet. We all looked at each other and I knew they were thinking the same thing I was.

We need to get to high ground. Cheri and I decided it was safe to run back into the lodge to grab a few essentials including our passports, cash, a water bottle and my first aid kit. My camera was locked up. I didn’t have time to dig around for the key so I left it. We quickly jumped in the back of Ben’s pickup truck along with their 5 dogs and a cat and raced out the island’s only dirt road up to a low pass between the island’s high points. The pass was about 150 feet above sea level so we felt pretty safe there. Then we waited and turned on the transistor radio.

No mention yet of the earthquake and no talk of Tsunami warnings. Ten minutes went by and everything was quiet. Deb looked at me. Do you think we overreacted? How long do you think we should wait? An hour? Five hours?

Still nothing on the radio. I went to get one of the dogs that wandered back down the hill when I saw Ben stand up in the bed of the pickup and point toward the reef. The entire ocean was beginning to act strangely. Whirlpools were developing far offshore and the water was being sucked out away from the beach. Ofu’s sister island, Olosega was directly in front of us. The sea beyond our reef was turning into a fast moving river rushing backwards and swelling up around the the huge volcanic peak of Olesega like it was a small stone in a big river. Then like a slow motion movie, all that water came rushing back in. It was surreal to watch. I couldn’t believe this was really happening.

We were high on the cliff so we couldn’t see the beach through the trees very well, but we could see the rush of water heading into the beach. Then we heard the splintering sound of palm trees being crushed and watched as they flipped backwards. After a few more seconds, the water drew back toward the sea but now the turquoise blue water was brown and full of coconuts and debris. The water within the reef sloshed around another 15 minutes and then it was over.

Five locals who lived in the village down near the coast came running up the hill, their clothes soaked to their chests. They were caught off guard by the Tsunami and ran up the slope but couldn’t move quickly enough. They all grabbed onto palm trees and were buffeted by the wave and debris. When the water receded they ran up here to the pass. From here we could only see the north side of the island and feared the worst for our place on the south side. We drove back down and saw where the wave had washed over the road, but by a stroke of good fortune, the gentle hand of God or dumb luck, the Tsunami was only 10-15 feet high in front of Vaoto Lodge and it didn’t cross over the tall sandy berm between the lodge and the sea.

Our island’s power supply went out and we were cut off from all the emergency communications about the Tsunami except for a few cell phone calls from Deb’s relatives across the straight in Pago Pago town. The wave had been far more destructive there. Pago Pago, the capital of American Samoa, sits at the end of a deep harbor.The huge wave had been funneled and constricted through the harbor like a fire hose.By the time it reached the town it had lurched up to 30 feet high and it pummeled through everything in it’s path. Last night we stayed at a small hotel called the Mailiu Mai near Pago Pago and there had been heavy damage there. If we had delayed our trip to Ofu one more day, we would have been sleeping there this morning.

Surveying the damage.
Surveying the damage.

We drove the pickup truck over to the small village of Ofu which sits on a ledge above the coast. A few low lying structures including the power plant were flooded but that was the extent of the damage. People were wandering around cleaning up but nobody was seriously hurt. A few people said they would be sleeping outside high on the hill tonight as a precaution. We helped clear rocks and debris off the dirt road but there was little else that we could do. We relied on the transistor radio to get updates from Pago Pago and Apia. Internet and phones were cut off. All transportation between the islands had been halted. Updates from the other islands were sporadic. Most of the information was in Samoan which we couldn’t understand. But it was slowly becoming clear that we were extremely lucky. The earthquake had measured 8.2 on the Richter scale, as powerful as the famous 1906 earthquake that destroyed the city of San Francisco. Most of the south facing beach areas of the Samoan Islands were hit by huge waves. We were on a south facing beach too, but a quirk in the geometry of the islands had saved us from the full force of the tsunami.

We wandered down to the beach area. The turquoise lagoon was cloudy with debris, but the wilderness character of the beach remained the same. It looked as if a tropical storm had battered the coast but there was very little damage to the palm trees or the coral. A warm breeze began to rustle through the trees. It was a brilliant sunny day with puffy little clouds. Powder blue waves were crashing hard onto the reef.

Part of the lure of paradise is the sense that you are cut off from the rest of the world. You are on a tiny speck of land surrounded by the vast blue ocean. The emptiness of the sea protects and buffers you from the big crazy world out there. Walking along Ofu’s white sand beach, it still looks like paradise here. And we certainly are cut off from the world. But it’s an uneasy feeling now. The ocean doesn’t feel like our protector. There is something sinister to its beauty. It feels like the ocean is jealous of this tiny speck of land and wants to reclaim it. And there is nowhere for us to go.

10 Best Roman Ruins Outside of Rome

Roman ruins come in all sizes and shapes, from the majestic to the humble. Some stand barely untouched by the ages, while others are dilapidated remains of their former grand selves. But all provide a wondrous snapshot into Roman civilization: the gods they venerated, their architectural prowess, the entertainment that thrilled them, and the decorations and amenities in their homes.

And yet, it’s Rome, with its mega Coliseum, Forum and Pantheon, that’s seen as the epicenter of all ancient Roman antiquities. Sure, it was the capital of the Empire, but the Romans spread their wings across large swaths of Europe, southern Britain, North Africa and the Mid-East. These are 10 of the best places to check out what they left behind outside of Italy.

1. Merida, Spain

jeanine_merida

Ruins seem to materialize in the unlikeliest places in this former capital of the Roman province of Lusitania. The Temple of Diana appears behind the tourist information office, and the colorful Los Milagros Aqueduct with its seven standing columns rising not far from a set of railroad tracks.

Stroll along the nearby leafy landscaped expanse that fronts the Guadiana River and you’ll come upon a half-mile long Roman bridge, the longest such structure remaining in the world. This now pedestrian structure that attracts joggers and cyclists alike is within striking distance of its contemporary cousin that’s designed by star architect Santiago Calatrava. Another place to walk among history is along the periphery of the Roman Circus where charioteers once raced.

But anyone who thrills in the macabre should check out Los Columbarios funeral site. Aside from providing a wealth of information on Roman funeral ceremonies, it’s planted with an array of flora, such as cypress, that symbolically refers to death and the afterlife. For intimate insights into all things Roman, take a guided tour with Marco Mangut.

2. Leptis Magna, Libya

jeanine_leptismagnaarch

Your introduction to the extravagant architecture in this city that was once held in as high esteem as Rome is the grand Septimius Severus Arch. Named in honor of their native son emperor who presided over this Roman settlement — the largest in North Africa — during the height of its prosperity, the towering marble edifice is bedecked with elaborate historical and religious motifs.

Walking along the colonnaded street that Severus constructed, you’ll come to the expansive Hadrianic Baths where, thanks to hot and cold rooms, saunas, a swimming pool and marble latrines, the populace probably had plenty of opportunity to luxuriate. The Romans obviously loved their leisure aquatic centers: A long trek brings you to the Hunting Baths with its well-preserved colorful mosaics and frescoes for which it takes its name.

You can spend a good part of a day on the site, but don’t miss visiting Sabrantha, another well-preserved Roman site, that’s a few hours away. Libya Expeditions offers tours that cover both of these Roman sites.

3. Pula, Croatia

jeanine_pula2_picnik

You could easily spend four or five hours in Pula where the immense amphitheater dating from the time of Augustus gets all the attention.

With an audio guide in hand, you can roam around the well-preserved arena, tiers, towers and subterranean galleries and visualize the gory entertainment that once captured spectators’ attention. (Present-day events include the decidedly more civilized Pula Film Festival.) The underground corridors that once held beasts and gladiators alike now display stone olive and grape presses and amphora.

A steep walk up to the town’s informal Archaeological Museum of Istria is worth it for its Roman glass exhibit, tombstones and sarcophagi. (Curiously, the latter two are displayed along the hallways.)

Another side of Roman life is evident on the largest island of Brijuni National Park, an idyllic setting that’s a short bus and ferry ride away. What must’ve been an elegant Roman villa is set on a prime piece of waterfront real estate complete with ruins of terraces, temples and even a fishpond.

4. Jerash, Jordan

Set in a placid valley at the base of the Gilead Mountains, Jerash contains such an extensive expanse of ruins that you’ll need to reserve a full day for your visit. And though it’s got a petite hippodrome, you’ll be able to watch daily reenactments of what spectators would’ve experienced thousands of years ago.

Gladiators fight wielding tridents and swords. Roman legionnaires decked out in brown togas reenact battles they might have seen as members of a Roman army. And charioteers race the traditional seven laps around the track.

Running under a mile straight to the city center, the Cardo Maximus — Cardo for short — is the colonnaded main boulevard that allows entrée to many monument ruins. (It itself remains paved with some original stones that are rutted from the many chariot wheels that once rolled across its surface.)

5. Caesarea, Israel

Now a national park, Caesarea was once a resplendent port city that King Herod named hoping to showcase his loyalty to Julia Caesar. Once Jerusalem fell, it became the country’s most prominent city and trade harbor.

The visitor’s center today shows a movie depicting the history of the magnificent city and allows you to ask questions of virtual historical figures. But on a warm, sunny day you have plenty of other choices, whether it’s inspecting the ruins of Herod’s palace, which may have also been used by Pontius Pilot; lunching along the harbor where some of the original stone breakwater remains; or snorkeling or scuba diving in the submerged port (now an underwater archaeological park). Depending on your skill and the route, you’ll spy a Herodian pavement or a late Roman shipwreck.

6. Aspendos, Turkey

Sweeping down from the hillside, the 2,000-year-old amphitheater has such fine acoustics that some people return year after year to hear Verdi’s Aida, a signature piece, and other works by both Turkish and international performers at the annual Aspendos Opera & Ballet Festival. Equally interesting to many is the stage building displaying ornamental motifs and a decorative relief of Dionysus, the patron god of wine and the theater.

You’ll also want to take the time to walk the path adjacent to the theater that winds up to the acropolis. Not only are the views over the Koprucay River and the fertile Pamphylian plain superb, but a mélange of prominent ruins are also visible, including the agora or ancient marketplace and political gathering spot, a once elaborate fountain complex dedicated to the water nymphs (hence the name nymphaeum), and a basilica where the courts were located. Equinox Travel offers archeological tours that include Aspendos.

7. Baalbek, Lebanon

Once known as Heliopolis or City of the Sun, Baalbek has a standout complex of shrines, including two lofty and detailed temples.

The grand one dedicated to Juniper, the god of the sky, is constructed of some of the tallest columns in the world — they soar some 70 feet skyward. The interior sanctuary was once restricted to the priests who performed ritual sacrifices on the stone altar. The massive foundation blocks that weigh in at hundreds of tons remain shrouded in mystery. (It’s still unclear how these stones could’ve been moved.)

The smaller but better preserved Temple of Bacchus is really dedicated not to Dionysus (aka Bacchus) but to a different, much disputed deity: perhaps a solar god. Some believe that the curious carved images of poppies and grapes may indicate that wine and drugs played a role in ceremonies. Hence, the god of wine became identified with this temple.

Nowadays, both temples see theatrical, ballet, jazz and other performances during the annual Baalbeck International Festival.

8. Conimbriga, Portugal

A mere 10 miles from the university town of Coimbra that’s also Portugal’s former capital, you can find the most well-preserved Roman settlement in the country. (In fact, it was a finalist as one of Portugal’s Seven Wonders.)

To get the most out of your visit to Conimbriga where most of the information is in Portuguese, first buy a guidebook at the ticket office. Then roam along the 13-foot-wide limestone-block Roman road where the ruts left by ancient carts are still plainly visible.

The most striking thing about the ruins of the houses along the way is the evidence of their former courtyards with richly-hued mosaics displaying all manner of images — some mythological — and bold geometric patterns. The House of the Fountains, a former wealthy Roman residence, is aptly named for the hundreds of fountains that once gushed. (You can still see the functioning waterworks under the now glass-canopied site.)

Nearby, the remains of the House of Cantaber, a nobleman’s house that’s considered one of the largest Roman residences ever discovered in the West, provides evidence of some of the villa’s luxe features, including its baths and colonnaded garden.

9. El-Jem, Tunisia

jeanine_eljemOK

You can’t miss the monumental amphitheater, one of the largest in the Roman Empire that towers over the modern-day city. But instead of rushing to this behemoth — it’s estimated to hold some 30,000 spectators — first pay a visit to the El Jem Museum that displays its impressive collection of artifacts in a reconstruction of a Roman villa.

The exhibits of goblets, sculptures (like Medusa’s head) and mosaics (such as the Nine Muses) ring a colonnaded courtyard. On this archeological site, the lavish House of Africa, an aristocrat’s villa, depicts a renowned mosaic of the goddess Africa, patron of fertility and wealth.

In the summer, you can join the thousands who come to listen to classical — both European and Arabic — music in the grand amphitheater during the month-long International Festival of Symphonic Music. However, it’s hardly the only amphitheater in town. (It’s actually the third built in El-Jem; the ruins of the other two lie near a railroad line.)

10. Arles, France

jeanine_arles2

Sometimes referred to as the “Rome of France,” Arles, part of the Marseille-Provence region that will be European Cultural Capital 2013, is dotted with a good share of antiquities. No wonder, considering it’s sited on a trade route that once connected Italy and Spain. And long before Van Gogh fell in love with this evocative land, Emperor Constantine constructed a colossal palace, complete with extensive baths. Partial ruins of these, the Thermes de Constantine, still remain.

Once the social and political hub of this former Roman settlement, the cafe- and tree-lined Place du Forum is still the focal point of the city’s nightlife. A couple of columns from a 2nd century Roman temple are embedded in the exterior of the Grand Hotel Nord-Pinus that fronts this lively square.

But it’s Arles’ massive arch-ribboned amphitheater (Les Arenes) that’s the heart of any visit to this old city. Instead of the ubiquitous Roman blood sports, contemporary spectators can see traditional bullfights — obviously bloody in their own right — or the courses camarguaises where the bulls don’t meet their demise as the men (raseteurs) try to skillfully remove ribbons from the animal’s horns.


Source: bootsnall.com