It’s a bit of a challenge. I’ve got a mere two days to explore as much of the tropical islands of Yaeyama as possible, but I suspect there is far more to do than I’m ever going to be able to manage in that timeframe. There are 23 islands in the archipelago after all – not all of them inhabited – but I am concentrating on just two: Iriomote and Ishigaki.
I start on Iriomote, the second largest island in Okinawa Prefecture (the Yaeyama Islands are in its southwest). Of its 290 square kilometres, 90 per cent of Iriomote is covered by rugged subtropical jungle and mangrove forests.
One of the best ways to experience the untouched beauty of Iriomote’s wild side is by joining a half-day Urauchi River jungle cruise. Urauchi River is the main artery that runs across Iriomote. It’s at its widest in the island’s northwest corner, but tapers off into a cluster of tributaries once it hits the middle of the map. Along its reaches, it is home to a diverse ecosystem of wildlife – both salt and freshwater – and is the jumping-off point for some of the most spectacular waterfalls in Okinawa.
After leaving the port, the journey takes us down the river, flanked by lush mangroves that are themselves backed by views of rolling green mountains. Thirty minutes later I’m at my first destination: a rocky shore and pathway leading into the jungle. I follow the narrow trail to Mariyudu Falls, the first point of interest on the walk. Here the water almost seems to defy gravity, flowing across almost perfectly flat horizontal banks before finally tipping into the pool.
Kanbire (Kanpira) Falls, a 20-minute walk down the path, is the highlight. Like a scene from Jurassic Park, it is oversized and prehistoric in its geological make-up. Looking at its wide ledges flooded with water, it’s almost impossible to believe this is Japan. Satisfied with what I’ve witnessed, it’s time to leave Iriomote in search of beachier surrounds.
In recent years, Ishigaki has become the ‘go to’ destination for those who consider themselves in the know. Ishigaki is home to what is regarded as the urban centre of the Yaeyama Islands family, and the region’s major airport and ferry terminals. It’s tourist-friendly but has avoided any major commercialisation, making it somewhere with plenty of activities to offer visitors but also a dedication to preserving culture.
I visit Tom Sawyer Marine Shop, conveniently located just a short walk from the port, and sign up for a snorkelling trip. I pick up a wetsuit, grab some goggles, hop on board the boat and head out to sea. During the 15-minute cruise, the guide gives everyone a rundown on what’s going to happen, but this isn’t my first snorkelling experience, and the conditions are near perfect, so I don’t have much to worry about. Then we’re in the water, free to paddle out over the reef to inspect the vivid coral and sea life below us.
There’s something about the energy of Ishigaki that seems to fuel creativity. I suspect it’s a result of the optimistic feeling of freedom that comes with living in a tropical paradise that is at once seemingly removed from the rest of the world, but still imbued with culture. I visit the Minsah Kogei Museum and find a place where history and forward-thinking creativity combine. During Okinawa’s Ryukyu Dynasty period (15th century to 1879), a time when Chinese influence and local kings ruled, a local form of weaving known as minsah flourished. Innovative local designs have kept the trade alive to this day and, in the store, you can choose modern accessories adorned with the minsah chequerboard-style pattern.
On my mini-art tour, I also make a stop at Ishigaki Pottery Studio. Also known as Ishigaki-yaki or tenmoku these ceramic pieces were inspired by techniques crafted in China, but the rich blue that features heavily in the design is unmistakable as Okinawan, much like the seas that surround the islands. The pieces are so beautiful they’re found across the world in institutions including the British Museum, the V&A, the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, and the Freer and Sackler Galleries at the Smithsonian Institution in Washington DC.
On the north coast of Ishigaki is Kabira Bay, which is as close to paradise as you can find in this part of the world. It’s the island’s most famous beach with good reason – pure white sand, bright aqua blue water and rocky cliffs topped with tufts of green make it seem as if tropical islands across the world have donated their best features. The sprawling beauty that can be seen from the shoreline is only half of what’s in store. On a glass-bottomed boat, I see colourful fish, monolithic growths of textured coral and even the occasional turtle surfacing to say hello.
Further inland, the Ishigaki Stalactite Cave is my next stop. The cave was formed more than 200,000 years ago and many of its naturally crafted sculptures are more than three metres high. While passing through I come shoulder to shoulder with the cave’s star – a cluster of stalactites that look like the silhouette of Totoro, Studio Ghibli’s most famous furry giant. Occasionally the cave plays host to live musical performances, which one can only imagine would have to be some of the world’s most magical gigs.
By way of Banna Park Observation deck – from it you can almost see the entirety of the Yaeyama Island family before you – I head to Yaima Village for a soba lunch and a trip back in time. This amusement park, built in the image of old-world Yaeyama, is the perfect place to get an idea of what Okinawa once looked like. It’s home to replica Ryukyu Kingdom houses complete with snarling shisa (lion dog) figures guarding homes against unwelcome guests.
Intrigued by theatrical squeals and singing, I make my way to the back of one of the traditional homes where I find an older couple performing to a pair of bemused but enthralled guests. The woman is like a human tornado leaping, shouting and running, while her male companion is almost still apart from his fingers keeping the rhythm of his sanshin playing.
The izakaya is a stable of Japanese social life. A combination of bar, dining establishment and community hangout, it’s where families come to eat, co-workers come to relax, and weary travellers arrive to knock back a few frosty mugs of local Orion Beer before the day is done. While food is a regionally specific experience throughout Japan, it’s a whole different level in Okinawa, where the seafood is more diverse and the techniques and flavours are influenced by both the country’s proximity to China and Taiwan and the islands’ American military history after World War II. I pop into brightly lit Izakaya Satsuki and order sashimi, goya champuru (a stir-fry of bitter melon, pork and tofu), and umi budo, the salty, pop-in-your-mouth seaweed that’s famous around these parts.
As I drain my beer and empty my plates, I feel the grains of sand from Kabira Bay floating around in the soles of my shoes. I think about how sand seems to follow you wherever you go after a beach holiday, hidden in the folds of every shirt, nestled into the fibre of your beach towels. And while it’s going to take me a while to get rid of it all this sand, it feels like a gift to be able to bring a tiny piece of this Okinawa back home.
This story is sponsored by JNTO (Japan National Tourism Organization).
There’s a cluster of islands in the southwest of Okinawa Prefecture, in the corner of the Pacific Ocean just east of Taiwan, that are the most remote part of Japan. Making the journey to the Yaeyama Islands is worth it though; picture-perfect beaches, beasts big and small, and a culture far removed anything you’ll find in Tokyo or Kyoto reward the dedicated traveller.
With its tropical climate, white beaches and lush mangrove swamps, the Yaeyama Islands are one of the nation’s best-kept beach secrets. But as I learn during my visit, if you want to be a part of the secret you’ll need to move fast; while this region is still relatively unknown to international visitors, part from the people of Taiwan, word is spreading fast.
I begin my few days exploring Yaeyama by arriving at Iriomote, the largest of its islands and the second largest in Okinawa. While it’s long been a popular destination with domestic travellers looking to escape the rigidity of mainland Japanese life without having to acquire a passport, the island still bears a level of laidback unrefined charm more typical of other tropical destinations like Bali or Fiji.
A large portion of Iriomote has managed to avoid the impacts of commercial tourism with more than 90 per cent of its 290 square kilometres still covered in rugged jungle and mangrove forests. Within those untamed grounds lives the elusive Iriomote yamaneko, the island’s famous mountain cat.
While it’s no secret Japan has an affinity for the feline – think maneki-neko (waving cats) and Hello Kitty! – Iriomote only has eyes for its own. At the Iriomote Wildlife Conservation Center, a compact, but informative natural-history museum dedicated to the non-human inhabitants of this diverse island, visitors can learn more about this enigmatic figure.
The display features taxidermy figures of the yamaneko, which looks surprisingly like a large domestic moggy. With their round ears and distinctive markings, the yamaneko is the island’s pride and joy, even though the locals didn’t realise the cat was special until the mid-1960s. Before the late Tokyo-based journalist turned ecologist and novelist Yukio Togawa visited the island in 1965, they didn’t know this graceful and furious figure was unique to the island.
One of the guides tells me the cat is so critically endangered its population numbers sit somewhere in the very low hundreds. While the evolution of the island, including the development of major roads and the introduction of a growing number of cars, poses the biggest threat to the nocturnal beast, local organisations are campaigning to protect the cat.
While it’s incredibly rare to catch sight of a yamaneko, another of Iriomote’s animal residents is far more conspicuous. At Mihara Village, water buffalos dragging carts take visitors across the shallow water to Yubu Island.
Located approximately half a kilometre off the coast of Iriomote, Yubu Island is a microcosm of Okinawa’s subtropical perfection. Part of the island is covered in sparkling white sand, while the rest is carpeted in green and home to rainbow-coloured flora. While it’s only 1.5 metres above sea level and formed from accrued sediment flowing out of Iriomote’s Yonara River, the island has an almost amusement park-like ambience. That could be in large part thanks to the butterfly house, the quaint cafe, subtropical botanical garden and buffalo adorned in novel headwear, but it’s also helped along by the fantastic journey to the site.
The primary mode of transport to Yubu is aboard the water buffalo cart. When the water is shallow, slapping the shins of our hairy, leisurely paced oversized chaperones, it still takes around about 20 minutes to make the crossing, although the length of the journey is rather dependent on how the buffalo feels. I hop onto the car of Sota-kun, just behind the driver, who tells me Sota is the only buffalo he directs – buffalos and drivers are paired for their entire careers and, over time, build a bond. If one is having an off day, the driver tells me, the other knows how to help.
Upon arriving on the Yubu shore, I hop out and make a circuit across the island to see it all before my ride – the last one of the day – back to Iriomote. The journey back, at about 4.45pm, takes much longer than the one to get there. I wonder whether it’s the tide or if the buffalo is tired after a long day transporting guests. The driver laughs and explains his buffalo companion knows it’s the end of the day – he’s being sulky because he has to take the last of the passengers back to Iriomote even though Yubu is his home. Seems the end-of-day work struggle transcends species.
The rest of the day is reserved for the beach – specifically Hoshizuna Beach. Known in English as Star Sand Beach, Hoshizuna is stunning – the norm for Okinawa’s numerous stretches of sand – but it also has something a little more unique that’s right under my feet. I zoom in on the small granules of sand that dust the shoreline to find tiny star-shaped grains. They’re not even sand at all, but the dead microscopic, unicellular protists known as foraminifera. These organisms live in sea grass. When they die, their exoskeleton washes up on the shore and mixes with the grains of regular sand. It’s the perfect camouflage to the unsuspecting eye.
As the dipping sun starts to paint the skyline a vibrant blend of purple and orange, Star Sand Beach is the perfect place to finish the day. It’s also the perfect analogy for visiting Okinawa and, on a broader level, travelling Japan. While we think we may know a place, until we take the time to look a little deeper we won’t discover it for what it genuinely is.
This story is sponsored by JNTO (Japan National Tourism Organization).
When we were kids, beach holidays were all about living in our cossies, fibro shacks and bunk beds perennially gritty with sand. Now, as grown-ups, we prefer the sand stays on the beach and the shack comes complete with a plunge pool. It’s everything your heart could desire, but wrapped up in a carefree mood.
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Koh Kood is one of Thailand’s remaining unspoiled islands, and on a remote peninsula on its northwest coast you’ll find Soneva Kiri. Here, the mantra is “no news, no shoes”. Each of its villas – they range from one to six bedrooms and have private pools – is tucked into the forest to protect its residents from prying eyes. Some are built high atop a cliff, others are close to the beach. All the normal island activities are laid on thick, but it’s offerings like the outdoor cinema that does private screenings, the dining pod where you’re hoisted into the canopy to enjoy lunch and the all-you-can-eat ice-cream bar that will have you feeling as though you’ve been transported to another world. soneva.com
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Azura Benguerra Island (azura-retreats.com), hand-built by the local community and situated in a marine park in Mozambique. Just 20 pool villas, an unblemished stretch of sand, and a fistful of activities, from diving to playing soccer in the local league, create a faraway paradise.
The place they call NiCaribbean. Calala Island (calala-island.com), off the coast of Nicaragua, is what Barbados was like decades ago: heaven on a beach. Plus, there’s a maximum of just eight guests in its snazzy suites at any time.
It’s pretty much as described on the tin: they’re tents that look like bubbles. These clear domes are glamping’s natural progression and have popped up in destinations where being able to watch the day’s cycle – from rose-hued sunrises to, depending on where you are, a vivid night sky – is a major advantage.
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This puts a new spin on the tree house. At Bubble Lodge on Ile aux Cerfs, an outcrop on a crater lake in Mauritius, you can spend the night in an eco-friendly transparent dome set inside a banyan tree. Despite being so close to nature, you won’t go without. The spacious bubble comes complete with sitting area and outdoor shower, plus there’s access to a private beach and privileges to tee off on a Bernhard Langer-designed golf course. There are kayaks to paddle, hikes to be conquered and tea – it’s grown on the island – to be drunk. If you worry about triffid-type nightmares, there are other bubbles available closer to the sea. Bubble Lodge also has a second location on the island at Bois Chéri, the most famous tea estate in Mauritius. bubble-lodge.com
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The clear domes and unique outlooks of Bubbletent Australia (bubbletentaustralia.com). The owners found just the right spot so occupants would have the best chance to see the glorious night sky. The spectacular property, about 200 kilometres from Sydney, is home to three bubbles.
The two bubble tents at Anantara Golden Triangle’s (anantara.com) elephant camp near Chiang Rai. Built on platforms, they’re the best place from where to watch the ellies go about their day.
Star Wars fans have made the trek to Skellig Michael, the rocky Irish isle that popped up in The Force Awakens and The Last Jedi. Those who loved the cinematic adaptations of JK Rowling’s Harry Potter novels booked tickets on the Jacobite Steam Train, which runs from Fort William to Mallaig in Scotland and stood in for the Hogwarts Express. Eight seasons of Game of Thrones threw Dubrovnik, Ait Ben Haddou in Morocco, Malta and Grjótagjá Cave in Iceland into the spotlight. Beautiful locations on screen can be a huge boon for tourism and that doesn’t look set to change. In 2020, the hybrid animated–live action release of Call of the Wild, based on Jack London’s classic novel and starring Harrison Ford, will have lovers of epic landscapes flocking to British Columbia (the double, in this case, for the Yukon). But one big release more than 12 months away will bring Jordan into focus, quite literally. In the remake of Dune, starring Jason Momoa, Zendaya and Timothée Chalamet, the unique landscape will be seen on-screen playing the desert planet Arrakis.
What is a travel trends list without a shout-out to a destination that’s going to go from misunderstood to mainstream in the coming 12 months? Our money is on this block of Central Asian countries. There are seven in all, but only the boldest will take on Afghanistan and Pakistan, which leaves us with Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan. You’ll be forgiven for not knowing much about them, but having gained their independence from Russia a couple of decades ago, they’re developing their own personalities. The landscapes are incredible, the people nomadic and the blend of history and culture – remnants of Soviet rule, as well as leftovers from their place on the Silk Road – something you can’t experience anywhere else. Put them on your list.
There are places we all want to go and, man, when you get there you can see that in action. Hotel rooms are expensive, there are long lines for big attractions and it’s almost impossible to find a place for quiet contemplation. No one is going to tell you to avoid Paris or New York City or Tokyo, but major cities aren’t your only option. Going to a second city – they’re the ones people don’t automatically think of when a country is mentioned – means you get to explore more organically, since you’ll probably know less about it. Join a local-led walking tour to discover its quirks or chat to locals at the next table about their favourite places. Venturing to a second city may cost a little more initially when you factor in the connecting flight or train journey, but you’ll easily make that back on better, cheaper accommodation and less expensive meals, drinks and entry fees.
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There’s no doubt about it, Lisbon is one hot Euro destination at the moment. The downside is it’s also inundated by tourists, loudly bickering over where to get the best pastéis de nata and elbowing others to get to the front of the queue at the Fado Museum. Still, if you’re pining for Portugal, there’s no need to despair. Just head north up the coast to Porto and you’ll find at least the capital’s equal – some say it is even better – when it comes to history, weather, culture, nightlife and food. The main historic district, Ribeira, not only clings to the north bank of the Duoro but also retains much of its charm – you can still take a break in old taverns and wander around street markets where locals shop. Check out the design stores and galleries of Rua Miguel Bombarda – also known as the Art District – cross the Dom Luís I Bridge and taste port and wine in the traditional cellars of Vila Nova de Gaia, and marvel at one of the most beautiful bookstores in the world, Livraria Lello. Its red staircase was said to have inspired the details for Hogwarts. Still doubt us? The beaches of Foz are within the city limits and its long stretches of sand are backed by some impressive rocky outcrops. Plus, the resort town has plenty of cool bars, hip boutiques and swank restaurants. In fact, by bypassing Lisbon and going to Porto, you’re probably not missing out on anything except a whole lot of other travellers.
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What some say is the most underrated city in the world. Whether you agree with that particular statement, Fez certainly has it all over Marrakesh and Morocco’s capital Rabat. Its old town is a rabbit warren of markets and mosques, and it’s considered the country’s cultural highpoint.
South Korea’s second city of Busan. While it may not have quite as many big-ticket attractions as Seoul, it’s got a great food scene, particularly for those with a taste for the exotic. Sunset at the clam tents, where you can see divers plucking shellfish from the ocean, in Taejongdae is a must.
The USA, but it’s a tricky one. Washington is the capital but everyone thinks of New York City or Los Angeles as its numero uno. Down the list though, there’s a whole raft of contenders for second-city status. None tops New Orleans. As a taxi driver once said to us, “You don’t do New Orleans, New Orleans does you.” Get out of the French Quarter and Bourbon Street and try Tremé, Mid-City and the Marigny/Bywater neighbourhoods for local colour, music and food.
SLOWDOWN TRAVEL
We’ve all been guilty of it – spending two weeks in foreign lands darting from one place to another and coming home exhausted. With more people travelling overseas multiple times each year that once-in-a-lifetime extravaganza tour is becoming less common and almost unnecessary. Imagine this instead… Booking a place in an enticing neighbourhood in a big city, a seaside town or a local village and just hanging out there. You’ll slow down and ease into the pace of your destination, find tiny gems hidden in side streets, and get to know the folks running the nearby breakfast spot when you realise it’s the place to be each day at 8am. You can take time to sit on the beach for half the day or wander aimlessly. You can do a day trip to a neighbouring town that takes your fancy. You can go to the movies, stock a fridge with snacks and wine, and find small museums and galleries that don’t make it into city guides. It’s the perfect remedy for cities that are hard to ‘get’ (hello, Los Angeles), as well as villages like Albarracín in Spain and Sihanoukville in Cambodia.
There has been a recent shift to resisting stuff. “Experiences are better than possessions,” many say. Which is absolutely true. But we have the capacity to be greedy about experiences, too. Mindful travel is all about being in the moment, of taking in everything around you and processing it properly. Of course, it’s an extension of the general wellness trend of mindfulness, which, when practised, is said to help with anxiety, depression and addiction. But even if your mental health is good, being mindful makes you forget worries and problems. When you’re travelling that means connecting with different cultures, environments and people wherever you go. Don’t rush, accept what you can’t change and take a deep breath.
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Lots of people furrow their brow when they hear about shirin-yoku, which translates from Japanese to “taking in the forest atmosphere”. “Isn’t that just going for a walk?” they ask incredulously. Well, yes and no. You’ll walk slowly and deliberately, breathe in the scent of pine and moss, find a spot where you can sit, watch a bug crawling through leaf mulch, and run your hands over the bark of a tree to feel its texture. Research has found that people who spend time in nature like this have lower stress levels, pulse rates and blood pressure. Of course, you can find your own patch of paradise in a local park, but when you’re on Canada’s Vancouver Island join the forest bathing experience with Pacific Rainforest Adventure Tours. The old-growth forests here boast huge spruce, cedars and Douglas fir trees and have the highest biomass of any ecosystem on earth, so there’s plenty in which to become immersed. rainforestnaturehikes.com
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That animals are good for our health. So it goes the bigger the better, right? Head to Mountain Horse Farm (mountainhorsefarm.com) in upstate New York, where guests can take part in cow cuddling to reconnect with the natural world and experience peacefulness.
The relaxed ambience and pine-forest setting of Yogarosa (yogarosaretreats.com) on Ibiza. The morning classes, healthy meals and silent reflection after dinner are somewhat different to what we used to get up to on the famous island.
There’s nothing quite so sweet as avoiding any form of organisation. A number of travel companies have worked that out, but have also figured small-group tours aren’t for everyone. Welcome to the best of both worlds. You work out what you want to do, find a friend, book your trip and arrive to find that everything is ready to go. UTracks (utracks.com), for instance, allows guests to book self-guided hikes through Europe – they make up about 42 per cent of all the trips it sells. There are about 300 itineraries, so guests choose whether to follow in the footsteps of Dalí through the foothills of the French Pyrenees or walk the Portuguese pilgrim trail, then arrive on the allotted day. Hotels, dinners, breakfasts, maps and luggage transfers are all arranged, so all you have to do is lace up your boots, slip on your daypack and decide where to stop for lunch. A whole range of companies offer similar services, from Inside Japan (insidejapan.com), which organises authentic experiences – staying in traditional ryokans, visiting sake breweries, going to sumo demonstrations – to Bench Africa (benchafrica.com), with its self-drive tours of Namibia and South Africa.
Why not spend your money with companies leading the charge when it comes to cleaning up the travel game? Hurtigruten (hurtigruten.com.au) is set to smash the champagne bottle on the MS Roald Amundsen at the end of this year. It’s the first of two hybrid vessels the company will launch. Decked out with state-of-the-art facilities, it also produces far fewer CO2 emissions and has lower fuel consumption than old-school ships. Some safari companies are also taking the enviro lead. Chobe Game Lodge runs electric safari vehicles and boats, and also has an all-female guiding team. Book a safari experience there with Bench Africa (benchafrica.com).
CANNABIS TRAVEL
It’s niche, but growing, especially in countries like Canada and US states including Colorado where weed is legal. There are milder experiences, like Sinsemil.la (sinsemil.la), an underground supper club that includes marijuana on its list of locally sourced, organic ingredients. But the well-heeled stoner can get high with companies like Canadian Kush Tours (canadiankushtours.com), which will pick you up from the airport in a limo then take you to a smoking lounge, dispensary, grow room or class where you’ll learn about personal cultivation. There’s even a brewery where you can have a batch of personalised craft beer brewed dependent on your preferred style of both beer and ganja.
While we’re mad about a snazzy hotel, there’s just something about having your own pad. You can unpack your stuff, make the most of the local markets – there’s nothing like cheese and wine on hand at the end of the day – and feel under no pressure to go out if you love the place. Plus, you can gather your friends, pool your resources and live like royalty even if it’s only for a week. Villas in Tuscany are an old favourite, but now it’s possible to rent penthouses in SoHo, castles in the French countryside and expansive compounds in the jungles of Ubud. In June, Airbnb launched Airbnb Luxe, with 2,000 handpicked homes around the world, after site data showed bookings for properties listed at more than a thousand dollars a night increased by 60 per cent in 2018. You can also try One
Fine Stay, View Retreats for Australian and New Zealand properties, and the Plum Guide.
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The award-winning architecture of Te Kahu, set on the shores of Lake Wanaka, sets it apart from most other holiday houses on New Zealand’s South Island. It’s located on a 20-hectare property and features three bedrooms, a living room with fire, tonnes of natural light, a chef’s kitchen that can be stocked with goodies before you arrive if that’s what you’re after, private courtyards and some of the most spectacular views of the lake and Southern Alps you’ll find anywhere. During summer you can make the most of mountain hiking and fishing; in winter, you’re only 11 kilometres to Treble Cone. Look, we know it’s a cliché to say you’ll never want to leave, but there’s no way just a few days here will be nearly enough. airbnb.com/luxe
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The stretch of lawn that runs straight down to the beach at Lana Kai (onefinestay.com). Set on Hanalei Bay on the Hawaiian island of Kauai, it has four bedrooms in a retro-style beach house, but you’ll likely spend most of your time outside either in or looking at the beautiful bay.
Belting out a tune on the grand piano at the Twin Palms Sinatra Estate (airbnb.com/luxe) in Palm Springs. Commissioned in 1947 by Ol’ Blue Eyes himself, it still houses plenty of retro touches, including a vintage audio system and a piano-shaped pool.
OK, imagine you’re Ginger sitting on a beach with the Professor. Except the Professor is a butler/boatman/private chef and you’ve also got your nearest and dearest by your side. It’s no surprise that people are increasingly wanting to get away from everything, including forever-beeping devices, to make the most of modern life’s most rare commodity: time to do nothing at all. All you’ll need is your swimmers, sunnies, hat and a couple of damn good books. Because, of course, wherever you’re staying will take care of the rest.
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Just 14 couples can stay on Fiji’s Turtle Island, which offers up 200 hectares of private beaches and forests. This really is an off-grid paradise – it’s powered by solar, uses produce grown locally and features beachfront villas created by Fijian craftspeople and artists. There are bure mamas to take care of your every need, and absolutely everything – horse riding on the beach, diving, lobster dinners – is included, so there’s no need to worry about digging your wallet out of the bottom of your bag. But the real luxury comes from being able to leave everyone else behind. Turtle Island has 14 private beaches. Each day you get to pick a different one, have the kitchen stock a picnic basket and esky, and be dropped there for a few hours or all day. When you arrive, simply flip the vacant sign to occupied and you can be guaranteed no disturbances. You might be surprised by how easily you slip into life in the slow lane. A few days here and you’ll feel like you’ve been on holiday for a month. turtlefiji.com
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Little-known Haggerstone Island (haggerstoneisland.com.au) off the coast of very Far North Queensland. There are just five villas, each decorated in a Pacific Island-meets-Africa style, amazing reef adventures and food that comes from the sea and the island orchard.
Going full Gilligan at Floral Island (airbnb.com), pictured on our cover. Located on Taytay Bay, northeast of Palawan in the Philippines, it offers privacy plus for between four and 24 guests who get full run of its eight villas. Pretty much everything, apart from your booze, is included. And at about AU$620 a night, it’s pretty good value if you gather a gang.
It is almost accepted that someone in their early 20s will take time out to travel the world, funding their trip with cash made pulling beers at a pub in London or making coffee at a hipster cafe in Brooklyn. But for so long it’s been ‘one and done’ when it comes to extended periods of travel. Which is a shame because surely it’s better to take these lengthy sojourns when you’ve got a bit of experience behind you and, you know, some money. Lots of people agree. What’s different these days is the ability to be a digital nomad, taking your work to whichever corner of the world is calling and has decent internet access. Some companies are quite happy to negotiate time off while you spend a month or so living near the world’s greatest surf breaks. It’s also a popular option for anyone made redundant, since a lump sum of money can mean it’s a feasible option to set up a remote business somewhere the cost of living is far less. Chiang Mai or Colombo? Sofia or Siem Reap? It’s totally up to you.
BREAKFAST IN ... WATER?
Used to be we judged a hotel by its brekky buffet. Now things aren’t so straightforward. Any tropical option that has villas with private pools is adding a floating breakfast to its ever-expanding dining options. We’re not entirely sure our poached eggs wouldn’t end up soaked eggs – end result being some poor guy has to come and drain the pool – but you might be altogether more refined than us. It’s already popular in Bali. We recommend the Hotel Indigo Bali Seminyak Beach (hotelindigo.com), where your early morning victuals can include the cobana, a choc, coconut and banana croissant.
There’s nothing worse than checking in to a hotel to find that a) your room is a carbon copy of the one you stayed in halfway around the world, and b) everyone in the lobby bar is also from out of town. How are you supposed to sidle up to a stranger and find out about the coolest dive bar in the ’hood? More independent hoteliers are recognising this and creating public spaces that appeal not only to people checking in but also those who live nearby. After all, a blend of visitors and locals makes life more interesting for everyone.
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As soon as drag your carry-on through the front door at Paramount House Hotel in Sydney’s Surry Hills, you know this stay is going to be different. It’s not just the 29 uber-stylish rooms – dark linen on the beds, terrazzo bathrooms, cool art, private terraces with lush greenery – that have travellers frothing. You’ll already have strolled through Paramount Coffee Project before you reach the discreet desk and are greeted by a smiling face and a glass of sparkling water (or sour ale if you prefer). On weekdays, people take up the concrete benches and smaller tables tapping away on laptops and taking meetings; Saturday and Sunday bring the crowds for the excellent espresso and brunch of fried chicken and waffles and soft-baked eggs with smoked white pudding. On the roof, Paramount Recreation Club offers a hundred fitness classes a week and a health-focused kiosk. At night, basement wine bar Poly perks up. Oh, and there’s also Golden Age Bar & Cinema, which plays classics and arthouse releases. All of it is within staggering distance of the CBD and popular strips like Crown Street. Whether you’re in town for a couple of days of work or relaxing on a long weekend, it’s everything you could want. paramounthousehotel.com
WE ALSO LOVE…
Stockholm’s Hobo (hobo.se) for its urban farm in the lobby, neighbourhood rooftop and retro disco in the upstairs bar on the weekend.
The Line Austin (thelinehotel.com), with its cinema series of Texas classics by the lakeside infinity pools, happy hours with DJs, and Arlo Grey restaurant with its view of the nightly bat flight from beneath the Congress Avenue Bridge.
The members’ club at The Curtain (thecurtain.com) in London’s Shoreditch neighbourhood. It brings all the interesting creative folk to its onsite bars, restaurants and co-working space.
Whoever said a change is as good as a holiday is deranged. There is nothing that compares to packing a bag, pocketing your passport and heading to the airport. There are times in our lives, though, when commitments mean it’s not possible to disappear for weeks. That’s when you need a micro trip. Much like microdosing, it gives you a bit of what you need to keep going. How to choose? It needs to be close to home and offer tempting experiences. That way you can pack in as much as you need to feel as though you’ve taken a proper break.
THE BEST OF THE BEST
You often hear antipodeans moan about how far the rest of the world is from us. But just a quick flight – somewhere in the three- to four-hour range from Australia’s east coast – is Vanuatu. Sure, you can spend quality time by the pool in Port Vila, but choose one of the other islands to fulfil an adventurous side. Tanna, for instance, has kustom villages, the active volcano of Mount Yasur, and great fringing reefs. Staying at White Grass Ocean Resort, you can simply make good use of the spa and the beach for a few days, or pack in all the mini adventures. Go on a turtle tour, take out the sea kayaks, travel to waterfalls and surf beaches, look into the mouth of the volcano, swim in the blue cave or visit the local people in the jungle. Just a few days will restore your sense of wonder and take the chill off winter-weary bones. whitegrasstanna.com
WE ALSO LOVE…
A couple of days at Mona Pavilions (mona.net.au) in Hobart. There’s more art than you shake a stick at, plus it’s an easy drive to Agrarian Kitchen in Lachlan and Willie Smiths Apple Shed, Home Hill Winery and Cygenture Chocolates in the Huon Valley.
Looking out over Hauraki Gulf from The Boatshed (boatshed.co.nz) on Waiheke Island, just a 35-minute ferry ride from Auckland. These luxury coastal cottages are close to the beach, a cute village and plenty of vineyards.
Big resorts, hotels and cruise ships are beginning to see the impact of travellers requiring a more individual experience. The result? Hotel chains are launching personality-driven brands. Accor has M Gallery and Sofitel SO, IHG has Hotel Indigo, Hyatt has Andaz and, in Australia, Mantra bought Art Series Hotels. But even in large resorts or on ships with hundreds of passengers, you’ll find more intimate restaurants (Silversea’s flagship vessel, Silver Muse, has eight eateries), pools with fewer loungers and personalised services being offered, so that guests don’t feel as though they’re one of thousands even if they are.
DNA testing has opened up a whole new kind of trip. Discovering ancestry is becoming more popular – SBS TV’s Who Do You Think You Are? probably had something to do with that – and, particularly where results are unexpected, it’s becoming increasingly common for people to visit their ‘homelands’ in order to connect with their heritage. In 2015/16, 23 per cent of long-haul visitors to Scotland cited Scottish ancestry as their major motivation for travelling. (We were in the ‘we came for the whisky’ category.) In 2013, Ireland promoted Family History Year to appeal to the 33 million Americans with Celtic blood. But there are plenty of other places popping up in people’s DNA tests, from Scandinavia to Mexico, so if you can’t decide where to go next, it might be time to spit in a tube.
If you’re keen on thrills but insist on privacy, someone else carrying your backpack and having all the mod cons when it’s time to hit the hay, you need a luxpedition. Just imagine Bear Grylls insisting on a hot-stone massage after he’s spent the day catching fish with his bare hands. The trend began to satisfy the wildman yearnings of the one per cent, but with more travellers, particularly those who aren’t – ahem – in their 20s any longer, searching out adventure and amenities, it’s one that’s here to stay.
THE BEST OF THE BEST
Heading off to remote destinations? Put yourself in the hands of experts. That’s where Pelorus comes in. This travel company was established by two former British Army Captains, who’ve taken their years of experience in the forces, networked with industry leaders and established the best ways to bring high-end clients everything they want in a one-off experience. Some of its adventures include a journey to the Hornbill Festival in India’s Nagaland, staying in a remote luxury camp at the base of Japfu Peak. Follow this extraordinary tribal celebration with a naturalist-guided safari looking for the great Indian rhinoceros, a private boat trip to see pink dolphins, and an exploration of Bandhavgarh National Park looking for tigers. Or perhaps you’ll choose to jump from a chopper into the Great Blue Hole in Belize, where you’ll use propulsion vehicles on your dive. You’ll also take a helicopter deep into the jungle to stay at a luxury lodge and be accompanied by a National Geographic guide on a tour of Mexican cenotes. Where do we sign up? pelorusx.com
WE ALSO LOVE…
Seeing Antarctica without crossing the Drake Passage. White Desert (white-desert.com) flies guests in on a private jet and settles them at super-cool Whichaway Camp. Days are spent ice climbing, abseiling, zip lining or going on 4WD expeditions and icy picnics.
That, more than a century after it sank, you can now join an exclusive expedition to dive 4000 metres in a submersible to see the wreck of the RMS Titanic. If you’ve got the means, Blue Marble Private (bluemarbleprivate.com) has the way.
Tasty one-off treats, like the collaboration between Brown + Hudson (brownandhudson.com) and Ecuadorian chocolate company To’ak, which crafts some of the world’s most expensive sweet stuff. You’ll travel by private jet to cloud forests, a cacao plantation and a ritzy retreat on the coast, meet some of the country’s best chefs and experts, and take part in daily chocolate tastings.
Everyone knows planes have serious issues when it comes to the environment. There’s not a lot you can do about that if you’re travelling from the southern hemisphere to the US or Europe, except pay for carbon offsets. Once you’re there, however, trade the airport for a station. Not only are trains much more eco-friendly, you get to see parts of a country you may only have glimpsed from 32,000 feet. European trains are incredibly efficient, especially if you invest in a rail pass. Amtrak links up cities in the US, and we can’t wait to stare out the window from the Coast Starlight that passes incredible Pacific scenery from Seattle to Los Angeles. Further north, in Canada, one of the all-time great rail journeys is the Rocky Mountaineer. Toot toot!
LOVE IT Six trends that warm our cockles.
Low-season travel
It’s cheaper and there are fewer people, so unless you’re going to fry in 45ºC heat, what’s not to love?
Co-living spaces
Like co-working but for solo travellers looking to stay for a few days or months. Book an apartment in a building with shared social spaces and a calendar of events and – voila! – you’re not so alone. Check out WeLive, Roam and Selina.
Reef-friendly sunscreen
Most contain chemicals that rinse off and cause so much damage to marine environments both Hawaii and Palau banned the worst. Do your bit by making the swap.
Rejecting single-use plastics
Many places are banning them, so always take your water bottle, reusable coffee cup and bamboo cutlery with you whenever you head off somewhere new.
Cycling holidays get popular
If you’ve ever wanted to feel the wind on your face as you careen down a hill in Tuscany, but find the whole pedalling thing a bit monotonous, you’ll be pleased to know that many cycling tours can now be completed on e-bikes.
Eco-friendly trainers
A cool pair is essential on travels, but most are made from plastic, nylon and other nasty materials. Instead, pop ethically made footwear on your hooves. We love AllBirds, made from New Zealand merino wool, but also check out Veja and Etiko.
LOATHE IT Six that make our hearts cold and dead.
Insta tourism
Because there’s more to travelling than getting a shot that will make your friends jealous. Plus, we’re damned sure we’re not getting out of the infinity pool so you can get the perfect photo.
Talk about space travel
Yeah, yeah… Richard Branson’s been on about it for years and Elon’s getting in on the act. When’s it actually happening though?
The big tick-off
‘She’s 27 and wanted to travel the world. So she did.’ We’ve all seen the story on Facebook, but why? Surely, arriving somewhere just so you can tick it off and move on is the epitome of privilege.
Being a scrooge
Mate, if you tell us how you bargained with a market seller to get the price from 80 cents to 50, we swear we’re going to steal your wallet.
Robots serving drinks and checking us in
Machines should not be that smart. Sure, people can be annoying AF but we’re pretty sure an army of hospitality workers is not going to rise up and eliminate the rest of humankind.
Electronic noise
Watching videos on smartphones or iPads without headphones should be illegal and punishable by 50 lashes in a public arena.
White. That’s the last thing I remember. Not a thought, just a colour. Then a sensation: freezing cold, like a thousand ice cubes under my dry suit. I’m submerged in raging white water, trying to remain calm, which isn’t easy to do when you’ve just been catapulted into a glacial river in northern Iceland.
I’m starting to panic as the current drags me downstream and parts of my face go numb. But then I remember a snippet of the safety speech drilled into us by Ryan, our Kiwi guide, before we started this crazy adventure. “If you do fall overboard, and you most undoubtedly will, there’s only one thing you must do: smile,” he’d told us. “Don’t panic, don’t scream, just smile, because we’re more likely to come and rescue you if you look like you’re having a good time.” It’s a joke, obviously, but even still, as the Class IV river pulls me in the direction of a frothy drop to who knows where, I find myself smiling so hard and broad it hurts.
I’m tackling the East Glacial River, arguably one of the most remote white-water rafting experiences on the planet. Hidden in the wilds of northern Iceland, a 30-minute drive on gravel roads from Viking Rafting headquarters at the south end of Varmahlíð, this river rages through a deep, isolated gorge with such intensity it’s been called the Beast of the East. And I can see why: it’s only been five minutes and already this raging monster has threatened to swallow me up good and proper.
Thankfully, it’s just a taste test and I survive, swimming against the strong current back to the raft and pulling myself into the vessel with the help of my fellow paddlers. Safely back, I realise I was the only member of the crew to go overboard, and at the very first rapid too, aptly named the Alarm Clock. It’s a little embarrassing, but perhaps necessary. An hour ago, while donning my thermals, fleece and dry suit at HQ, I was fighting a nagging case of jetlag. I’m wide awake now though, and eager to ride this churning beast even further.
The gorge narrows and the intensity, well, intensifies. Waves rock us violently from side to side almost non-stop as vast volumes of glacial meltwater, estimated to flow at 160 cubic metres a second at the height of summer, rage between steep walls, taking everything downstream until it eventually drains out into Skagafjörður bay. We’re carried along like a hollowed-out rubber cork harbouring wide-eyed passengers who really have no control. Thankfully, both Ryan and our other guide, Lizzy, an Australian, are masters at navigating while being propelled by the unrelenting flow. There’s also a pair of safety kayakers who are there if we need them.
For the next 30 minutes, we’re continually called into action – oars in hand, adrenaline pumping – waiting on our guides’ orders as we smash into wave after wave. We either paddle ferociously and meet the rapids with gusto or curl up into a ball and anchor into the raft to stop from being flung out. In other words, it’s either paddle or don’t paddle, a binary response system that consumes the extent of my mental processing power as we crash and descend one roaring rapid at a time. In this unforgiving environment, there’s simply no time to be scared.
But it’s hard to remain fearless before the almighty Green Room, the biggest rapid of the trip, which is now ahead of us. This Class IV monster of turbulent white water is the stuff of legends and routine capsizing. It gets its name from the fact that green is all you see once you’ve been chucked overboard – well, green or black, depending on how deep you’re pummelled into its depths. This rapid is the kind of impasse that requires a severely worded briefing on what’s to come as we float towards its drop. According to Ryan, we’ll need to take the biggest breath we can just prior to reaching the ferocious fiend – if we capsize we may be pulled under for a very long time.
It’s routine for the guides, but Russian roulette for our group of intrepid paddlers. The risk of flailing in frigid water as a furious torrent threatens to punch the air from our lungs is a game of chance, and the odds are definitely stacked against us. While I can’t see my face, I imagine I’m wearing an expression parked somewhere between excitement and dread.
“Get down!” yells Ryan as we approach the rapid. And we do, wedging ourselves into the corners of the raft and holding our paddles towards the sky. Then a familiar course of events: white, then cold, then panic. Once again I’ve been projectiled from the raft and find myself in the white water, eager to clamber back onto our rubber lifesaver. All I can manage is a strained grimace as I clasp desperately for the slippery side of the raft. I throw my paddle into its belly and haul myself back in, gasping and almost in a state of shock.
This stupor of sorts doesn’t last. Almost immediately I’m called into action to help the others. I pull up a young Swede by the straps of her lifejacket, while the others rescue an older American from the turbulent conditions. Safely aboard, the group lets out a collective sigh of relief followed by a high-five with paddles. We made it through the scariest part of the course, and we deserve a reward.
By the time our raft docks and I clamber onto dry land, the safety kayakers are already preparing a snack of hot chocolate and waffles with cream and rhubarb jam, all made by a local farmer. “The farmer used to hike down these walls and leave the cooler box for us,” explains Lizzy. “But he’s getting old and built this pulley system instead. It saves him a lot of effort.” Staring up, I see a rope extending up the sheer walls and disappearing over the gorge’s edge. Even in the middle of nowhere, anything can be arranged, as long as you employ a little bit of Icelandic ingenuity.
After downing a few cups of hot chocolate and some delicious waffles, it’s time to continue. After braving the scariest part of the route, it’s tempting to relish a few extra moments on dry land. But the incessant wind is scathing and it feels warmer on the water.
We continue downriver over rapids of varying difficulty as the gorge gradually widens. The basaltic walls, blanketed by patchy vegetation, are a canvas of greens, greys and whites, the vibrancy only muted by the moody clouds above. It’s an incredible slideshow of creative geology. This leisurely section requires little courage and yet delivers maximum visual pleasure. It’s the kind ratio to which I could easily become familiar.
The next section isn’t so tame, but we’re told it’s optional. Up ahead is a wave our mad guides choose to surf.
It will probably flip the dinghy, so it’s up to us whether we want to be submerged in the icy depths once more. By this point, we’ve all been dunked at least once, and so we’re happy to chance it yet again.
Like the wave, there’s another final optional extra: a seven-metre cliff jump into the river. Hold me back! For extra grip on the rocks, I remove my gloves – a decision I’ll later regret. The climb is relatively easy, with only some minor scrambling near the top, followed by a carefully manoeuvred walk over to the ledge for the vertiginous plunge into the raging river below. The instructions are to jump outwards and away from the ledge as much as possible to avoid landing on the rocks directly underneath. It’s a great incentive to use the legs and I clear the rocks easily, before dropping like a stone into the water. Immediately the current drags me downstream as I stroke towards the bank, eventually emerging from the river numb from fingertips to palms. Should have kept the gloves on.
Back in the boat, it’s a struggle to hold my paddle as the gorge widens and the rapids become less intense. The spectacular rolling scenery, however, is a welcome distraction from my fingers’ lack of feeling. Eventually, our trip comes to an end and we beach the raft on the riverbank, before pulling it up to where our heated van awaits to take us back to headquarters. My hands are still slightly numb as I tuck into the hot lunch served to us upon arrival, but I’m happy nonetheless. I’ve survived the Beast of the East and, more importantly, learned an important lesson: no matter what happens in life, you’ve just got to smile.
People had questions, but it was difficult to work out where they were coming from. How big are the boats?! asked one friend in a comment beneath a photograph of the festival grounds on Instagram. “Not that big,” I replied after trying to work out what he meant. “Big enough for 10 or so people.
So how do they get the elephants on the boat? Then it struck me. When you talk about elephant boats to people who aren’t in the know, their minds go to literal elephants on actual boats.
“There are no elephants involved,” I send back. “They’re like dragon boats, but decorated with elephants instead.” Until this point it had never occurred to me someone would think the inaugural King’s Cup Elephant Boat Race & River Festival would involve scenes that could have been plucked straight from the pages of a revised edition of Horton Hears A Who!. Although a surprise elly being rowed down the Chao Phraya River would certainly have attracted a crowd.
Not that there isn’t one here already. On the banks of Bangkok’s famous river, people are gathering for the opening ceremony. There are tables piled high with fruit and flowers, and a spiritual blessing is offered. Dancers twirl and pivot, and men beat out a rhythm on their traditional drum and gong. Kathy Heinecke, wife of Minor Hotel Group’s founder Bill, welcomes the guests and hangs a floral garland around the neck of one of the elephant boats. By the time the ceremony is over the heat of the sun is beginning to take its toll, and everyone rushes to take cover beneath the marquees where smartly dressed barkeeps are serving up all manner of thirst-quenching beverages, including cocktails created using the local golden spirit, Mekhong.
It’s the first of three days of racing to crown Thailand’s best and fastest on water. There are 12 teams competing, with athletes from Thailand, China and the Philippines rowing in the name of some of the event’s sponsors. It’s obvious right from the start of proceedings, however, that the crowd favourite is the team from the Royal Thai Navy Seals. What they say about men in uniforms holds true regardless of what part of the world you’re in.
The River Festival and boat racing is the replacement charity event for the King’s Cup Elephant Polo, which, for 16 years, raised funds to help rescue elephants who had once worked in the logging industry, as well as supporting a range of other elephant-focused causes.
The use of beasts of burden in Thailand’s timber industry was banned in 1989 and, since then, these huge creatures and their owners have been forced into cities, where the elephants beg for food and tourists pay a few baht to have photos taken with them. It is a bleak and depressing existence – their only way to survive outside this system is to be rescued and taken to a sanctuary.
Like the one we’d visited just a few days before, in the hills outside Chiang Rai on Thailand’s border with Laos and Myanmar. At the Anantara Golden Triangle Elephant Camp, 25 elephants now live peaceful lives, feasting on organic grass, sugar cane and bananas.
They also spend time out on the river flats, plucking the leaves from trees, scratching their butts on stumps and splashing about in the Ruak River, while tourists watch their every move and take photos.
“It costs about AU$26,000 a year to care for each elephant,” says Ou, the camp manager. “And that doesn’t include wages for the mahout, schooling for his children and other expenses.” Expenses that the Golden Triangle Asian Elephant Foundation (GTAEF) contributes.
While wide-eyed guests offset some of that cost – there are a number of programs on offer, including Walking With Giants, the Elephant Learning Experience, and Dining by Design at the Elephant Camp – there is still a shortfall. Plus, there are other projects to fund. As well as rescuing and improving conditions for captive elephants, the GTAEF has a number of programs that bring children who are autistic or under-privileged together with the gentle giants, support community enterprises, and protect the small populations of wild elephants still found in Thailand and Cambodia. None of it comes cheap.
Which delivers us firmly back riverside. There are a number of other events being held around the grounds. Teams of international rowers are taking part in the Asia Cup Indoor Rowing Tournament in a marquee at the back. There’s an exhibition of vintage cars near tables of prizes being sold in a silent charity auction. Kids are fishing rubber ducks from a pool of water in the hopes of winning a prize, while a dubious-looking clown (look, I’m not sure but suspect he is at least related to Pennywise) is encouraging others to pitch water balloons to come away with a stuffed bunny.
But, apart from general socialising and wandering between the food tents trying to decide what tasty morsels to snack on, the focus here is most definitely on the water. The race announcers give the crowd a general 10-minute warning before the next group of four teams is about to hit the water. Initially, a few people flock to get front position; most hold off until the paddlers are almost ready to row so as not to have to stand in the sun for too long. (This definitely becomes a recurring theme as the weekend goes on.)
You don’t want to wait too long, however. The races are held over 200 metres with four teams competing against one another. In each boat, beautifully decorated with a painted elephant’s head and a fish tail, 20 blokes paddle for their lives, one hangs out at the back on the tiller keeping them going in a straight line, and one sits at the front, facing the rowers and beating out a rhythm on a traditional drum. The starting gun goes off, the commentators begin yelling, the crowd cheers as one, there’s a flurry of splashing and, less than a minute later, it’s all over. Well, for the moment anyway. A round-robin batch of heats will determine the finalists.
Between races, party people stroll around and observe the other happenings. There’s a best-dressed competition with women wrapped in exotic silks and draped in jewels. “She could win that,” stage whispers a woman to her friend as the two finalists are announced – one of them is a young woman barely in her teens. She is, in fact, named the winner and Bill Heinecke presents her with the prize: a luxury stay at Anantara’s divine Maldives properties. Mostly they jockey for position at the bar, where Chang beer and chilled Chilean chardonnay flows liberally.
On the last day, it comes down to four teams from the Institute of Physical Education, the central province of Nonthaburi, the Royal Thai Navy and the Royal Thai Navy Seals. Before the start of the final there is just four seconds separating the teams’ best times. A minute later, it’s all over. Crowd favourites the Seals paddle their way to victory, claiming the glory and the cup. As the sun dips in the sky and the teams wander away, the stage is lit up one last time. Some of Thailand’s best pop performers are here to send off the crowd in style.
Singto Numchok gets the crowd going with his local hits then invites a woman from the crowd on to the stage. He hands her the mike and begins strumming Ed Sheeran’s ‘Thinking Out Loud’. She appears to be horrified and thrilled all at once. No high notes are hit, but the crowd goes suitably wild.
As we’re leaving the grounds late that night, people are still boogie-ing in front of the stage. Out the front of Anantara’s sales marquee, a man has fallen asleep on a banana lounge, a bottle of water fiercely gripped in one hand. Like everyone else here, he’s had a weekend to remember. Or maybe not.
The heavy-laden alpine trees creak and crack before their dead, brittle branches give way and thud into freshly fallen snow. The wallop echoes through the trees, slicing the silence in Japan’s Aokigahara Forest. I sense someone is there, but when I turn it’s just me and my guide, Také, who’s standing next to me like a protective beacon in his fluorescent orange jacket. He seems to realise something I don’t; a knowing expression is pinching the corners of his mouth. Again I jump when more snow dumps from the trees, dusting our beanies in a layer of powder-white flakes. Still, there’s an indescribable darkness.
Také tells me Mt Fuji’s Aokigahara forest, in Yamanashi Prefecture, is also known in Japan as the Suicide Forest. People suffering with mental illness make the journey, knowing it’s unlikely they’ll be found in the thick forest. Their Buddhist beliefs tell them they’ll be reincarnated. There are even signs along the pathways. “Your life is a precious gift from your parents,” states one. “Please reconsider.” I note the first three letters of the forest’s name – AOK – and wonder if it’s a coincidence.
I’m here in April with Wendy Wu Tours on the company’s Trails of Japan dossier. At this time of year it’s almost unheard of to have snow. In the forest there is no background din, only the crunch of compacting snow under foot as we round each bend and come across fresh, untrodden trails. Also dubbed the Sea of Trees, the dense forest is as eerie as it is magical, and the afternoon passes in a reflective mindfulness at being able to enjoy the crisp, energising mountain air.
It’s been a day of firsts, including trekking the base of Mt Fuji and sitting cross-legged on soft plump pillows at a ryokan for a kaiseki feast. Each of the delicately sliced beef, raw seafood and julienne-style vegetable dishes is so artistically designed it looks too good to eat. And the dishes keep coming at the hands of demure, kimono-clad waitresses until I can’t possibly eat any more. At night, I feel as though I’m camping inside as I bed down and drift off on a softly stuffed futon placed on a tatami mat floor.
At dawn, a misty Mt Minobu tempts me to walk through its tiny deserted village before heading to one of Japan’s most famous castles. I stroll past vending machines stocked with hot beverages and closed cafes displaying their menus by way of sampuru (plastic food models) in outdoor cabinets. It’s a complete contrast to entering the foreboding and busy interior of Matsumoto Castle two hours later. Also nicknamed the Crow Castle because of its black six-storey exterior, the structure – dating back to 1594 – is now a national treasure. It’s easy to understand why. This magnificent fortress exudes power and is spectacular against the snow-capped Japanese Alps. I clamber up narrow steep staircases to reach the sixth floor and learn the castle was painted black to instil fear among the enemy. Lookouts are positioned on each compass point, allowing a bird’s-eye view of the castle’s extensive grounds and blossoming cherry trees. In the distance, a labyrinth of ancient thin streets is juxtaposed with the manicured castle grounds.
Také is all smiles as we leave the flatlands of the castle behind and head towards Nagano, the main gateway to the Japanese Alps. It seems he’s been communicating with the weather gods as it’s snowing in Jigokudani Park, home to the Japanese macaques – aka the snow monkeys. The park is the only known place in the world where monkeys bathe in natural hot springs. When I’d checked the weather before travelling to Japan, sun symbols dominated the charts. I’d had visions of the macaques sunbathing and running amok in spring temperatures. I mutter a ‘let there be falling snow’ mantra, feeling like a wanting child praying their to-die-for present is under the Christmas tree.
Blue skies peel away and the terrain transforms as we hug rising switchback roads to reach the colossal jagged mountains of Hakuba.
We arrive in Yokoyu River Valley, 850 metres above sea level, to gently falling snow. Sudden bursts of steam shoot from the harsh craggy cliffs as we half run along slender paths, overly excited to see the monkeys in their natural environment.
When we finally see them, a family of macaques is huddled in the hot spring, grooming one another as snow falls around them and melts on the steamy surface. Their red faces peek out, exposed to the cold, as the dominant male scans the mountains for gatecrashers from lower ranking groups. I learn females stay in their family group, while males seek out other packs before they sexually mature. In many respects, their social system is like ours. Také tells me outsiders who come down from the mountains are often pushed out by the main gang or the boss of the pack. The head honcho protects his females, which in return bodes well for him during mating season.
It would be easy to watch their playful antics until dusk, but two hours pass quickly and it’s time to leave the monkeys soaking in the warmth. Having ticked off a wish-list experience, I stroll down through the park and wonder why Jigokudani is also known as Hell Valley when, above, celestial snow-tipped pine trees glow like giant candles.
As dusk edges day’s end, the sun’s fading rays pierce low-lying clouds, casting a sliver of golden light across the Alps. I feel like a snow monkey that night as I bare all to immerse myself in an onsen and enjoy one of Japan’s most popular pastimes. The mineral-infused water soon takes away any inhibitions as I slip into deep relaxation. Then a group of middle-aged Japanese women surrounds me, checking me out. “Where you from?” one asks. I tell them Australia. “Oh, Ooorstraaylia,” they repeat, nodding and laughing. “How old you?” I answer, and again they find this funny. I feel like one of those snow monkey outsiders coming down the mountain, but the humorous pidgin English continues for the next 30 minutes, with us sharing details about our ages and health regimens. Being naked grants a sense of freedom that clothes seem to inhibit.
“This is the lucky, unexpected tour,” Také announces the next morning as we head to the peaks of Mt Hotaka, Japan’s third-largest mountain, to ride the Shin-Hotaka Ropeway. With an elevation of 1,000 metres, it’s the highest and longest cable car in Japan. “Unexpected snow, late-blossoming cherry trees, and now a two-metre snow drift on top of the Alps,” Také continues as we board, clearly excited. “In seven years I’ve never seen this.”
A sudden jolt signifies our double-decker gondola has begun its 200-metre ascent on the first climb up the Alps’ northern side. Within seconds we’re gliding on a single cable ropeway, skimming treetops to reach the first landing. Keen to get to the summit, no one stops at the midway-point art gallery and gift shop, instead heading straight to the second departure platform. The gondola spasms into motion as we begin the steep 800-metre climb to the upper station. Although not one to normally worry about heights, my heart thumps in my chest a few times as we jerk precariously and rise rapidly on a steep gradient. With the operator back at the embarkation point, it feels as though we’re flying in a bus without a driver.
At 2,156 metres I step out to look across a dazzling valley of snow-drenched pine trees. I feel as though I’m a small child again. I want to dive into the snow, make snow angels and build a snowman with a carrot nose and a hat. I marvel at nature’s ability to take the breath away – and not just because the temperature is –6°C. I walk down a path cut into snowdrifts taller than me and unexpectedly find a Buddhist shrine. It’s a moment where anything seems possible and everything feels right.
On the descent, the landscape appears different, as though someone has flipped the next image across on a moving slideshow. It could still take its place on a postcard, but after exploring Hotaka’s spectacular peaks it just doesn’t compare.
In the late afternoon I wander the streets of Takayama’s old town, where the distinctive smell of freshly brewed sake infuses with the crisp early-evening air. I pop in and out of ancient merchant stores clad with dark wooden facades selling strong coffee and delicately wrapped Japanese candies.
I sample sweet-smelling street food and end the day sitting under drooping cherry blossom branches, where late buds fall like snow, covering the pavement in a soft blanket of pink and white.
It’s 6.23am according to my Fitbit, and the hot trickle of sweat snaking its way from the back of my neck, down my cheek and directly into the furrowed crease of my brow tells me we’re in for another sultry day in the Solomons.
I’m struggling to hold a graceful downward dog position, and the gentle rocking of the boat is making it almost impossible to keep my balance. As for emptying my mind and focusing on nothing but the present – the slightest breath of a warm breeze and the gentle chant of “omm” – I’m failing miserably and already thinking ahead to breakfast, the day’s scuba dive and whether it’s possible to get sunburn at such an early hour.
This is the daily 5.30am yoga session aboard the MV Taka. Well, it would be if it started on time, but out here we’re on what’s affectionately known as ‘island time’, which means any semblance of punctuality no longer exists, replaced instead by a more relaxed ‘go with the flow’ vibe.
Myself and 11 others are travelling with Solomon Islands Discovery Cruises on a seven-night voyage exploring the gorgeous Florida and Russell Islands. Our trusty vessel is the aforementioned MV Taka, a 30-metre liveaboard that boasts 12 comfortable cabins, a communal dining area and more than enough space for lounging around. It’s no Queen Mary 2, but if you’ve come to the Sollies in search of five-star luxury, well, this probably isn’t the right trip for you.
Still untouched and relatively removed from the majority of the modern trappings that have infiltrated much of the South Pacific, there was little I knew of the Solomon Islands before touching down, apart from it being home to some of the friendliest people on Earth and also being ridiculously, rub-your-eyes-it-can’t-be-real beautiful.
Even the flight time was a surprise – it’s just a three-hour trip with Solomon Airlines to Honiara, the capital, from Brisbane.
Comprising 992 islands – of which just 147 are inhabited – the Solomons welcome only 30,000 tourists annually, most of them avid divers lured by the promise of pristine, healthy reefs or history buffs interested in the fierce violence that erupted in the archipelago between Japanese forces and the American allies during World War II.
It’s a narrative the team behind Solomon Islands Discovery Cruises is hoping to enhance via these new seafaring expeditions.
On a mission to showcase another side of the Solomons, the cruise has been carefully crafted to offer cultural experiences, an up-close look at some of the breathtaking natural attractions, plus a stack of water-based activities, all while still incorporating the ever-appealing diving and history components.
And that’s exactly what I get on my week-long adventure, during which time normally spent checking Instagram is replaced with surfing or stand-up paddleboarding, while regular Netflix sessions are swapped for nightly bouts of stargazing.
With yoga done and dusted by 7am it’s time for a hearty breakfast. Steaming somewhere out in the middle of the ocean, you’d be forgiven for expecting little more than cereal and toast on the menu. Not on the Taka.
With the kitchen manned by local chefs Charles and Fred – in fact, all Taka’s crew members are Solomon Islanders – it’s not long before a feast emerges from the depths of the galley. Bacon, eggs cooked to your preference, pancakes, sauteed veggies, fresh tropical fruit, yoghurt… You name it, they’ll cook it up for you, even cereal and toast, if that’s all you fancy.
It’s a meal designed to fuel us for our upcoming scuba dive at White Beach, the site of an old World War II wreck, in the Russell Islands. A former American military base, White Beach was abandoned hastily and all equipment simply pushed into the water by soldiers upon departure. That means there’s a plethora of vehicles, machinery and artefacts lying just below the surface.
Despite considering myself quite the water baby, I’ve never had the opportunity to go diving before, and I’m half terrified, half excited about the prospect of giving it a crack.
Our crew consists of two fully qualified PADI dive instructors, and our cruise leader, Chevone Whitaker, is also fully qualified. Solomon Islands Discovery Cruises was founded by Belinda Botha, who operates the highly successful Dive Munda in the Western Province of the Sollies, so naturally diving is part of the itinerary.
Newbies like myself are offered the opportunity to undertake the introductory PADI course, which permits guided dives down to 12 metres below sea level. Chevone, who also happens to be Belinda’s niece, takes our crew of four dive virgins through the required dry-land training, during which my initial buzz of excited nerves turns to full-blown terror.
“The most important thing to remember is to keep breathing,” Chevone states matter-of-factly. It sounds simple enough, but with various hand signals to remember and emergency procedures running through my head, I’m beginning to worry my natural breathing instincts may not kick in.
As I try to keep a lid on my heightened emotions, we head to the shallows to test our newly learned skills in the lukewarm, aquamarine waters. With every fibre of my mind and body convinced the act of surviving underwater is impossible, I’m shocked upon taking my first gasp and finding that, yes, the equipment actually works and, no, I haven’t drowned yet.
And that’s all it takes for me to completely relax. Before long I’m descending into the depths of the water, dappled sunlight illuminating the passing reef and highlighting corals the colours of Pantone swatches – lavender, peach, buttercup yellow and burnt orange. Tropical fish dart past leftover bullets and casings, while royal blue starfish cling to pieces of scrap metal once used for communication towers.
Time ceases to exist underwater, and after what feels like five minutes we slowly make our way back to the real world. I clumsily clamber back on the boat, a round of applause greeting my fellow first-timers and I, before a freshly cracked coconut is thrust into my hands. Through a giant grin I knock it back, quickly discovering nothing tastes sweeter than that first post-dive bev.
After that, a feeling of euphoria doesn’t quite leave me. It’s present during our visit to Roderick Bay, a place that has become somewhat of a reluctant tourist destination thanks to the wreck of the MS World Discoverer, a German cruise ship that ran aground in the bay in April 2000. A looming presence – the ship is more than 80 metres in length – it’s now an unorthodox playground for the island’s kids, who have built flying foxes, rope swings and diving platforms on the upper levels.
The warm welcome we receive from Chief Patrick and his community is one of flowered leis, fresh coconuts, dancing and music. They’ve come to embrace the increased interest in their island since the wreck turned their home into an attraction, and aren’t shy about sharing stories, showing us their wares and offering tours of the village.
That feeling is there again when we drop anchor at Mane Bay. Enticed into the water by the promise of waterskiing, stand-up paddleboarding and snorkelling, it doesn’t take long for word of our arrival to spread.
Within minutes we’re surrounded by children of all ages – some as young as two, who seem barely able to walk let alone paddle – in wooden dug-out canoes, eager to trade their form of transport for ours. SUP boards and blow-up unicorns are quickly commandeered and my fellow cruisers and I realise we’ve fallen victim to a calculated and well-practised ambush. There’s nothing we can do about it, of course, as these kids rule the waters.
Over by the Taka, business is getting underway. An important ethos of the Solomon Island Discovery Cruises is a focus on sustainable tourism, and a way of delivering on that promise is by actively involving the local communities. It’s the reason why island visits and hosted performances are so integral to the cruise, and why more than 30 canoes, loaded with fresh fruit and vegetables, have suddenly converged on the boat.
This makeshift floating marketplace – every bit as loud and enthusiastic as one you’d expect in Southeast Asia – allows for both the boat to top up its supplies (the use of fresh, local ingredients for our meals is an outstanding feature of the trip) and provides a monetary opportunity for the residents of Mane to sell and trade their produce. It’s an ongoing agreement every time the Taka steams into the bay, and a win-win for all involved, especially in these outer islands where any form of income from tourism is virtually non-existent.
Our final morning begins as all the others have: alarms going off at 5.25am for yoga on the top deck. This particular morning, though, our view is slightly different. We’re on the outskirts of Honiara and there’s a slight haze in the air, while that unmistakable end-of-holiday feeling reverberates between my fellow yogis and I.
As we settle into the now familiar moves of our sun salutations, I once again slip into the familiar pattern of thinking ahead to what’s on during the day: taxis, flights, transfers and more flights. I feel the slightest hint of anxiety start to creep in, so I take a couple of extra-deep breaths and sneak a peek at the
orange-hued horizon instead.
I may have fallen out of step with the rest of the group as a result, but I figure since we’re still technically on island time, it’s not going to matter too much if I soak up the last of the early-morning Sollies sun for just a little longer.
“You wanna know something? Donnie asks in a smoky mid-western drawl. I’m only gonna tell you this once, so pay attention. Where you are now, right now, this place here, is the best ski mountain in the USA if not the whole damn world!”
I’m propped up at the bar at the Hellroaring Saloon & Eatery on Montana’s Whitefish Mountain. In front of me is a pint of Moose Drool Brown Ale and to my left is Donnie, a local skier with an amazing ability to fit twice as many words into a sentence than is necessary. The bar itself is decorated with an eclectic mix of ski paraphernalia and the odd stuffed animal. There are three guys in cowboy hats downing shots of whiskey at the end of the bar. If not for everyone dressed in ski gear we could be in a scene from a classic Clint Eastwood western.
“This place ain’t like them fancy pancy nancy Colorado reeezorts,” Donnie drawls. “Oh, no sir! I skied down there before I got up this way and I ain’t never ever even thought once about heading back on down.”
“Coz we’re different, man. We’re the real deal in these parts.” Then he stands, shakes my hand and wanders out onto the powdered slopes of Whitefish leaving me grinning.
“Donnie,” I say to myself channelling his linguistic trait, “that is simply, without a doubt, the main exact reason we’re here.”
We had landed at Bozeman Airport a week earlier to make our way to Montana’s most famous ski field, Big Sky Resort. Embracing the Wild West, we eschew the ski-in, ski-out chalets and instead choose to stay at Lone Mountain Ranch, one of National Geographic’s Unique Lodges of the World. Picture the quintessential American log cabin surrounded by trees slouching with the weight of a fresh snowfall. The 27 log cabins are spaced well enough away from each other to ensure privacy and a feeling of isolation, yet all are within walking distance of the main ranch where the renowned Horn & Cantle Restaurant serves award-winning nosh and its saloon bar pours American whiskies and craft beer. It’s all rustic wood, open fires and low lighting. I feel like I need to buy a Stetson just to fit in.
The snow when we arrive is waist deep. The stars light our way and the glow of the open fire in our cabin – named Lame Deer – beckons through the windows. There’s a record player with a selection of vinyl. I choose The Best of John Denver (nice touch) and climb into the deep warmth of our bed to the strains of ‘Rocky Mountain High’. This is America.
It’s a short drive from Lone Mountain to Big Sky Resort. As we approach the base there’s a flurry of activity as a few skiers and boarders jostle for the lifts. Claiming to have the “Biggest Skiing in America”, Big Sky has more than 20 square kilometres of ski terrain with runs for all levels. It is astonishing that there are not more people here. There are no lines for the lifts. None. Not one. Perhaps that is why the likes of Justin Timberlake and Ben Affleck choose to ski here.
Big Sky has only recently opened the Ramcharger 8, one of the most technologically advanced chairlifts in the world. Built to carry eight people, it is high speed, heated and comes with a weather-protecting hood. Unless word begins to get out, I struggle to see how they will fill it given the lack of crowds.
We ski all day, only stopping for lunch at Headwaters Grille on the mountain. Big Sky lives up to its name and for a couple of hours in the afternoon I have no idea where we are. It is a great way to ski knowing there are new runs after every lift. Thankfully the mountain is well signposted and we don’t find ourselves staring down a double black diamond run to get home.
It’s not all skiing here though, and on our second day we join the team from Spirit of the North for a dog sled through the Moonlight Basin in Big Sky’s backcountry. With the imposing Lone Mountain and Spanish Peaks as a backdrop dogsledding through fresh snow is a serious adrenaline rush. My team of Alaskan huskies barks with excitement and, even before we have taken off, pulls hard on the sled.
“Foot down!” Jim yells at me to ensure I weigh heavily on the foot brake. “If they take off without you we’ll never get your wife back!” My wife shifts uncomfortably in the sled.
Jim gives me the thumbs-up, so I lift my foot and step onto the sled.
It lurches forward and for a split second I fear I’ll be a bachelor again.
It is not easy controlling a dog sled. Push the brake going downhill. Jump off and run with the dogs going uphill. Lean to the left when turning right. Lean to the right when turning left. I curse myself for not paying enough attention to Jim’s briefing, especially when we take a sharp turn and hit a tree branch heavy with powdery snow.
“Having fun?” I ask my wife as she clears the snow from her head. The views are astonishing though. There is so much deep snow it feels like we’re sledding through a world made of marshmallow.
The drive from Big Sky to Whitefish is a seven-hour cruise through middle America. We pass small towns with houses decorated with American flags, like something out of a 1980s Tom Cruise movie. There’s a church with a sign out front proclaiming “All Pasties Welcome”. I assume it means pastors, but out here who would really know? There seems to be more pick-up trucks than people in these parts.
Fifteen minutes after Donnie has departed the Hellroaring Saloon I am back up on the summit of Whitefish. We’re in luck with the weather today. With not a cloud in the sky, the views are endless. The peaks of Glacier National Park run all the way to the Canadian border to the north; to the south Whitefish Lake sparkles in the afternoon sunshine. Donnie had told me of the inversion days that happen here, where the warm air pushes the cloud cover low over the lake and town of Whitefish. “Can you like imagine, just for one minute, what it would be like to ski above the clouds? Man, that’s what it is like. I’m serious. It’s like being in heaven.”
We are staying on the mountain this time in the wonderfully unique Ponderosa Chalet, a treehouse literally a ski length from Tenderfoot chairlift. I learn the first morning to make sure I’m dressed for breakfast after a lift-load of eager snowboarders laughs hysterically at me through the window.
While Ponderosa is set up for self-catering we make the most of the mountain resort’s restaurants. We fine dine on buffalo tenderloin at the renowned Cafe Kandahar and gorge on burgers and beer at Ed & Mully’s where the après-ski scene tends to kick off each day. It ends at The Bierstube with a great selection of local craft beers and retro video games. On our last evening it is karaoke night and, as I look through the song list, I hear a familiar voice from the stage. It’s Donnie and he’s trying to sing ‘The Gambler’ while flashing a beaming smile my way. He beckons me to join him and I spend my last night in Montana singing “You gotta know when to hold ’em, know when to fold ’em” arm in arm with a guy I’d only met a day earlier. It’s the real deal out here alright.
Imagine Japan. What do you see? Likely the cloud-tickling skyscrapers of Tokyo and ancient teahouses of Kyoto. In reality, those two images are far from representative of Japan’s compact but diverse landscape. Less than two hours by boat north of the mainland of Shimane Prefecture, I find myself surrounded by the Sea of Japan, at the doorstep of the Oki Islands, a volcanic cluster of unrefined beauty and drama.
From largest to smallest, the rundown of the Oki Islands goes like this: Dogo, Nishinoshima, Nakanoshima and Chiburijima. Together they’re home to spectacular coastal scenery, including epic cliffs and pristine beaches, lush mountain walks through ancient forests, diverse populations of wildlife and, in more recent times, UNESCO Global Geoparks Network recognition.
While you can get to the islands by aeroplane, it’s far more scenic and affordable to catch the Oki Island Ferry. By the time the ship has sailed, it’s clear this is also the best way to understand the locals’ love of the sea.
While the other three of the Oki islands are clustered together in tight formation, like three pieces of a slowly separating jigsaw puzzle, Dogojima is a separate entity. Compared to Tokyo, the large, lonely island’s population of just 15,000 residents seems minuscule, but it plays the role of the capital of the islands. It’s the biggest fish in a small pond. What Dogojima lacks in population, however, it makes up for in unparalleled scenic views and ecological diversity.
If you were to ask the locals to pick just one location on the map that was representative of the island, they’d likely pick Candle Rock, also known as Rosoku-jima. Sitting just off Dogojima’s northwest coastline of, Rosoku-jima is a 20-metre-tall rock formation only accessible by a sightseeing boat.
At 4pm we head out on the cruising boat, cameras poised and skipper primed to manoeuvre his charge into position. While the rock’s uniquely tapered, candle-like shape is impressive throughout the day, it’s especially so pre-sunset. With boat, rock and setting light source correctly aligned, the sun plays the role of the candle flame, glittering gold and red light atop the slim rock.
Battling greying skies and a mischievous ocean breeze that coated camera lenses in a fine layer of sea water, we take shot after shot in an attempt to capture the balanced fragility and compelling beauty of this icon of Dogojima.
A little closer to shore sits another of Dogojima’s famed attractions: the humble boathouses that line the rocky beach. With roofing held down by oversized stones and at just ¥1,500 (about AU$20) a year to rent, they are a perfect example of Dogo’s laid-back yin to the dramatic yang of Candle Rock.
While Dogojima is the largest of the Oki family, when it comes to coastal attractions, biggest doesn’t necessarily mean best. Nishinoshima is the home of the Kuniga Coast, a rugged 13-kilometre-long fringe of the island with eroded cliff formations that resemble oversized abstract sculptures.
At 257 meters tall, with its blood red face contrasting against the impossibly blue water of the Sea of Japan, Matengai is the centrepiece of Kuniga Coast. Walking tours take visitors to admire the stunning site, but the best way to get up close is by boat.
On an almost impossibly perfect day, we depart Beppu Port to cruise Nishinoshima’s most dramatic side. Chugging past the monstrously tall Kanabo-iwa and So Butsuzo-iwa cliffs, and intermittently dipping in and out of sea caves Otohime-goten and Takimi-no-iwaya, we’re treated to endless naturally crafted masterpieces, each more dramatic than the last. But if the preceding cliffs are masterpieces Matengai Cliff is the Mona Lisa, such is its perfection.
While the Oki islands are without question a boat lover’s paradise, when the waves are rough – no rarity here – it doesn’t mean the opportunity to admire the coastal beauty is only out at sea. You can easily be swept away by incredible views while still having two feet planted on solid ground.
In a northeastern corner of Dogo Island is the Joudogaura Coast, a pocket of picture-perfect views that’s easy to hunt down if you can write in Japanese (search 浄土ケ浦海岸). To get to its most scenic section, our guide tells us to take the slippery, foliage-covered walking path. It isn’t an easy trek but is well worth the extra 15-minute slog to arrive at a primo spot for photography. Around 2.65 million years ago, volcanic activity crafted this dramatic scene. Thick basalt lava spewed 10 metres into the air then settled along the coast and nearby Cape Sakiyama to create a black layer-cake effect. It feels somehow prehistoric but sea erosion and wind constantly sculpts and reforms its shape in a type of live art performance. You can almost read the history in every sagging lava rock and sharp cliff edge that towers above the deep ocean.
Dogo’s other must-visit viewpoint is the Shirashima Coast Lookout, located on the northernmost tip of the island. The geological formations that make up the neighbouring landscape are yet another example of the almost logic-defying diversity of this small landmass. Just moments ago we were snapping photos of the dramatic black landscape at Joudogaura, and now we’re admiring the pure white rocks that make up the cliffs of Shirashima.
While they’re better known for their outdoor pursuits than their artistic output, you can certainly get a little creative here on the Oki islands. After a long few days trekking along the coast and bobbing in the ocean, we head to Dogo’s Kurui Port to experience the marine world in a different way.
The paints are set out in the classroom, newspaper is laid down and there’s a box of clean, palm-sized shells from which to choose for an oyster decorating class. The teacher shows us a few example pieces before giving us a rundown on the process. Basically, there are no rules; just do as you want and let your creativity run wild. Others in the class outline maps of the island and re-create beach scenes. I decide to paint the tanuki (Japanese raccoon dog), a mischievous symbol of Dogo. These fuzzy Japanese natives can be spotted across the island, weaving in and out of the bush. Painting the shell is more tranquil art therapy than class and much more fun than I had thought it was going to be. After about 40 minutes of almost zen-like concentration, carefully tracking the tiny peaks and valleys on the shell’s interior, I have a tanuki-adorned oyster as a souvenir of my time exploring this untouched island corner of Japan.
This story is sponsored by JNTO (Japan National Tourism Organization).
The entrance to the small green shed that is home to the Northern Lights Wolf Centre is covered in the skulls and antlers of Canadian Rockies natives. And a door the same colour as the nearby mountain town of Golden is our gateway to an experience for which I’m not fully prepared.
We’re going to walk with wolves, and I’ve watched enough Game Of Thrones to wonder whether I’ll have to adopt a Yorkshire accent to ensure the world’s largest wild canids know I’m friend rather than foe.
The centre was established in 2002 when Casey, a former Hollywood animal trainer, and Shelley Black decided to educate people about the majestic wolves and the important role they play in the environment. They started with just one wolf, but now have a pack of seven that live in a 5000 square metre enclosure.
A chorus of howls adds a backing soundtrack to Shelley’s warnings as she prepares us for what’s to come: “It’s important to remember, we’re on wolf terms.” Thankfully, the wolves, which have been born and raised in captivity, are used to the presence of humans. As a result, they act more like dogs than wild animals.
A leash is attached to young female Flora, who follows Casey to his sedan and is loaded into the back. Riding behind with Shelley, I see Flora’s yellow eyes peering through the back window. She has a pup-like appearance, but this is a 45-kilogram grey wolf with the strength to take down a cow.
It’s a combination of the breath-stealing scenery and majestic nature of the long-legged creature padding beside me that makes me want to pinch myself through my puffy jacket. Flora disappears then reappears far ahead or behind us. It doesn’t faze me until, as I crouch down next to a glacial creek snapping photographs, she starts running towards me. I freeze before remembering Shelley’s words: “Always stand taller than the wolf.” I don’t realise Casey is holding a treat, which is what has Flora’s attention, but before he says, “Don’t panic,” I’ve jumped up and moved well out of her way.
With my heart pounding, we continue. I’m still unsure of my relationship with Flora. She’s not let me pat her, nor has she sniffed my feet as a normal dog would. Shelley instructs me to stand next to a log, and I oblige. Within moments, Flora has jumped up on it and run her tongue along my face, leaving a trail of saliva. It’s the most action I’ve had on this trip to Canada and, wearing the remnants of her sloppy kiss, I’m no longer left wondering whether I’m friend or foe
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