My rental car swings into a spot outside the hotel and finally comes to rest. With the lights of oncoming traffic now gone, my eyes adjust to the darkness revealing a very old, architecturally glamorous bank in front of us.
Click play to watch
“Please tell me you sleep on money here, because I’m not sleeping in an old vault like that one time in Ottawa,” hissed my travel companion Erin.
“That was an old jail cell, not a bank, besides, this place looks ‘money’,” I chortled, my pun falling flat on the Roanoke, Virginia foot path as we gathered our belongings from the boot.
Much to Erin’s excitement, we’re soon checking into The Liberty Trust, a stunning old bank harking back to 1910 which has been converted into a luxurious boutique hotel with 54 huge rooms, right in the heart of downtown Roanoke. It’s a fine place to launch our expedition into the heart of America’s south.
At first, I didn’t trust the city of Roanoke. It didn’t fit the mould.
Aside from our quirky-hip hotel, the town was also full of pop up shops, farm-to-table restaurants and lively bars swimming in modern-American cocktail culture. Our first stop is Well Hung, a swanky winery offering frose on tap and amazing tuna tatar cocktail nibbles. Down the street we also find a black and white tiled alcoholic temple named Sidecar.
But the biggest surprise were the mouth treasures on offer at the farm fresh and regionally inspired River and Rail restaurant.
No, I didn’t trust Roanoke; this was (weirdly) an eclectic, modern town that still comfortably retained an old-school southern charm. As we walked the streets, it was not the South that I thought I knew.
Click play to watch
Rising with the sun, our goal is to take on the state’s famous Crooked Road; Virginia’s heritage music trail that takes you back in time to the birthplace of country music in the town of Bristol, a small city in the state’s Southwest.
But not before tackling the Treetop Quest at Explore Park where we’re set loose on an elaborate self-guided obstacle and zipline course high above the Virginia forest.
Coming down to earth, we’re then handed two innertubes by Roanoke Mountain Adventures allowing us to float effortlessly down the Roanoke river while still baking in the gloriously-strong southern heat.
Click play to watch
Having passed the physical, we barrel down U.S. Route 221 to the town of Floyd, which you hear well before you ever see. There is simply music everywhere in Floyd. In the evenings local families pour out onto the streets with their dulcimers, banjos and limberjacks (a type of percussion toy) to play old-timey country music that has generational roots in these parts.
The backbeat to this town is the old Country Store, which besides being an ice cream parlour, cafe and sundries shop is also a century old music venue. Rows of chairs support a sea of knee bouncing and thigh tapping locals who watch barefoot dancers stomp and whirl in a classic southern jamboree. Before we could make sense of this almost Hollywood-esque scene, we’re pulled into the pit and set in motion, learning that the only way to dance badly to this music is to decline the offer.
Desperately needing a drink, we continue our shindig into the Buffalo Mountain Brewpub, a charming log cabin that offers amazing craft beer and homemade nibbles. Stepping up a notch we then sniff out 5 Mile Mountain Distillery to try some of the famed moonshine found along this iconic stretch of southern road.
A long way from its underground, clandestine roots, the moonshine here is as refined as good bourbon, with fanciful flavours like saffron-infused corn whiskey and cool espresso ‘Moontini’ cocktails. To cap the night, we shed Floyd’s thick southern coat and slip into secret Lush Lounge.
After procuring a wooden ‘Buffalo’ nickel (five-cent coin) for the ancient coke machine masking a hidden door, the wall slides open to reveal a proper speakeasy from the turn of the century, slinging prohibition-style cocktails. Bartenders serve elevated smoked gin drinks for you to sip while exploring the themed rooms.
The next morning, hungover, we continue on the Crooked Road heading north over the Blue Ridge to the sleepy town of Tazewell. It’s here we have a date with a dragon.
Standing 10 metres high, this lava red lizard stands with its wings open and gnashing teeth.
Click play to watch
This scary monolith is the Back of the Dragon, which is a visitor centre marking the finish line of a 50 kilometre, stunningly beautiful, scenic road. Our host, Larry, greets us with an outstretched hand, dangling a small replica of the beast standing outside. It’s a key to the ridiculously mean looking Slingshot motorcycle parked out front.
We feed the dragon every day,” Larry warns. “But she’s always hungry. Be safe and don’t be a snack.
“We feed the dragon every day,” Larry warns. “But she’s always hungry. Be safe and don’t be a snack.”
Before we have time to let it sink in we’re tearing up the Back of the Dragon as if we’re on a driveable rollercoaster. Switchbacks follow chicanes and the Slingshot’s tires struggle to grip the immaculately paved road that Larry personally looks after to ensure guests are guaranteed a smooth ride.
Trading out our rocket for our rental barge, we head further down the Crooked Road to our final port. Bristol rises out of the green hills on the horizon like a ghost; a somewhat forgotten industrial town, it has a patina of well worn history that makes it perfect inspiration for a Bruce Springstein song.
In Bristol you can find the aptly named Birthplace of Country Music Museum which as you can imagine does a watertight job explaining how this deep Southern town is the true and only birthplace of country music and American culture. Irrespective of musical taste, Jazz, R&B, Rock, Rap, and all the culture that springs from popular music can be traced back to country music’s humble roots, and right to the town of Bristol.
“We’re close now,” I say with my hand grazing the side of the brick walled museum, “Carter is very close.”
“Who the hell is Carter?” Erin replies. She’s not buying into my over-dramatisations.
It was this history of A.P. Carter whom I was tasked with tracking down by the publisher of this story. I was to travel down the Crooked Road to find A.P. Carter’s historical roots in the Poor Valley region, just outside Bristol. If I made it there, I would find the roots of country music, and with it, the very basis for much of American culture.
To find Poor Valley we needed hand written directions, much like our headlights, the GPS was powerless against the darkness of the valley. And just when we thought we were lost, we saw a row of cars parked in darkness along the roadside. We’d found it.
We travel the rest of the way by foot as the twang of a string instrument lures us in the direction of a giant timber structure. We’d finally reached the Carter Family Fold.
Click play to watch
“Well well well, there you are,” a voice pops out from behind the fence. “You must be Roberto and Erin, how wonderful. I’m Rita, granddaughter of A.P. Carter.”
Rita pulls us inside the 800 person amphitheatre that’s filled to capacity. On stage the McLain Family Band croon, as a crowd of all ages dance up front.
She then opens up the museum just for us, and as she guides us in, instantly a fuse has been lit and there is no stopping the fireworks of family stories that explode out of her.
“On the left, that was A.P’s suit which he wore to the White House,” she recollected before pulling us even further back in time, showing us the actual log cabin that her grandfather was born in. “It happened right here, in this room.”
Her voice slowed in the moment. Immediately we felt the gravity of the place. We were standing on hallowed ground. Regardless of your appreciation for country music, A.P. Carter’s family recorded the first country album in 1929 in Bristol setting in motion an unstoppable wave of American culture and music revolution.
Rita was as proud as an American could be. It oozed from her pores. While I was born in New York City, I can’t say I’ve ever been proud to be an American. I was the American that travelled to Europe and pretended I was Canadian. It was here, the historical misgivings of the deep south, which was the major source of my shame.
I had one question that I knew only a Carter could truly answer with authority. “Rita, why are you proud to be an American?”
“Well,” she offered without pause, “America is so many things to so many people. I like to think I took a little bit of all the good stuff and that’s what makes me an American. And I love the way America has their arms wide open to everyone. That’s the way my family always was. That’s how we’ll always be. That’s being an American.”
As we leave, Rita hands us a colouring book from 1982 that has her family on the cover. It’s a nice gift and metaphor for this unexpected journey through Virginia. The dark, empty black line drawings on each page will now be filled with my own choice of colour.
This unexpected visit to a state I misunderstood has helped remind me exactly why I’m proud to be an American.
get in the know While well known for Moonshine, Virginia is actually the birthplace of American whiskey.
People walk slower in Darwin. That’s the big thing.
So says Dom, owner of an eponymously named bar in the northern suburb of Nightcliff, when asked to describe the vibe in Australia’s northernmost state capital.
And he’s right, people do cruise about the streets a little more leisurely than in the southern cities, making it easy to feel a sense of ease and relaxation. You can feel it at the laidback pubs in the city centre and surrounding islands (both river and ocean) where the beer is cold and everyone talks to each other. Or at the markets that run from late afternoon until evening, where people stroll about in balmy weather and talk about the sunset.
But there’s also a new side to Darwin popping up; a thriving metropolitan scene of delicious food, speakeasy-themed bars and laneway cocktail joints with DJs and poetry nights. It’s not the Darwin you’ve heard of, but part of a new nightlife that seems to incorporate the best of the old and the new. And its one that you need to come and see.
Here’s get lost’s guide to a night out in Darwin in 2022:
Yes, you read that right. Darwinians sure do things differently.
It’s a pub crawl, with the difference being you’re ‘crawling’ along at 180kph in a helicopter a few thousand feet in the air over mango farms, savannahs, creeks and billabongs.
The chopper stops along the way at three truly outback pubs so you can quench your thirst and spin a few yarns with the locals, like modern day crocodile whisperer ‘King’ Kai Hansen on the ramshackle Goat Island Lodge – literally an island in the middle of croc infested Adelaide River.
The highlight is arguably landing on the majestic Crab Claw Island, where you step out onto the palm-tree laden beach, up the stairs and to the beer garden where an ice-cold Great Northern awaits – it might just be the most badass beer you ever have.
Airborne Solutions – 557 Stuart Highway, Winnellie
There’s sunsets, and then there’s Darwin sunsets. And the best place to see the unique haze of yellow and red of the Top End is the iconic Darwin Ski Club, situated perfectly on the edge of the picturesque Fannie Bay.
In true Darwin style, stroll slowly with a cold beer in the lush, green beer garden and take in the sounds of the Ski Club, which will likely comprise of two things: a talented band playing catchy folk music on stage, and a round of applause that greets the end of every sunset, a quirky trait probably unique to Darwin.
Getting hungry? Darwin’s proximity to Asia means there are no shortage of excellent food options around the city, and the best of these is Little Miss Korea – the brainchild of Head Chef Chung Jae Lee.
Lee was brought up in the hustle and bustle of Mapo District, Seoul, the birthplace of Korean Barbeque. Inside a slightly industrial setting in the city centre, cook your own Korean Barbeque just to your liking, or have Lee and his chefs prepare one of his recommendations: six-hour slow-cooked beef cheeks, sweetly glazed pork belly or one of several delicious kinds of Bibimbap.
Head next door to Charlie’s of Darwin, where you’ll find yourself starting to move a bit faster.
Charlie’s is an upmarket gin and cocktail bar where plush leather upholstery and quirky art fills the interior, and a leafy garden terrace with Japanese style lanterns lies out the back. As well as producing a delicious gin made almost completely from local ingredients, Charlie’s is famed for its cocktails; sweet tooths will unite over the Freeman Sour – 12-year-old Canadian Club combined with maple syrup, rosemary, lemon juice, aquafaba and topped with a flamed marshmallow. Drool.
It’s time for a little hanky panky. And more cocktails.
Around the corner from Charlie’s, on one of Darwin’s busiest streets, is a nondescript black door which hides one of this city’s best-kept secrets. Inside is a dimly lit, lushly furnished New York-style speakeasy bar, with smartly dressed bartenders who really know what they’re doing.
This is the sort of place you might dive into a DNM, or whisper sweet nothings over candlelight to that someone special, while sipping one of several extravagant cocktails that are on an impressively extensive list.
There’s the bar’s namesake, the Hanky Panky, which is gin, sweet vermouth, Fernet-Branca and orange slice served on ice, or the truly over-the-top (and truly delicious) take on a Daiquiri: pampero blanco rum, grapefruit oleo saccharum, lime and topped with a perfume-infused flavour blaster bubble, which is mandatory to kiss.
With a few cocktails under your belt, it’s time to find a vibe. Get in an Uber and follow the neon-pink signage that says ‘Dom’s’ – a chic bar and creative hub located in an arcade laneway in the northern suburb of Nightcliff. When get lost visited there was a poetry slam taking place, and champagne tuk-tuk rides from the bar and down to the nearby waterfront.
Grab the hand of that someone special you found at Hanky Panky and bring them here for a boogie – DJs are regulars on Saturday nights here, throwing down cool tunes that often result in the dancefloor spilling out into the adjacent laneway.
With drinks now flowing like the rivers of Babylon, flow downtown yourself to the bar Babylon, where boogying into the night is a given. This place fills up, with the quirky, but unpretentious booths and couches that fill the venue making it feel as if you’re at a really, really good house party.
Be sure to dance the night away here, burning the calories of all those beers and cocktails so that you don’t have to get up early for a workout the next morning
“What’s your pain level?” asks Dr Burke, resplendent in full PPE. “It’s pretty high,” I whisper through a fog of morning death breath. “Between one and 10, 10 being the highest,” continues the good doctor. “Eleven,” I cry through a stifled dry wretch.
Sixteen hours earlier, just after midday, we’d landed in Sin City, Lost Wages, City of Second Chances, Las Vegas baby, and we were primed – primed to test Dr Jason Burke and his business Hangover Heaven, a mobile IV clinic claiming to cure even the greatest of brown bottle flus. This was an assignment I was born for.
We offload our bags at the MGM Grand and quickly get down to business. It’s pushing 2pm and the doctor is booked for 9am the following morning. Factoring in the need for a few hours’ sleep (Hangover Heaven will not treat those still intoxicated), I figure we have about 12 hours to imbibe all Vegas has to offer. My wife seems concerned with my sudden and unusual dedication to work.
First stop is the Wet Republic pool party. If it’s good enough for Prince Harry it’s good enough for me, and I’ve heard the drinks are particularly potent. We down four red concoctions in the first hour and I find myself dancing in the pool to the deep beats of a distant DJ while desperately trying not to let any water splash into my drink.
I’m easily the oldest in a crowd of deeply tanned, surgically-enhanced people.
“And your nausea levels?” asks Dr Burke. “Again, between one and 10?” “Is it an automatic 10 if I’ve already thrown up?” “No,” he answers. “Depends on how many times.”
We depart Wet Republic when I can’t stomach another red cocktail. I’ve also been in the pool so long I look like I’m deflating. I’d read about the legendary off-strip bar called Freakin’ Frog, famous not only for being the birthplace of Las Vegas rockers The Killers, but also for having 200 beers on tap. In other words, it’s the perfect second stop.
We stumble out of a taxi and into the bar at sunset. It’s a quiet afternoon and we get chatting to Donnie behind the bar. He hasn’t heard of Hangover Heaven, but his eyes light up when I explain my assignment.
“Dude, you know we got the goddam largest whiskey collection in the US right here?!”
I mention I can’t see a whiskey bottle anywhere in the bar. He laughs and pours me a second pint of an eight per cent double IPA. “Finish that,” he says, “and follow me. We’re goin’ to the attic.”
Donnie lines up six shots of various whiskies. We’re in what can only be described as a whiskey lover’s dream. Every wall is floor-to ceiling whiskey bottles. After my fourth the walls start to move. After the sixth I recall Hunter S Thompson in his classic novel Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas crying out, “You better take care of me Lord, if you don’t, you’re gonna have me on your hands.”
“If you can just sign here,” says the doctor, “we can get started.” His assistant is attaching an oxygen line to my nostrils and tapping the vein on my right arm. “I think you’re going to need two bags of fluid,” says the doc, looking through his notes. “You’ve had a pretty good go at it.”
Things get hazy after the Frog. We’re back on the Strip, it’s well into the night, the lights are bright and there is a stand selling a litre of frozen margarita in a plastic replica Eiffel Tower. I love the Vegas Strip. It is a roll call of the absurd. There’s a beggar with a sign asking for “Money for my Asian Bride”, and a toothless woman holding a cat wearing a singlet. There’s a woman on a scooter with a margarita on a sling around her neck and a bucket of chicken in her scooter basket. She manages to eat, drink, drive and be merry all at once.
I think we eat, but I can’t be sure. I remember The Cosmopolitan’s fancy stores and restaurants. I recall a giant shoe in the entrance and my wife sitting in it. We dance to duelling pianos at New York New York Casino and stumble back to the MGM Grand just after midnight.
That should have been enough but, no, on the walk through the casino I find myself at a sports bar ordering another pint and explaining to the bartender I need one last kick before bed.
“Ha, you’ll never fix this Hangover Heaven!” I say out loud as he lines up two shots of Fireball to complement the beer.
It takes Dr. Burke a couple of goes to find my vein and blood is spilled. Not an ideal start, but the oxygen starts to work and, as the first bag of fluid drains, the doctor adds a cocktail of pain killers and anti-inflammatories.
“Real hangovers need real medicine,” he says. After about 20 minutes I am surprised to feel almost normal. My puffy eyes have opened, the nausea is gone, my appetite has returned and, after brushing my tongue, my breath is serviceable.
“What’s the worst you’ve seen, Doc?” I ask.
He tells me of a middle-aged woman who’d come to Vegas after her fourth child left home:
“It was her first vacation without the kids and she went real, real hard. When I got to her she was bringing up bile. She’d been like that for half the day. It took a few hours, but we got her back. She even had a glass of wine that night.”
And that is why Vegas loves the good doctor. There are loose units who come out of the blocks too hard on the first day of their three night trip and end up in the foetal position in their hotel rooms for the next 48 hours.
“They ain’t spending anything anywhere any more,” he says. “I get them back in the game.”
Later that afternoon we’re strolling the Strip with a spring in our step. There’s a beer stand with a special on a two-litre bucket of Bud.
“Why not?” I ask my wife, as she rolls her eyes. Back in the game indeed, Dr Burke.
“You know this road is very dangerous? Many, many elephants along here…sometimes they crush tuk-tuk,” said my driver J.J, as we drove along the tuk-tuk crushing elephant road in a tuk-tuk.
Unsure whether to be more nervous about why he said ‘many’ twice, or the emphasis and even delight with which he delivered the word ‘crush’, I tried to think instead about the end result; ‘Secret Point’ was the destination, a supposedly delicious surf break about 40 minutes’ drive north of Arugam Bay on Sri Lanka’s east coast.
A ‘secret’ break brings with it a healthy dose of scepticism – especially when tuk-tuk drivers know where it is.
But coming over the crest of the sandy hill I found the water, at two in the afternoon, completely vacant. And although they weren’t completely clean waves on this day, having a decent break all to yourself is like a dream. Welcome to Sri Lanka’s east.
**
Earlier in the day I lay like a crescent in a hammock out the front of the Cuban-style arched-roof cabana I was staying, and entered the Wi-Fi password into my iPhone: Keepsmile2022.
To keep smiling is something Sri Lankans have certainly had to remember over the past few years, with COVID and an economic crisis making life exceptionally difficult for the 25 million beautiful, laconic people that call this gorgeous subcontinent island nation home.
I imagine this to be what travelling the sub-continent would have been like in the 1980s, when Australians first came across waves at Arugam Bay, then a tiny fishing village. This industry still chugs along – the smell of freshly caught kingfisher and snapper wafts pleasantly along the main street at night, and colourful boats line the foreshore in-town.
Tourism boomed in Sri Lanka after the civil war ended in 2009, and you can tell that this place has been brimming with western travellers in the past – there are shops, bars and tuk-tuk drivers to take you from beach to beach. It is no secret, but the relaxed vibe that courses through the veins of the entire country surely peaks in Arugam Bay.
Sri Lankans ride (slowly) three at a time on single-seat bicycles, dishing out shakas and high-fives, and a very stoned Tony Armstrong lookalike serves me a delicious mango smoothie with the most gigantic smile I’ve ever seen in my life.
Having not been for a surf in almost a year, I was a little wary when I strolled down to the Main Point with Orry, a tan Israeli man with very impressive facial hair.
“What is the phrase in English?” he queried. “Is like bike. You remember it like a bike.”
Located just off the main road, Main Point is the busiest of the East Coast’s breaks, but at sunrise only a mere handful made the effort. Though it begins to crowd as the day wears on, multiple sections mean there is enough space for everyone to get on the slow, crumbly wave that seems to echo this place’s cruisy approach to life.
On get lost’s first night in Arugam Bay, a local band threw down both local bangers and classic western anthems at the trendy Surf and Sun bar on the main strip, a mushroom themed night. All sorts of mushrooms from a nearby jungle were on display for smelling and tasting and ask at the bar for ‘the chemist’ and you shall receive mushroom-infused cocktail – not the sort you’re thinking of.
Another 20 minutes north (halfway to Secret Point) is Peanut Farm, a truly stunning beach, lined with palm trees and with another cruisy right-hander off some large rocks.
A few hours further north is Pasikudah – a sleepy fishing town located at the centre of a large bay. From the vantage point of Maalu Maalu Resort’s private beach, it is possible to walk 500 metres out into the (what sea?) and still have your head above water.
Maalu Maalu’s ocean villas are literally eight steps from your bed to the beach…maybe nine or ten if you’re a little bit shorter. This town is the perfect place to unwind and take it easy, but then again you could say that about the entire country.
These are the stories that for one reason or another got under our skin, and made us want to jump on a plane or a ship or a blimp or a penny-farthing and get to that destination.
“I love it when a story makes you think twice, or differently, about a place. And that’s what the Darwin After Dark feature did for me.
“I’ve never had much interest in exploring Darwin itself — having always been a little more preoccupied with getting out of Darwin, to places like Kakadu or Litchfield NP. But after seeing Tim take a helicopter pub crawl around the Top End, all my anti-Darwin sentiments disappeared. Someone send the chopper, ASAP.”
**
Justin Jamieson – Publisher:
A New Dawn for Sunrise Country by Jeremy Drake and Rob La Terra
“The combination of Jez Drake’s evocative narrative and stunning photography with Rob La Terra’s epic footage opened my eyes further to a part of Australia I have wanted to return to for over ten years.
“The characters and culture of the Yolngu people are so rich and I really felt a strong connection from this feature. It reminded me that there are so many epic experiences in our own back yard that I’ve too often travelled overseas to seek.”
“I love hearing about new places. And when we sent Rob La Terra to Vanua Levu – a group of tiny islands in the South Pacific – I can hold my hand to my heart and admit that I’d never fucking heard of this place.
“But after reading about Rob’s ridiculous adventure, diving, trekking and singing with locals, and seeing the crispness of the imagery he captured, it did what all good travel stories do: it made me want to put on an out-of-office and get onto the first wobbly Cessna 172 heading in that general direction. Bula!”
You’re not supposed to play favourites, we get that. But let’s face it – we all have a favourite kid.
Or favourite sibling, or pet, or whatever.
And at get lost, despite frothing everything that we’ve shared over an epic year of travel – we definitely have our favourites too.
Over the next few weeks we’ll be sharing our favourite discoveries of 2022. These are the best of the best – epic experiences, places and more that made the world a brilliant place to travel.
And we’re starting with accommodation. So without further ado, (drumroll please) here are our picks for the most extraordinary new stays featured across our digital editions in 2022:
Tayla Gentle, Editor
Winner: Hirado Castle, Japan
Without a doubt the Weird & Wonderful that got me most stoked this year was Nagasaki’s, Hirado Castle. I mean, it’s an actual castle! A castle that at some point probably, most definitely (maybe fact check this for me) housed samurai warriors! Inside it’s super minimalist and elegant in most Japanese way, plus you don’t have to share it with other guests—there’s a two person capacity. Intimate.
Boabs and mangroves and whale sharks, oh my! This incredible Tanzanian treehouse was meticulously handcrafted using traditional tools and materials sourced directly from the island. Responsibly made and paradisiacal, win win.
It’s hard to beat a private island lost in the Pacific with all the luxuries you could ask for. The rest of the world simply wouldn’t matter (or even exist). With all the water toys to play with you could spend your days doing as much above and below the clear blue ocean or simply while away the days on a hammock… with a cocktail!
Honourable mention: AuroraHut Glass Igloo Pods, Finland
I love the fact these Igloo pods are mobile and can be moved to the best vantage point for Aurora spotting. The fact they also float sets you up for a perfect night out on the lake star gazing.
The word unique is grossly overused in travel writing, a contradictory buzzword that was banned from get lost’s offices for a time.
Kruger Shalati gets the nod as my #1 accommodation of the year as there really is nowhere else like it – it really is unique. It’s a luxury, disused train sitting still, suspended on the Selati Bridge in South Africa’s famous Kruger National Park. Floating in the serene swimming pool while the Sabie River teems with crocodiles and hippos below you, knowing that the world’s most exciting wildlife is a short drive away, is a magical moment.
Banul Munyarryun, a softly spoken ranger from the Dhalinybuy homeland, beckons me to sit beside him beneath a makeshift tin shelter. His hand movements are the ubiquitous signal in these parts for ‘storytime’.
We’re deep down one of the Mars-like red dirt roads of East Arnhem Land in Australia’s Northern Territory – right on the banks of the fertile Cato River that flows into Arnhem Bay.
Because we’re off the coast, it’s oppressively hot. Sweat pours from my brow and my shirt sticks to my back, but beneath the heaving canopy of Stringybark trees a light breeze still envelopes the land, somehow cutting through the thick humidity and tickling my skin.
As he begins his story, Banul’s voice seems to magically quell the environment around us. Almost like he’s an orchestral conductor, syncing up with the tone of the bush and swaying branches. I’m instantly more relaxed in his presence while listening to his story, despite also being fixated on a face weathered, scarred and wrinkled with years of obvious struggle and time.
“When more tourists come here, they will be welcome,” Banul says to me with the sort of wide-eyed reverence and enthusiasm you might come to expect from a hotel marketing manager and not a local Indigenous elder. Just 50-metres to his right sits proud Yolŋu-man, Buwathay ‘Kevin’ Munyarryun. If ranger Banul is the marketing manager around here, Kevin is the regional visionary and owner of Liya Wanhurr Camping and Tours. He’s also the ‘T.O’ or ‘Traditional Owner’ who has agreed to host us in his homeland.
This existing campsite is the spot where Kevin has dreams to build an eco-lodge. With Banul, he talks to me about his plans for a plunge pool, a BP service station for passers-by on the Central Arnhem Highway and a barramundi fishing charter business.
Aspiration doesn’t come easy in a place like this. Located more than 650 kilometres east of Darwin, there’s currently just one road into the town of Nhulunbuy from Katherine and on a good day the drive along the Highway can take as long as 14-hours.
But if anything, Kevin and Banul’s willingness to even have us in their Homeland – to watch them perform a bunggul (traditional dance) and walk us around their community – is just the start of a huge social and economic upheaval we’re privileged to witness as visiting media on behalf of local government authorities and the Northern Land Council.
Despite a history dating back 60,000 years (making East Arnhem Land one of the most culturally significant regions in Australia) its tourism infrastructure and population has been shaped by a more modern and at times, controversial mining history dating back to the 1960s.
“These future plans are for my family, this is for our future,” Kevin remarks on his tourism vision for the campsite. He speaks with such promise, but he’s actually referring to what is a very uncertain future in the region without mining giant Rio Tinto, who, despite making record windfalls for decades from their bauxite mine and refinery (bauxite being the raw ingredient used in the production of aluminium), are leaving East Arnhem Land for good.
Rio Tinto stopped refining bauxite at their Gove plant in 2014, and according to Developing East Arnhem Limited (DEAL) there’s still an indiscriminate timeline on exactly when they will fully withdraw. But it will be soon. And Kevin knows the end is fast approaching.
These future plans are for my family, this is for our future.
As I’m sitting watching yet another impossibly beautiful sunset over the old, decaying refinery from the lawn of the Gove Boat Club, it’s hard to envisage exactly what the town of Nhulunbuy will look like when Rio eventually pulls both their people and their cash.
There’s not much here anyway except for a handful of motels, a pub, a golf course and the Boat Club where we’re sitting. But as the kids of locals dart around the Club’s perfectly manicured lawn, while yachts bob in the distance and families laugh together over cold beers and hearty pub fare, there’s a familiar aura of tropical Australiana-paradise without the stench of over tourism.
The potential for East Arnhem Land to become another booming regional tourism centre in northern Australia, just like Cairns in Queensland, is not lost on representatives from DEAL or local tourism operators like Shane ‘Obi’ Kenobi from OBJ Fishing Adventures.
In many ways, Shane embodies the seismic change here and is embracing the socio-economic shift to tourism with gusto.
He’s a local legend, and while his nickname was born from convenience, he really is the Jedi of fishing on the Gove peninsula. Working as a fitter and turner at the refinery for 25-years before ‘retiring’ and starting a local fishing charter business was not because Rio Tinto were leaving, but because of the obvious surging tourism industry and constant stream of 4WDs he’d witnessed pouring into the region. The pandemic didn’t slow it down either; if anything it shone a light on the booming popularity of Australia’s final frontier.
Early one morning, as we cruise out together over a glassy turquoise bay towards one of Shane’s secret spots in the Granite Islands, the hot Arnhem sun rising on our backs, there’s something poetic about the rusting hulk of metal on the horizon behind us where he no longer needs to work to earn a living. We bait our hooks together and watch as a school of tropical fish hug the hull of our boat and pods of snub-nosed dolphins break the perfectly still water with their strangely shaped faces in poetic unison. We catch nothing worth mentioning in this article, but that’s not the point.
The same hope for an Arnhem Land buoyed by tourism is held by Territorian husband and wife duo, Helen Martin and Trevor Hosier who recently redeveloped Banubanu Eco-Resort, a tropical beachfront glamping experience on Bremner Island – about a 40 minute boat ride from the mainland. Idyllic, low impact and luxurious in every sense of the word, the retreat with its own protected bay offers the simple pleasures of space, time and an escape from the modern world.
Most locals up here are scared of the water (rightly so given the size of the saltwater crocodiles and near invisible box jellyfish and irukandji), but Helen assures me in all her years standing on the beach of Bremner she’s only ever seen three crocs. The water is so tempting, that’ll do me for assurances: then I dive into the Bahamas-like water for a swim.
AU$180m was committed by the previous Federal Government and AU$50m by the Northern Territory Government to improve sections of the Central Arnhem Road and DEAL (which now has 8 dedicated staff) was established to help guide the economic goals of the region into the future.
More excitingly, just three weeks after my visit, 70 scientists and engineers from NASA descended on Nhulunbuy to put the final touches on a rocket launchpad on the outskirts of the town. The region’s weather and proximity to the equator makes it perfect for small rocket missions carrying satellites.
Couple this exciting investment alongside the Buku Larrŋgay Mulka Centre, which features both the Yirrkala Art Centre (considered to be the number one Yolŋu contemporary art space in northern Australia) and the Mulka Project next door – a digital art production studio – which has exhibited their work at the Sydney Biennale and even hosted Apple’s global marketing team in 2021.
Click play to watch
Even Kevin from the Dhalinybuy community sells his work at Yirrkala. His self-titled album can also be found on Spotify, instantly transporting you back to his homeland and the banks of the Cato:
In Yolŋu, the word Buku-Larrnggay translates to “the feeling on your face as the first rays of the sun touch it”, something that you can only experience in this part of the Top End which is also known as Miwatj, meaning ‘Sunrise Country’.
After learning about both Buku-Larrnggay and Miwatj while browsing carvings and screen printings at Yirrkala, it’s something I decided I wanted to experience myself while I’m in East Arnhem Land.
Early one morning I hop out of bed and hike along the sand towards the top of East Woody Beach, watching out for crocs who might also be there to catch the same early morning warmth. Scaling damp granite boulders, some as big as small cars, I realise only once I’m at the top that I’m not alone.
But it’s not crocodiles for company though, but instead a nice mix of locals and tourists all standing in anticipation with their faces edging towards the morning glow. Within minutes, the sun breaks the horizon and at once the dozen spectators all fall silent.
With our eyes now all closed, the sun hits our faces and a new dawn breaks, hurtling Australia’s final tourism frontier one more day towards a new and exciting future.
get in the know At just under 100,000 square kilometres, Arnhem Land is roughly the size of Iceland.
The Age of the Digital Nomad is one of the exciting developments post COVID19 lockdowns and restrictions, allowing you to have a source of income in your favourite holiday location.
Many countries have created their own versions of a ‘Digital Nomad Visa’ following the huge hit the tourism industry faced during the pandemic. These Visas are designed to encourage visitors to stay longer than a few weeks, with most a year long and extendable.
Here’s five of the best places around the world to work from home:
Mdina – The silent city of Malta
The silent city Mdina is the ideal place to work from home, your work won’t be interrupted by the sounds of traffic or tourists. Cars are very limited and visitors are expected to respect the quiet of the city.
The ancient city of Mdina was once the capital of Malta and earned its name of the silent city when the capital was moved into what is modern day Vittoriosa.
You could enjoy your lunch break on foot walking amongst ancient walls and admiring the panoramic views of the island.
Malta has 5G connection and a Nomad Residence Permit that would allow you to live there for a year.
Budapest – Hungary
Budapest is a lively and beautiful city, perfect for working overseas.
Affordable rentals are available for around $600 a month.
Party at night at the famous Ruin bars and recover in the Széchenyi Thermal baths, or explore outside the city and get a train to Lake Balaton which is the largest lake in central Europe.
The Digital Nomad Visa for Hungary is known as the White Card – The White Card does not allow families or couples, it is targeted to singles under 40s.
Bali – Indonesia
It is the dream of many to leave the office and work poolside in a Villa in Bali; the possible rentals and accommodation are beautiful and affordable.
The Digital Nomad Visa currently allows people to work tax free for 6 months in Bali, there are discussions of making this Visa more long term, potentially up to 5 years.
After your work is finished for the day you could explore sea life while snorkelling in Bali’s Blue Lagoon or go hiking and swimming in the Sekumpul Waterfall.
Greece – Kefalonia
Greece, known for its beautiful weather and all-day, every-day gyros policy, has its own Digital Nomad Visa that will allow you to work and live on the mainland or islands for up to three years.
The Island of Kefalonia is one of the peaceful Ionian islands that isn’t overcooked with travellers, even during the Summer months.
After work you could go swimming in the warm ocean and then head up from the beach as the sun sets and eat gemista (stuffed red peppers) in one of the local taverns.
Get to the crazy beautiful Melissani cave on your off days, one of the special attractions to Kefalonia.
… of old culture and new culture, Edo-era architecture and futuristic new buildings, traditional food and delicious new styles of cuisine, hidden bars, laneways and 37 million people. And while this patchwork of lanterns and busy intersections, high-rise buildings and people (so many people) is intoxicating and exciting, it’s not absurd to crave some fresh air sometimes. Fortunately, there’s all that in Greater Tokyo too.
Who knew that travelling an hour in the right direction would bring you to a volcano? To world class surf breaks? To mountains, forests, rivers and remote beauty?
Within an hour of Tokyo to the west is the Tama region: Where mountains melt into glacial waters, flowing as rivers through gorges and making fresh water to go with the fresh countryside air.
An hour’s flight to the south-east will bring you to the extraordinary (and mostly unknown) Izu Islands: a series of tiny, stunning islands where any adventure feels possible. It’s easy to find thrills in this part of the world, but it seems just as easy to chill, as well.
We’ve found seven genuinely awesome adventurous outdoor experiences that are all within cooee of the capital. And because this is Japan, we’ve paired those with seven nearby experiences where you can wind down, and take it easy afterward.
For more than just the epic chaos of the famous bright lights of Shibuya or Shinjuku, be sure to add the peace and tranquillity of the outdoors to your Tokyo adventure.
Mt Hachijo-Fuji gets its name from the very famous mountain in central Japan, which it bears an uncanny resemblance to. Climb to the 854 metre, cone-shaped summit through (slightly random for a mountain) cattle-grazing pastures and a small dairy farm. Explore the epic volcano crater at the top, and take in the views from the highest spot in the Tokyo Islands.
RELAX | BATHE IN THE NATURAL SPRINGS AT THE VOLCANO BASE
Being a volcano, the area is naturally pretty volcanic (who would have thought) which means there are natural springs bubbling away beneath ground. There’s a bunch of onsens (a Japanese hot spring) warmed by natural thermal springs to choose from on the island and while they’re all great spots to unwind and relax after a hard day of volcano hiking, Miharashi-no-Yu is the pick.
From Tokyo: The Akigawa Valley is a one-hour train ride from the centre of Tokyo, or about one episode of Tokyo Vice.
MAX | CYCLING AKIGAWA VALLEY
It is difficult to believe that within an hour of hopping on a train in the unmitigated frenzy that is Tokyo Station, you could end up in the lush greenery of the Akigawa Valley. Let clean air fill your lungs as you pedal through a new, purpose-built cycling route, a relatively short (20 kilometre) but steep route amongst mountains, rivers, forests and gorges.
Calves burning and bum hurting? You’ve earnt a sake, my friend. Nearby Ozawa Brewery’s sake is brewed with clear, clean water straight from the Okutama river and mountainside. Creaking wooden floorboards and old-school wooden shelves piled high with bottles of sake will make you feel as if you’re in Ollivander’s Wand Shop from Harry Potter, but it’s not purely for looks: this brewery has been around since 1702.
From Tokyo: Niijima Island is a 40-minute flight from Tokyo, or a little longer than one episode of Iron Chef.
MAX | TOKYO’S SECRET SURFING ISLAND
Japan mightn’t be the first place you think of when it comes to getting barrelled and stoked, but that’s only because you haven’t heard of Niijima Island. With a population of less than 3,000, there’s around 10 uncrowded breaks on the island for surfers of all experience and ability. White sand and emerald green water make these picture perfect, postcard-like waves that also happen to spurt out barrels on a consistent basis. Start practising those shakas.
Sunamushi translates to ‘sand steam’. Whereas surfing is a relatively new activity in these parts, this is a practice that has been taking place for at least 300 years. Due to the volcanic activity, the sand is naturally hot (around 50-55 degrees Celsius). After you lay down in a special robe at Sunamushi Mamashita, staff will promptly bury you in sand the way you did to your younger sibling on the beach as a kid. Relax, and let the sand do the work. It’s said to be four times more effective than a normal hot spring.
From Tokyo: Oshima Island is just a 25 minutes flight from Tokyo … not even enough time for an episode of Pokémon.
MAX | EXPLORE TOKYO’S DESERT
Who the hell knew there was a desert in Japan, let alone in Greater Tokyo? Certainly not us, but we’re into it. Ura-Sabaku Desert on Izu Ōshima is an otherworldly spot covered in small black volcanic rocks that give you the feeling you’re on Mars, rather than half an hour away from Tokyo. Explore a spot that is not only unlike anywhere in Japan, but unlike anywhere else on the planet.
The term ‘nightlife’ means something different on Ōshima. Explore Earth’s own Mars during the day, and then look up at the real thing at night, admiring the crystal clear skies that have yet to feel the effects of pollution. Curl up under a blanket and listen to a local astronomer talk you through the magic of the night sky.
From Tokyo: The Tama region is a one-hour train ride from the centre of Tokyo, or about half of the latest remake of Godzilla.
MAX | TAKE ON MT TAKAO
Some of the best hiking and outdoor activities in Japan are in the Tama region, an hour’s train trip west of Tokyo. Mt Takao is one of these. Hike the stunning trail to the top, where you can grab a beer at the all-you-can-eat and all-you-can-drink Beer Mount which hangs over the edge. Depending on how many you end up having, the trip back down may go a lot faster or a lot slower.
Circus Outdoor wants to “create the world’s most beautiful outdoor field in Tokyo’s secret forest”. They’re on their way too because this place looks legit. Circus Outdoor was named as it feels, as you wander between circus tents overlooking the beautiful hills of the Tama region. Vintage furniture fills every tent, and you can lash out and hire a butler too, which is pretty wild.
From Tokyo: Hopping on a plane will get you there in 55 minutes, or about two episodes of Naruto.
MAX | REEL ONE IN …
If you’re an adventurous angler, then this is for you. The reward for fishing in such a remote and unique location is access to fish that you may never get on the end of your line again again. It’s easy to find someone to tailor a charter boat to meet your needs, and the Hachiojima Fishing Club also loans out gear to help you catch that monster tuna.
Fish doesn’t get much fresher than when you catch it and eat it the same day. If you manage to reel one in, head to the village to learn ‘himono’: the Japanese style of gutting, drying and then grilling fish. It always tastes better when you catch it yourself.
From Tokyo: O.K, this one isn’t quite within an hour. It’s actually closer than some of the other Tokyo Islands, but can only be reached by a ferry, which takes about 24 hours. The ferry is more than comfortable, though, and the 24 hours are so worth it once you’re there drinking rum. Buy a second bottle for the return trip.
MAX | DIVE THE ASIAN GALAPAGOS
Due to how uninhibited the ‘Asian Galapagos’ has been, divers who make it to the islands of the Ogasawara archipelago (also known as the Bonin Islands) will be stunned with the vibrancy of the hard, healthy coral reef that exists. Dive alongside tropic fish, whales and dolphins…but be sure to stay away from the endemic Tiger Sharks.
They do things differently here, something that’s also not restricted to fermentation techniques. Since 2014, Rum has been aged underwater here, a process inspired by delicious tasting wine found in sunken shipwrecks around the world. Enjoy an Ogasawara Rum at the Le Ciel drinking hut on Hahajima Island…’fresh’ (kind-of) from the sea bed.
Please visit the Official Tokyo Guide for COVID-19 Health & Safety Information: Gotokyo.org/en/
We haven’t even left the ground at Punta Arenas in southern Chile before we’re given a taste of the element that dominates at the end of the world. “Hang on to your sunglasses,” the airport staff had warned before we’d left the terminal to walk across the tarmac. “What, the wind is going to blow them off my face?” I’d scoffed disbelievingly. “It might,” he nodded.
Welcome to Patagonia. We’re headed for Isla Navarino, an hours-flight south that will take us below 50 degrees of latitude (cue the Furious 50s) and drop us off a mere three-days by cruise ship away from Antarctica, the windiest place on the planet. Once there we will hike the Dientes de Navarino. For five days. Sleeping in a tent.
The Dientes de Navarino could fairly be claimed as the world’s southern-most trek. While the famous Torres del Paine national park, 600km north, attracts around 250,000 visitors every year, Navarino welcomes a tiny fraction of that figure and only around 600 of them will hike the trail. There are no refugios here with cosy beds and hot showers at day’s end. The 53km Dientes route offers the landscape raw, as nature intended.
The plane whips with a tailwind across the snow-dusted peaks of the Darwin Range and the Beagle Channel to land at Puerto Williams behind which a jagged row of rocky snow-capped ‘teeth’ (‘dientes’ in Español) stand proud of forested green mountains. They’re not especially high – Picacho Diente is the tallest at 1118 metres – but the treeline at this latitude falls at around 600 metres which means hikers here face all the challenges of exposure and the weather that comes with it.
Our team comprises five hikers plus two guides, a cook and two porters from Chile Nativo. Within hours we’re on the trail and there is no gentle introduction. A 900-metre climb begins in muddy beech forest strung with moss and leafy lichens. Above the tree line, we hike open scree to traverse around the edge of a mountain, the terrain angled at 45 degrees with only a boots-width cutting through dumps of snow.
The stunning views are a powerful distraction from the business of walking but when I pause to rummage in my pack for some gloves to protect against the icy wind, porter Christobal advises, with a measure of seriousness, against lingering. We need to descend to camp.
Aside from the rugged terrain and 2.7 vertical kilometres to be climbed, it’s the elements that make this hike so challenging – the cold, snow and omnipresent wind. “You have to zip up your pockets otherwise everything flies away,” Gonzalo explains. “Anything you put on the ground you must pin down with a rock. Sometimes you talk and nobody hears you so you have to yell. It’s challenging but you get used to it.”
The relative shelter of Laguna Salto, cupped by the towering Dientes, is camp for the first night. The ground is boggy from snowmelt. Sporadic beech trees stand twisted and stunted like bonsai and waterfalls cascade into a lake fringed in ice floes. It’s stunning.
Our guides get busy preparing dinner – vegetable soup with king crab, a specialty of the region. Though we are each carrying most of our gear (food excluded) porter Pascal has been tasked with heroically carrying our quality but weighty tents. With all waste needing to be carried out of the wilderness area, Christobal has drawn the short straw, packing a toilet tent and its soon-to-accumulate contents. Our crap will be sealed in plastic bags before storage in a barrel labeled “Pirotecnicos” – presumably so no poor sucker will attempt to open it.
If the Dientes are teeth, on day two we floss them, our route cutting a high path between the towers. Traversing a high snow-covered valley, the striations in the rock faces looming over us appearing like the crimped folds of a merino’s fleece. A short side trip overlooks two frozen lakes, cracked and fringed in pale blue.
Gonzalo has issued us with spikes for our boots but, with the sun out, the snow is soft enough not to need them. Still, the trail runs perilous at times as it crests three passes and sidles across snow-covered slopes that fall away to jumbled rock and wind-whipped lakes.
Clouds move quickly, casting shadows that speed across the land. The wind is a bully that shoves suddenly and randomly, and on Paso Australia it’s so strong that I’m blown onto my butt. But guide Matias embraces the wind, seeing it as a challenge from God. “Try me! That’s all you’ve got?” he laughs, shaking a clenched fist at the sky.
It means that nothing lasts long here. Weather shifts from bright sunshine to frigid hail and back again within minutes. But even with the sun out, it’s rarely warm. Daytime temperatures in the summer hiking season waver between three and eleven degrees but the wind chill makes it feel much colder.
Though conditions are challenging, the rewards are high. An afternoon walk up Mt Bettinelli, a shale covered plateau, offers immense views of the Dientes and beyond to Cape Horn, the famed headland where the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans collide in an often angry flexing of power.
It’s a remarkable landscape and every day gives our cameras a serious workout. We crest passes and descend into valleys, travelling from lake to lake, our jaws dropping in open-mouthed wonder. Green cushion plants provide splashes of green, and crystal clear lakes are tinged in blue. The land feels vitally alive, its story inextricably linked with the elements and how they shaped the land. This part of Tierra del Fuego is an extension of the Andes, layers of sedimentary rock that have been uplifted and then carved by glaciers. Only the hardy can survive in these conditions and the lichens that cling to rocks are as tough as pot scourers.
Despite being an experienced hiker I am glad to have guidance. Random trail markers painted onto boulders give occasional reassurance but mostly the route is a jumble of boulders, rock, scree and snow. “Some people come with no guide, no map, no GPS,” says Matias. “They say, ‘Oh I know about mountains so I will go with nothing,’ then they have problems.” Only a week earlier he was involved in a rescue when a couple’s tent blew away. “It’s dangerous but if you take care it’s okay.”
“This trail is much more wild than Torres del Paine. It’s harder for the guides too. Everything has to be carried in and out.” Guiltily, I consider my daily contribution to Christobal’s load.
Thick snow falls the night before a 1000-metre climb to the plateau of Paso Virginia, the highest point of our route at 859 metres and considered the most dangerous. “In very bad weather you can see nothing,” Matias says. “If you’ve got hail in your face, 100kph winds and a backpack, you can’t walk for sure.”
As it is, we cluster on a precarious lip, legs spread in a rock-god power-stance against the gale force gusts, to peer down at the most beautiful lake I’ve ever laid eyes on. Laguna Los Guanacos fills a long bowl cupped by snow-capped mountains. I’m mesmerised by its sapphire colour and emerald fringes, the way it drops off like an infinity pool at its far end, and how the wind whips across the water.
The descent to its shore is treacherous, a steep chute of rock and pebbles as slippery as ball bearings before softening into black ‘sand’. It takes ages, a marathon of steady foot placements braced by walking poles. “I had to hold a girl’s hand all the way down here once,” Matias says. There were tears.
By evening I’m feeling a bit snivelly myself. Days of walking in snow and mud has soaked my boots right through, and, with the temperature barely above freezing, my feet feel as though they’re soaking in an ice bucket.
But eighteen hours later we descend through the forest to the luxury of Lakutaia Lodge and all struggles of the wild and woolly mountains we’ve traipsed through are forgotten, leaving only memories of its otherworldly beauty. On Isla Navarino the wind blew away all traces of the modern world, leaving only raw natural attraction and a reminder of what wilderness really is.
(
