This is some of the best quality whitewater rafting in the world, I tell the group of skydivers, paramedics and assorted adventurers with no previous whitewater experience.
We had been sitting on a rock shelf, beneath the blistering Kimberley sun, with a major section of enticing whitewater next to it. It is a relief to finally get back in the water.
The size of the rapids this wet season has me surprised. I make the call to run this section as a ‘wolf pack’ with myself leading the safest way down the furious whitewater. Travelling in a group means that I am right beside the two rafts and two kayaks, ready to help if someone flips their boat. The two four-metre rafts are heavily loaded with five people, two weeks of food, shelter and everything else we need to survive the self-supported trip through the ultra-wilderness of Western Australia’s Kimberley region.
The Fitzroy River is the highest volume river in Australia and I can believe it today. I see a tree getting washed down the silt-laden chocolate-brown water, and as the sweat drips from my brow, I exhale and peel out from the eddy (a slow current that runs beside the main flow).
As I enter the main current, the rafts and kayaks are close behind. I complete the main move in the rapid between two large crashing waves, paddling over crests that are almost twice as tall as the rafts. I look over my shoulder nervously to see one raft and two kayaks safely behind me. Before I even have a chance to breathe a sigh of relief, a big wave breaks over the top of my head and another hits the second raft. With no mercy, the raft stands on its side and then quickly flips, throwing the five paddlers into the water.
“Eddie Out” I scream over the thunderous roar of the wild river. I watch like a hawk as the river sucks people, paddles and the raft under water. As they resurface, the relentless water smashes them down again. The upright crafts scramble to find an eddy while the upside-down raft, gasping rafters, and equipment resemble a yard sale spread down the river waiting for a moment of relief.
The first priority is life and I scream at resurfacing rafters to swim hard to the other raft. I can only count four helmets as the upside down raft approaches the next rapid. I paddle over to find Wom, the missing paddler, clinging to the capsized boat.
“Are you are okay?” I ask. He pants for air and tightens his white-knuckle grip around the rope on the raft. Conscious and responding, he follows my instructions to take some deep breaths. He needs all the oxygen he can get into his fatigued body because the lip of the next rapid is less than 20 meters away, we are in the middle of the flooded torrent and there is no way to get the exhausted paddler to safety before the next onslaught of crashing waves.
I realise I’m not much use to anyone if I’m in the same predicament as him, and I need to paddle on. “Hold on tight, mate,” I instruct him, warning him of the oncoming blitz of rapids. “I will see you at the bottom, hold on mate.”
I paddle away from the raft and make the safe line down the rapid. Once we’re all at the bottom, I paddle straight back over to the topsy-turvy raft. Wom is still holding on, conscious but less responsive than before.
There’s another rapid approaching and I need to get him to shore, fast. “Let go of the raft, hold onto the back of my boat and kick hard,” I yell. I have to repeat myself three times before he responds. I paddle as hard as I can with an 80 kilogram anchor holding on for his life to the back of my boat in the turbid fast-moving water. When we reach the shore, Wom is shaken to his core, but thankfully, he is breathing.
The raft is still caught in the current and as it runs into the next rapid, a massive wave power-flips it the right way up. I stare in disbelief – somehow, all the equipment is still strapped into the boat. As far as catastrophes go, this is a successful one, with all heads accounted for and the equipment still intact. In wild terrain like this, on a two-week expedition that requires us to be self-reliant, losing half the food, equipment and transportation for five people would result in an evacuation. Organising a helicopter to pick up half the team is not what I had in mind today, so I have no choice but to paddle like crazy to catch the raft.
It’s wet season in the Kimberly and during this time of year the road system is limited, cut off by the cyclonic weather system and daily torrential downpours, so the only way to get access is by air. It’s taken a five-day delay and a three-hour light aircraft flight into an Indigenous Australian community 300 kilometres upstream from our current location to get here. We still have at least another 150 kilometres of river ahead of us. We are deep into the middle of one of the last true wilderness landscapes on the planet.
With the runaway raft secured to a nearby tree, I signal for the rest of the team to come down and meet us. Fifty metres on, we find an ancient sacred site of the land’s traditional owners. The sheltered rock face is estimated to be at least 17,000 years old and is decorated in Gwion Gwion images. This is arguably some of the oldest rock art in the world and that notion is not lost on me. I take a moment to recognise the honour of standing on ancient land, almost untouched by time and home to one of the oldest living cultures on the planet. It’s a privilege and experience that I struggle to describe in words.
Adding to the wonder of this landscape is its life-force. The land comes alive in the wet. Freshwater crocodiles follow us down rapids, while whistling kites, wedge-tail eagles and red-tailed black cockatoos circle high above us. Barramundi, bream and turtles glide through the river, and frogs, monitors and rock wallabies hang out on drier land.
For the local Indigenous communities, Wandjina are the spirits of the clouds and rain. They are the creators of life, and a symbol of fertility, rain and the wet season. The legend says that Wandjina have no mouths so that they may not pass judgment, but when the electric, thunderous clouds of the Kimberley wet season erupt with booms and cracks of the most terrific lighting you’ve ever seen, they are sending a message. Images of Wandjina can be found on remote rock faces and caves throughout the Kimberley.
As the river crashes against the banks and waves collide with a wild ferocity, it becomes very clear that Wandjina is demanding our attention, and if we are to survive, we ought to heed the advice.
The severity of our location is clear to everyone in the group, and there is a sense of relief as we roll into camp, ready to re-energise our bodies after a hard day on the rapids. Happy to be safe and sound, with our equipment intact, we settle down for a feast of popcorn and fish cakes.
As the sun dawns on a new day, it’s clear the team is still driven by both the exhilaration and the fear of yesterday. No one more so than Wom who, despite his brush with danger, shows no hesitation to get back into the action for the remaining 150 kilometres of river we have yet to travel to reach our final destination. Thankfully, today’s journey is far less aggressive and as the mighty Fitzroy cuts through the King Leopold Range, the fast-moving rapids turn into a vast body of water which, at times, can spread to 14 kilometres across the floodplains.
Golden orb spiders and goannas are forced into treetops to take refuge from the rising waters, as the river navigates the never-ending labyrinth of back channels, branches covered in webs and sandy islands.
Our rafts drift toward Fitzroy Crossing. The experience of exploring the isolated wilderness of this region is every bit as powerful as the rapids that have just pushed us here. Eliminating the distractions of modern life has offered us a sharpened focus on our surroundings and the opportunity to bask in the glory of this outback kaleidoscope. With heightened senses, clarity and a bond that can only be formed by a perilous experience like this one, the team reaches the end of our river-run in the small town of Fitzroy Crossing, each of us leaving undeniably moved by our brush with the mystical Fitzroy River.
It’s believed that those who drink from the mighty waters of the river will continue to be drawn back to this land, and it’s without question that I’ll return to the world’s last truly wild landscapes to again hear the sounds of Wandjina and the Fitzroy.
Hoping for safety in numbers, hundreds of thousands of sardines gather in silver tornadoes in the Caribbean Sea at the beginning of the year. But leering at them from the sidelines are sailfish – hulking predators that can clock up speeds of about 110 kilometres an hour, which makes them the speediest fish in the world. Chomp down on a snorkel and slip into the warm blue water off the coast of Mexico’s Isla Mujeres to watch as they gulp down wayward swimmers and corral seething baitballs to the surface, where waiting gulls and frigatebirds hover in the hopes of stealing a sardine of their own. Spanning up to three metres long, the sailfish is equipped with a nervous system that allows them to flash a whole host of colours and, adorned with spear-like noses and generous dorsal fins, these pelagic beasts are an awesome sight to behold. If their frames aren’t impressive enough to satisfy a desire for underwater encounters, the manta rays and enormous whale sharks you’ll spy gliding beneath the waves will surely hit the spot. Come early in the year, when the sailfish are in a frenzy before they depart in March, bellies full.
All four elements of ancient Greek astrology align at the sheer granite monolith of El Capitan, in California’s Yosemite National Park. Water from heavy rains and melting snow courses across the earth, tumbling into the air as it reaches the edge, where it transforms into a blazing stream of fire. Or so it appears. For just a few minutes a day over a couple of weeks during February, rays from the sinking sun catch the seasonal Horsetail Fall, sending a dazzling gold thread plunging more than 450 metres into the valley below. Pack a Thermos, pull on gloves and a woolly hat and make for the picnic area, which offers the best views of the falls. You won’t be alone – shutterbugs have been flowing here since National Geographic photographer Galen Rowell snapped the phenomenon back in 1973.
Airborne streams of flaming green, ethereal strobes of fuchsia and smoky rivers of butter-yellow can only mean one thing: you’re catching a glimpse of the world’s greatest light show and it doesn’t require a flight across the globe to Norway or deepest, darkest Iceland. Even on shores as close as Tasmania you can eyeball the fleeting beauty of the aurora. Caused by coronal mass ejections – they happen when the sun releases a colossal burst of solar winds and magnetic fields into space – these dancing illuminations are notoriously unpredictable, but the southern lights are just as frequent as the northern. While aurora hunters need to cross their fingers for elevated geomagnetic activity, edging closer to the South Pole increases your chances of a glimpse. From New Zealand’s South Island to the more remote reaches of the world’s southernmost city, Ushuaia, in Argentina, and the island of South Georgia stranded at the bottom of the South Atlantic Ocean, there are plenty of options perfect for gazing below the Earth’s equator.
You don’t have to be Moses to make the seas part. Anyone with a plane ticket to South Korea can watch this natural phenomenon. The Jindo Sea splits to reveal a causeway connecting the meaty isle of Jindo with the small speck of land that is Modo Island, and it’s a spectacles that draws hundreds of thousands of locals and foreigners alike every April. The modern miracle – spanning an hour on just two days each year – is a result of extreme low tides. Rather than parting, the entire sea actually lowers to expose a three-kilometre-long and 40- to 60-metre-wide path. Watch as people seemingly walk on the tranquil waters, trailing off into the horizon like technicolour ants, or pull on some waders and hurry to Modo yourself while the tide still allows. On the island you’ll find a handful of homes, a beach and Baemikkumi Sculpture Park, where artist Lee Il-Ho’s larger than life ‘eroticism sculptures’ emerge from the grass and sand.
Light my Fire Great Smoky Mountains National Park, USA
For just eight short days, deep in the belly of the Great Smoky Mountains, an ocular extravaganza takes place. Amid dense blocks of temperate old-growth forest, slow creeks and abandoned stone cottages, this UNESCO World Heritage site throngs with flying critters in the mood for love come late May and early June. Like a vast parade of fairy lights, resident Photinus carolinus – or rover fireflies – flit through the obstacle course of Fraser firs with their booties aglow to attract a mate. This species of lightning bug is the only one in the US that’s able to synchronise its flashes of yellow light with other males, and this national park is one of the only spots in the country where you can watch these forest stars festoon the foliage en masse. Log onto the USA’s National Park Service website in late April to enter the firefly viewing lottery. recreation.gov
Spring is iceberg season in Newfoundland, Canada’s wild eastern isle. Frozen formations of all shapes and sizes drift down from the north, coinciding with the annual whale migration in the opposite direction. To celebrate, the town of St Anthony on the tip of the Great Northern Peninsula hosts all manner of weird and wonderful events as part of its annual Iceberg Festival. Hike the nearby walking trails, feast on seasonal snow crab, slurp down Iceberg Beer made with 25,000-year-old berg water and participate in a screech-in to become an honorary Newfoundlander – you’ll down a tot of local Screech rum and kiss a cod right on the gob. Wrap up your stay with the closing ceremony at the Norstead Viking Village, but not before heading out on a berg-filled boat trip with a side order of whales, dolphins, bald eagles and Arctic terns. theicebergfestival.ca
Surveying biochemical emissions of light produced by living organisms doesn’t sound too sexy. But you know what does? Raking your fingers through glowing, neon blue pools of light on a remote Taiwanese island. The two natural phenomena are, of course, the exact same thing, and it turns out that Taiwan’s Matsu Islands are one of the best places on the globe to experience these Life of Pi-like scenes. Known as ‘blue tears’, the blooms of Noctiluca scintillans algae form an ethereal, luminous cloud around the craggy coastline of these 18 islands every year between June and August. Paint your own scenes with your toes dipped into the water or watch this otherworldly marine show unfold while crouching on the sand on a balmy summer’s night.
Following steady winter rains Namaqualand’s arid veld blooms in a riot of colour. Stout vygies brandish violet blades, golden nemesias adorn the landscape like confetti and tangerine daisies blaze across the plains. The first petals unfurl in July and the rainbow carpet rolls down from the border of Namibia over the following weeks. Make the five-hour journey north from Cape Town in early August, when the flora reaches peak saturation, and hike between the region’s granite koppies (hills). You’ll spy Lachenalias, with petals resembling scoops of boysenberry-swirl ice-cream, and watch as fields of floral faces turn to face the afternoon sun. Plant life isn’t the only attraction in this part of South Africa’s outback, either. Keep an eye out for honey badgers nosing through the fields, as well as antelope, aardwolves and rare Hartmann’s mountain zebra.
Tucked away in the Gansu Province of northwest China, there’s a rainbow that never fades. Zhangye Danxia Landform Geological Park, also known as the Rainbow Mountains, is a 24-million-year-old formation that trumps the elusive pot of gold every time. Shaped by eons of wind and rain, these sandstone, mudstone and gravel domes in a kaleidoscope of colours reach up to 3800 metres high, and have remained virtually undisturbed by humans. Drop in on a balmy afternoon during September, when the golden autumn light is strong and the palette of colours – rosy red, blood orange, sunny yellow and even a hint of dusty blue – are at their most vivid. Choose your viewpoint (we recommend nabbing a spot near the viridescent rapeseed fields in neighbouring Qilian County for striking juxtaposition) and lose yourself in nature’s psychedelic hills.
This voltaic night show will make you believe Zeus, the god of lightning, has ripped the very fabric of space asunder while showing off his party tricks. The fringes of Ologa village in Venezuela play host to an electrical hot spot, where pulsing storm clouds unleash up to 280 lightning strikes an hour on around 150 nights a year, with activity peaking in October. Generated by the perfect marriage of heat, humidity and wind blowing in from the surrounding Andes, the lightning is thought to be the most powerful in the world – and the most dangerous. A number of fishermen are struck each year, and visitors must also brave unravelling social order in a country already notorious for its cities’ soaring murder rates. If you count yourself among the daring, join a local tour to see the light show at its finest. You’ll cruise through flooded forest in Ciénagas de Juan Manuel National Park and into Maracaibo Lake, South America’s largest body of water, before venturing to Ologa. As the sun sets, kick back at your campsite and prepare to witness the night sky come alive. natoura.com
It’s deathly toxic to almost any creature unfortunate enough to plunge into its glassy waters, but for one type of critter Lake Natron plays host to the ultimate family reunion. More than a million lesser flamingos – three quarters of the world’s population – stream past the volcanic cones of Gelai and Ol Doinyo Lengai (Mountain of God) each year to dip their toes in this Tanzanian soda mudflat. Stalking the caustic shallows, viscous with salt, they’re safe from the likes of hyenas and baboons as they build mud nests, lay eggs and feast upon spirulina, the blue-green algae that turns the birds pink and the lake cerise in dry season. Visit in November when hatchlings are beginning to emerge and the wet season is in its infancy, meaning more wildlife and fewer travellers. The moonscape surrounds and reflections of flamingos littering the 57-kilometre-long lake will overwhelm your SD card, while the bodies of calcified bats and birds that have lost their lives to the stew make for eerie imagery.
The only major meteor shower thought not to originate from a comet, Geminid is a showstopper in almost every sense. Hundreds of streaks of light splash the sky every hour amid a backdrop of stars when this celestial display peaks in mid-December. These ‘shooting stars’ travel slower than most other showers, at about 35 kilometres a second, making them fairly easy to spot, and they often arrive in bursts of two or three. Although visible from the southern hemisphere, they’re best viewed in the north, away from light pollution. Settle in for the night on a picnic rug in the countryside at an accredited Dark Sky Reserve to stand the best chance of eying the Palladian asteroid painting the night sky. From the bleakly beautiful Brecon Beacons National Park in Wales to the mountain meadows of Germany’s Rhön Biosphere Reserve, there’s a total of eight reserves for Europe-going aspiring astronomers to choose from. darksky.org
It’s easy to spend a week exploring the back streets of Havana’s Old Town, sipping mojitos and watching kids in high-stakes games of soccer, but if you want to take home something other than a Che Guevara t-shirt, sign up for a five-day course at La Casa Del Son. For two hours each day, you’ll sway your hips to the beat and learn some of Cuba’s traditional dances, including the rumba and salsa. Even if you’ve got two left feet and failed to master the basics of square dancing in primary school, these private lessons will have you skimming across the dance floor in no time at all.
Because your resolution… is to mount a horse like John Wayne and learn to live off the grid.
If your travel dream is to feel at home on the ranch, an internship at Estancia Ranquilco, a huge property in the northern Patagonia region of Argentina that stretches all the way to the High Andes and the border of Chile, will have you ridin’ and ropin’ like an old cowpoke. The two-month course, taken in summer between January and March, is a crash course in living on the land, with connection to the outside world almost non-existent. Expect to leave not only having mastered the basics of horsemanship, but also able to pack a mule, butcher a goat, tend to the garden and cook for a crowd. After all, when you’re this far from the big smoke – it’s a three-hour ride to the nearest city of Zapala – it’s not like you can duck to the supermarket or local cafe.
About US$3300 for two months in a shared room, including meals. ranquilco.com
Because your resolution… is to make something with your own two hands for a change.
More and more people are taking to the bike paths of our cities to save themselves time and money and do their part for the environment. Add a notch to your green belt by taking a weekend to construct your own bamboo bike during a London sojourn. At James Marr and Ian McMillan’s Bamboo Bicycle Club in Stratford, you’ll choose your materials then be guided through how to cut and shape the bamboo tubing, create mitre joints and complete your bike frame. You can custom design any style of bike you fancy, from a racer to a tandem bike. While there’s an alternative weekend workshop that focuses on the finishing, you can also get a guide to fit the final components at home. Now, that’s a souvenir worth saving room for in your luggage.
About US$590 for the workshop and materials for the bicycle frame. bamboobicycleclub.org
Because your resolution… is to add a creative, yet vaguely useful, arrow to your quiver.
One of the things most travellers mention when they return from a trip to Turkey is their carpet dilemma and how many cups of mint tea they consumed in the process of either negotiating a price or a way out of the shop empty-handed. For a richer experience, sign up for a week-long carpet weaving course. You’ll stay in the village town of Gokpinar, not far from Bodrum, visit the beach and markets, and spend time at a cultural centre with local women learning how to make a small carpet in the traditional manner. Then it’s up to you to take those skills home and create your own masterpiece.
The week-long experience costs US$950 a person, twin share, including accommodation, meals, transfers from Bodrum airport, classes and some excursions. turkeyclasses.com
Because your resolution… is to get on the tech train but avoid the inside of a badly lit university lecture hall.
You know what you want from a restorative holiday: a villa with pool, yoga, delicious food, a laptop… Hang on. What now? If you’ve got a Bali break in mind, but you’re tired of late nights in Kuta and mushroom milkshakes, you could kickstart a new career instead. After the Institute of Code’s 10-day web development course, not only will you know what terms like HTML, CCS and Javascript mean, but you’ll actually be able to create kick-arse websites using them. There are mentors on hand so you can develop a small portfolio between soaking up views of rice paddies and sipping on freshly blended smoothies, plus the support continues once you’ve got off the flight home.
From US$3460 for 10 days, inclusive of accommodation, meals, airport transfers, course materials and ongoing support, and daily activities. instituteofcode.com
Because your resolution… involves exploring the high seas, but doing it the way you’ve always wanted.
Picture this… You’re on the deck of a luxury yacht sailing from one picture-perfect destination to another. You can go wherever you want – within reason, of course – because you’re in charge. That dream can become a reality when you sign up for Sunsail’s RYA Day Skipper Practical Course. After five days, you’ll graduate with the skills – navigation, passage planning and yacht management – to take charge in familiar waters. Best of all, you can do the course in the stunning Greek islands from the base at Lefkas. Oh, before you sign up you’ll need at least 160 kilometres of sailing (and four hours’ night sailing) under your life vest. The same course is also available in Croatia.
The cost of the course is about US$885 a person, twin share, including transfers, accommodation on board the training yacht, and breakfast and lunch. sunsail.com.au
Because your resolution… was to never be disappointed in your holiday snaps again.
Imagine returning home from a trip and having your family and friends actually excited to come around for slide night. On this 15-day tour of Georgia, you’ll not only explore the historic cities and captivating landscapes of this former Soviet republic, but also have a local photographer along for the ride, advising on capturing postcard-perfect shots. Take images of traditional weddings, Tbilisi at night, colourful markets and local shepherds as you explore monasteries, Stalin’s steelworks in Rustavi and seventeenth-century fortresses. There’s a wealth of opportunities and you’ll learn how to take advantage of each and every one.
About US$1900, including 15 nights in two- and three-star accommodation, travel arrangements and local photographer guide. caucasusjourneys.com
Because your resolution… is, unlike most other people’s, to drink more and not feel guilty about it.
Take a gap year with a difference. Head to Bordeaux’s Cafa Wine School and train to become a sommelier. You’ll learn about tasting techniques, study vineyards from around the world, get the lowdown on cellar management, pair drops with suitable dishes and negotiate all the other skills you’ll need to get a job that relies on the grape. For the first 17 weeks, spend your time in the classroom – lessons are conducted in English – before completing a six-week internship, either in France or beyond, and returning to do your exams.
About US$7700, including tuition, tastings and field trips. cafawine.com
Because your resolution… is to give your office job the flick forever and namaste the shit out of the rest of your life.
It’s no huge surprise so many high-flying, stressed-out corporate types gravitate towards yoga. Regardless of the style practised, it emphasises mindful movement, controlled breathing and being in the moment. If you’ve ever wanted to make the most of your power poses and sun salutes, head to Costa Rica, where Anamaya Resort, overlooking the ocean near the beach town of Montezuma, is the dream destination to take your downward dog to another level. For 28 days, you’ll live and learn with your classmates, finishing with a yoga teaching qualification and, no doubt, a completely different outlook on life.
From US$3890 for dorm accommodation, all meals and training (double and single accommodation also available). anamayaresort.com
Because your resolution… is to go deep, deep down into the ocean powered only by the breath you can hold.
Ask any freediver and they’ll tell you the freedom of finning alongside the creatures of the ocean – manta rays, sharks, turtles – is like nothing you’ve ever experienced. Of course, it takes a bit of practise. Or you can sign up for a two-day course at Apnea Bali, located in the small fishing of Tulamben on the island’s northeast coast, and let the professionals show you how to do it properly and safely. You’ll learn, both in the classroom and the water, the skills you’ll need to get to a depth of 20 metres on a single breath, with all courses adapted to a student’s ability. The jewel in the crown of your two days in the ocean is a freedive on the wreck of the USAT Liberty, a cargo ship that was torpedoed by a Japanese sub in 1942 and now rests in between four and 30 metres of water.
Making cheese isn’t that hard – all you need is whole milk and a little patience. But making good cheese is a different ballgame altogether. It can take a lifetime to perfect the craft, and the best way to get a head start is to book a five-day course with Sapori e Saperi in Tuscany. Giancarlo Russo, consultant to Slow Food Italy and cheese buyer, judge and stagionatore (ager), leads the classes along with five local makers, who will reveal the secrets behind traditional methods of creating a range of formaggio, including ricotta, pecorino and stracchino. At other times, you’ll have dinner at the home of a truffle hunter, learn to milk a goat and taste homemade salumi. Expect to stay at beautiful farmhouses and a castle, and return home so inspired you’ll be looking at dairy herds within days.
About US$1675, including four nights’ accommodation and all meals. sapori-e-saperi.com
Because your resolution… is to nail the Portsea Swim Classic once and for all.
It’s one thing to swim untold lengths of a pool day after day, but a completely different kettle of fish to take to the open water. If you’ve ever dreamed of giving it your all during the Bondi to Bronte Ocean Swim or the Rip View Swim Classic at Port Lonsdale, you’ll need to do some serious training out in the waves. During the European summer, head for the spectacular Spanish island of Mallorca and Swim Trek’s six-day coaching event. You’ll dip in for swims lasting up to six hours – that’s a qualification swim for anyone wanting to tackle the English Channel – have your technique assessed and attend seminars about nutrition, training and mental preparation. We’re not saying it’ll be easy, but the perfect turquoise ocean and Mediterranean landscape make it all worthwhile.
About US$1110, including five nights’ accommodation, breakfasts and lunches, seminars and fully guided swims. swimtrek.com
Because your resolution… is to overcome your fears and never get vertigo on an escalator again.
Acrophobia affects about 7.5 per cent of the population, making it one of the most common phobias. For some, the fear of heights stop them conquering Sydney’s BridgeClimb, while others have a problem with staircases. But you can overcome it when you sign up on a two-day course at Will4Adventure. You’ll start inside, discovering the reasons for acrophobia and using neuro-linguistic programming to retrain your brain. Then it’s out into the beautiful Peak District National Park to take on some graduated challenges, from walking up a rocky hill to abseiling down a cliff. For those wanting to take a few more steps, head to the follow up session in Snowdonia where you can reach your height goals. At any point you can choose not to take part, but if you manage all the exercises, you’ll enter a new fear-free stage of your life.
About US$255 for the weekend course, and an extra US$180 for the follow-up session. will4adventure.com
Because your resolution… is to be more Bodhi and ride a wave that never ends.
You’ve mastered Bells Beach, cracked your board at Teahupo’o and you’re now on the hunt for the next great conquest. OK, so the standing wave at the Lachine Rapids on Montreal’s Saint Lawrence River may not be anywhere near as challenging as Waimea Bay, but it is very different. Cresting at up to two metres, this half pipe-style break just goes on forever. But this is Canada, and after a couple of minutes, surfers will drop off the wave to let someone else in. If you’re a beginner and find yourself in Canada during the summer, book a day-long lesson that will take you from the nearby bunny wave to Habitat 67 (named after the building in the background). Everyone says this is the easy way to become acclimated to board riding, so nail it here then take your surf skills on the road.
About US$105, including surfboard, helmet and life-jacket hire. ksf.ca
Because your resolution… is to prove you’re at least 50 per cent harder than Bear Grylls.
The Namib Desert is a landscape like no other, where seemingly desolate sandy plains and granite mountains shaped by ancient volcanoes are inhabited by wildlife that ranges from elephants to dik-diks. The San Bushman have lived here for about 70,000 years, tracking and hunting animals to survive – they’ve been known to chase kudu for two to five hours until the animal drops from exhaustion. Learn their skills on Wild Human’s seven-night Wild Namibia tour, led by two guide from the team and accompanied by two San Bushman trackers. You’ll combine running and tracking with desert bushcraft, all while staying in a wild camp and sleeping beneath the stars. This is a chance to develop skills that are part of every humans’ DNA and practise the real reason we can all run (you won’t, however, do any actual hunting). If you’ve been seeking a trip that’s both challenging and memorable, you can stop searching now.
Because your resolution… is to make yourself a more well-rounded individual while helping someone else.
Plenty of people head overseas to immerse themselves in a foreign language, but you’ll get more than an advanced grasp of Spanish when you enrol in the immersion course with Pop Wuj in Guatemala. As well as spending five hours each day conjugating your verbs one on one with a tutor, you’ll stay with a local family in Quetzaltenango – Xela for short – and can opt to volunteer for one of Pop Wuj’s community projects that focus on medicine, social work and education. Regardless of how you spend your spare time (there are some fantastic hikes in this volcanic landscape), feel content in the knowledge that the dollars you spend at the school assist in keeping these projects viable and allow families in the city to sponsor Mayan children so they can stay in school.
About US$210 a week, including tuition, school activities and full-board pop-wuj.org
Because your resolution… is to pummel something really hard while avoiding jail.
Beating things senseless is an excellent way to diminish stress and it can be a lot of fun, too, especially if it’s a drum you’re banging with large sticks. In Tokyo, the Taiko Center is the place to wrap yourself in a kimono and make a lot of noise during a drop-in drumming class. You’ll get to know a little about the history of the taiko, learn the basic techniques and master a simple, traditional song, all in the space of an hour. There are two studios – one in Aoyama and the other in Asakusa. If you book for the latter, you’ll be able to bolster your new sense of peace with a visit to the famous Senso-ji temple.
Because your resolution… is to fly free, like a bird, without crashing into the side of a mountain.
Sure, you and all your mates have done tandem skydives, but now it’s time to take the next step. From the cliff tops of Cape Town, you can spend 14 days perfecting your piloting skills and become a licensed paraglider. You’ll take in-depth theory classes but the pièce de résistance is launching from somewhere like Lions Head, where magnificent views of the city and ocean will have your eyes popping as you ride the thermals. You’ll complete 35 flights over 14 days (it can take one to six months to do them all), and pass a written examination before your licence is handed over.
Well and truly off the beaten track, this 21-day tour through the ’Stans bestows its guests with much more than intriguing passport stamps and honeymoon bragging rights, although prints from Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan and Turkmenistan do look pretty cool. You’ll visit no fewer than eight UNESCO World Heritage Sites, dine with local Uzbek families, listen to traditional Kazakh folk performances and cross one of the world’s largest mountain ranges. The accommodation won’t be something to regale the grandkids with, but the opportunity to visit a region that’s steeped in mystery and devoid of tourists just might. mircorp.com
The ’Stans to Borneo: Stop over in Malaysian Borneo on your way home with flydubai and China Southern.
Take a secluded stretch of shoreline on a coral island just off the coast of Borneo, add white sand to scrunch between your toes, and bamboo sharks, clown fish and sea turtles below turquoise waters. Sound like paradise? It is, especially after traversing the rugged lands of the ’Stans. A treehouse or tropical timber villa comes next, and you and your better half – kicking back on your private balcony with chilled beers in hand – complete the picture. You may be out in the jungle, but there’s still plenty of ice for your champagne bucket and an underground cave stocking almost 5000 bottles of wine. Just make sure you don’t drink and dive. bungarayaresort.com
Mount Olympus is legendary. Not because it’s Greece’s tallest mountain, but because the world’s most feisty deities fell in love and waged war from above its rocky summit. Take to the slopes on a private seven-night tour with a guide and channel your best Aphrodite or Eros (just not together – they’re mother and son) as you trek through pine forests and discover chapels constructed in caves. Put your endurance to the test as you scramble up Skolio, Olympus’s second highest peak, where you’ll stop for dizzying vistas and first date vibes, complete with pounding hearts. The highlight though is the Pinnacles of Meteora, where monasteries are built atop cliffs among 400-metre-high sandstone columns formed millions of years ago. And we thought “until death do us part” sounded everlasting. trekking.gr
Thessaloniki to Skopelos: The 2.5-hour ferry journey departs daily between 30 June and 10 September.
Set on a headland on the island of Skopelos, Villa Pyrgos offers rustic charm. Think handcrafted wooden furnishings, chequerboard floors, an antique stove and – the pièce de résistance – windows topped with stained glass that look to Alonissos Island erupting from the Aegean Sea. Fill your days reading by the pool set on the edge of the promontory, following hilltop trails past grazing goats and twisted olive trees or exploring the island’s many beaches. Stock up on bread, wine and skopelitiko tiropita (the region’s famed goat’s cheese pie) at Skopelos, the postcard-perfect town nearby, or jump into the 4WD that comes with your castle and make for the little taverna down by the beach to celebrate your union over a glass of Peparithios, the local wine. gicthevillacollection.com
Dousing your date with broth-drenched udon noodles? Not a good look. But someone who is now legally bound to you? That’s a different story. Indulge every culinary dream with zeal on this self-guided food-themed odyssey across Japan’s Honshu Island. It’s all there: handcrafting your very own soba noodles in the highland town of Matsumoto, taking a street food tour of neon-plastered Osaka and embarking on a ramen crawl of gastronomic capital Tokyo. Tour company Inside Japan can tailor almost every element of the trip to your exact requirements. But whatever you do, there will be ample opportunity to share your love of food with each other, bibs or no bibs. insidejapantours.com
Osaka to Ishigaki Island: Fly with Japan Airlines from Osaka, where the gastronomic adventure ends.
Mermaid-tail blue water, white sandy beaches and subtropical forest might not be the first things you associate with Japan, but in the country’s most far-flung southern islands that’s exactly what you’ll find. Enjoy this secret paradise with your significant other at Jusandi, a luxury five-villa resort on Ishigaki Island, where the clean lines of modern Japanese design meet the rugged outdoors. Each villa boasts a private pool and garden and is just minutes from a private beach, so there’s ample space to enjoy alone time together. Rest assured cabin fever won’t be an issue though, as staff can arrange all manner of local activities, from diving Japan’s biggest coral reef to admiring the Southern Cross on a stargazing trip. en.jusandi.jp
Nothing draws you and your loved one closer together than hours on the road with jaw-dropping views whipping past the glass and your wedding soundtrack pouring through the speakers. The Dempster Highway, one of the world’s most scenic stretches of road, promises the few who drive it a journey through lunar landscapes and expansive tundra and past jagged peaks as they make their way to the Arctic Circle in Canada’s Yukon Territory. Pick up a heavy-duty camper from Motorhome Republic in Whitehorse and set the GPS for Dawson City, a historic gold-rush town with a Wild West vibe. Cruise on to Tombstone Territorial Park, where you’ll spot moose in fields of wildflowers and lakes reflecting granite ridges. Once you’ve crossed the circle, stop to learn about First Nations Hän and Inuvialuit people at cultural centres and to find good spots to camp before, finally, you get to the end point of Inuvik. When you’re this far north darkness never claims the summer night sky, and what could be more romantic than re-creating your first dance under the midnight sun? motorhomerepublic.com
Whitehorse to Halfmoon Bay: Air North flies from Inuvik to Vancouver via Whitehorse. From there it’s a two-hour drive and 40-minute ferry ride.
Pointhouse Suites at Sargeant Bay, Halfmoon Bay, Canada
There’s something about sleeping outside that feels earthy and romantic, but there’s no need to forego four walls and creature comforts while getting cosy with Mother Nature. Designed to blur the boundaries between inside and out, the Pointhouse Suites at Sargeant Bay on Canada’s Sunshine Coast do just that. Floor-to-ceiling windows flood rooms with light and offer views of waves from the Georgia Strait smashing against the granite below, as does the outdoor hot tub for two. Housing just a handful of guests at a time, the hotel offers sweethearts one of two luxurious suites in the B&B, where each day starts with plush robes and gourmet breakfasts, or the privacy of the standalone Aerie or Annex guesthouses. Cut off from the mainland by water and mountains, this slice of British Columbia is accessible only by plane or ferry, making its forests an untapped adventure playground – although after your Yukon road trip you might want to stay in one spot. pointhouse.ca
Given that We Bike Tuscany is the brainchild of an American–Italian couple who met on a cycling tour of the region, it’s practically a given that their itineraries are designed with a hint of romance and boundless local knowledge. The four-day Val d’Orcia Dream is one of the company’s most popular. You’ll pedal through crumbling medieval hilltop towns, sweep round curlicue bends in the roads through a landscape dotted with cypress trees and sate sharpened appetites with tastings of organic cheese and full-bodied reds en route. A hard day’s work behind the handlebars is rewarded with stays in four-star, heritage Tuscan villas and inns complete with swimming pools to ease aching muscles. Coasting through this UNESCO World Heritage-listed region is guaranteed to bring you even closer together. webiketuscany.com
Florence to Monopoli: Fly from Pisa, less than an hour on the train from Florence, to Bari, near Monopoli, with Ryanair.
A former fish hatchery doesn’t sound like the most amorous of honeymoon destinations, but this seaside retreat has been polished into the epitome of stylish Italian living and offers a great way to relax after a long bike ride. When you’re ready to leave the white walls and handmade silk bedding in your gorgeous guestroom – one of just 13 – throw on a kaftan or your cheekiest Speedos and lounge, cocktail in hand, by the pool. Actually, make that pools. Add in the private beach and there are enough swimming spots for you to dip somewhere new every day during a week-long stay. And if salt from the Adriatic kissing your skin doesn’t refresh you enough, indulge in a little pampering at the spa. When you’re ready to venture outside and into Puglia start at the UNESCO World Heritage town of Alberobello, famed for its streets of trulli (conically roofed houses). peschierahotel.com
You would be hard-pressed to uncover an Amazonian adventure more exclusive than this. For one thing, the onboard ratios work very much in your favour. The four-suite boat caters to a maximum of eight guests, with a whopping 15 members of staff, including two expert guides and naturalist, on hand to tend to your every need. The boutique Delfin I ventures into the most secluded reaches of the Pacaya–Samiria National Reserve. When you’re not sailing past indigenous settlements on this fabled, mighty river you can scan what is the single largest remaining tropical rainforest in the world for resident wildlife. Peru boasts the largest number of bird species on the globe, plus giant otters, giant anteaters, tapirs and black caimans, and you’ll get a close-up view on rainforest walks and kayak outings. Or you can simply watch the emerald green landscapes sail past from the privacy of the whirlpool on your own deck. delfinamazoncruises.com
Peru to Uruguay: Fly between Iquitos in Peru and Uruguay’s capital Montevideo with LATAM Airlines. From there it’s a 90-minute drive.
Pair stark, cutting-edge design with the bleakly beautiful dunes of a quiet Uruguayan fishing village and you have the blueprint for an idyllic off-the-radar escape. Perched on the shores of the wild Atlantic coast – less than an hour’s drive north of its famous cousin Punta del Este – is Bahia Vik in José Ignacio. Opened in late 2014, the resort’s buildings feature sharp metallic lines that belie the creative interiors. Each suite boasts bespoke installations, from geometric prints adorning bedroom walls and bold artworks gracing ceilings, created by local and international artists. By day sink your toes into the warm sand as you raise a toast with ice-cold caipiroskas at the retreat’s restaurant, La Susana. When the sun slips beneath the horizon you can cosy up together under a blanket by a beachside bonfire knowing there’s still the option to party to live music at the late-night lounge should the moment take you. bahiavik.com
Miavana is no run-of-the-mill boutique property; it’s a sanctuary built to preserve and pay homage to Madagascar’s Oscar-worthy array of endemic wildlife. On Nosy Ankao, a private island off the country’s northeastern coast, indulge in the beauty of your choice: wake up with the sun, snorkel straight off the front of your villa, trek hand in hand with your newlywed to observe lemurs and organise a dive to inspect the extraordinary marine biodiversity. Then again, you could simply enjoy a late breakfast in bed at your five-star villa – one of just 14 – before embarking on a tough day of lounging on baby-powder-soft sand (four different species of turtles lay their eggs here, but that happens after dark, so you’ll need to ask staff members to accompany you). When you’re this far from the daily grind, everything counts as adventure. timeandtideafrica.com
Madagascar to Zanzibar: Fly from Madagascan capital Antananarivo to Zanzibar with Kenya Airways.
Outdoor bathtub? Check. Private pool? Check. Rooftop champagne bar? Check. Butler service? Check. All the ingredients for a romantic getaway are on tap at Zanzibar’s White Sand Villas. Each one-bedroom guesthouse features oodles of seclusion, since all are bordered by lush gardens. Comprising 500 square metres of living space, each of the 11 villas is more than double the size of most urban apartments. Inside the calming cream walls, furnished with hand-picked antiques, there are unadulterated views from your bed to the ocean. Soak up some quality one-on-one time with your loved one or, if you get itchy feet, there’s a whole host of activities of which you can partake, from a market tour that demonstrates why Zanzibar is known as the Spice Isle to kitesurfing the island’s endless downwinders. whitesandvillas.com
For an Instagram-worthy honeymoon album, make like Lawrence of Arabia and venture into the wild Jordanian desert on horseback. On the nine-night Footsteps of Lawrence tour, you’ll ride Arabian horses over rose-pink dunes and stark, stony plains, cross paths with local Bedouin families, eat lamb cooked over an open fire, and bed down on a mattress beneath the stars. As if the changing daily landscapes weren’t enough, you’ll also marvel at the carved sandstone cliffs of Petra and soak your limbs in the healing waters of the Dead Sea. Embarking on the first stage of marriage with an adventure this epic is sure to kick off a lifetime of action-packed memory making. inthesaddle.com
Jordan to Israel: Fly direct from Amman to Tel Aviv with Royal Jordanian.
Although it’s an alluring stretch of golden sand and less than a 20-minute stroll away, the pull of Tel Aviv’s beaches might play second fiddle to the sleek rooftop infinity pool at the Norman. A warm hug of a hotel set in two delicately restored 1920s Bauhaus buildings awash with books and demure pops of colour, the Norman is the antivenom for any brutalist property you’ve ever endured. It’s also burrowed deep in the core of what is arguably the Middle East’s nightlife capital. Explore backstreet wine bars and dimly lit speakeasies arm in arm before teetering back to your individually designed suite. thenorman.com
If you’ve ever seen El Nido’s glimmering waters and the seemingly endless stretches of beach in Boracay, you’ll know the Philippines is a haven for water babies. But did you know there’s a more mysterious side in its northern lands? Unravel its secrets on a six-day journey with a private guide through the mountains of the landlocked Cordillera region on Luzon, the country’s largest island. You’ll hike through hills, visit Batad – a town encircled by mountains cut with ancient rice terraces forming a natural amphitheatre – and shack up in little villages. Sluice off heat from hiking at waterfalls, spot the hanging coffins of Sagada and clutch each other tight as you head underground to explore the sprawling cave network. Six-day trips from US$581 per person. unchartedphilippines.com
Manila to Small Bamboo Island: Fly from Manila to Coron Island with Cebu Pacific. From the port it’s a one-hour trip by boat.
Paradise in the Philippines isn’t hard to come by, yet finding a perfect stretch of sand free from tourists is like hunting for buried treasure. Strike 24-karat gold at Small Bamboo Island in Palawan. Situated in Culion Bay, this pristine isle’s blue-green waters and sugar-white sands play host to just 16 guests (sister island Big Bamboo sleeps 25). Bamboo huts are dotted between palm trees and feature rustic island luxuries. After organising your big day you’ll be happy to know the hardest choice you’ll have to make while here is how much or little you want to do. You might find yourself plunging into water to see coral lagoons and tropical fish, exploring the island or catching rays on the beach. bambooislands.ph
With its gorgeous beaches, historic cities and soulful nightlife, Cuba graces the top of many wish-lists. But travelling there can be a bit tricky and red tape often gets in the way. Make your honeymoon more relaxing than taxing by letting the locals at Cuba Adventure Company take care of the bureaucracy so you don’t have to. Working as your private guides, the experts here can help piece together your ideal trip, whether you and your other half want to go caving and rock climbing or kayaking and snorkelling. Itineraries can also include a sprinkling of culture, from salsa dancing to classic car tours that take in the faded grandeur of Old Havana. cubaadventurecompany.com
Cuba to Nicaragua: Travel from Havana to Costa Esmeralda Airport in Nicaragua via Costa Rica with Air Cubana and Sansa Airlines.
Florida, Spain and France all possess one, but it is Nicaragua’s so-called Emerald Coast that’s igniting the lion’s share of interest. This Central American country retains enough grit to entice the most experienced traveller, yet a blossoming stable of homegrown, boutique accommodation makes it an equally tempting proposition for couples hunting luxury escapes. Mukul is the country’s first luxury resort, and arguably the region’s hero property when it comes to romance – think private plunge pools, secret gardens with outdoor showers and your own palapa (palmleaf beach hut), all set on a 675-hectare reserve. That’s a space the same size as the British Overseas Territory of Gibraltar. The folks who run the place are so thoughtful they’ve even thrown in some world-class surf breaks just for good measure. mukulresort.com
If you’re looking for an Alaskan expedition that’s low on crowds but big on wildlife, check out the Inside Passage Catalyst cruise. Housing just 12 passengers and five crew, the Pacific Catalyst II boasts a charm like no other. She’s been sailing these waters since her maiden voyage in 1932, and her wood panelling and beamed ceilings, imbued with decades of history, offer an intimate residence for guests on this adventure. Weave through fjords dotted with bobbing icebergs, hike among forested outcrops and paddle along glassy waters in a kayak for two. On your 10-day round trip from Juneau you’ll encounter an abundance of creatures living among the trees and below the water’s surface. Highlights include visiting Pack Creek for the best brown bear spotting in South Alaska, and entering the feeding grounds of humpback and orca whales. adventuresmithexplorations.com
Alaska to Hawaii: Alaska Airlines flies from Juneau to Kona on the Island of Hawaii, via Seattle.
Continue your party in the USA in the nation’s tropical archipelago, Hawaii. The land of wild mountains, sand and surf is the perfect place to defrost for a week or two on your way back to the southern hemisphere. The rustic luxury of Kealakekua Bay Bali Cottage, situated in a quiet beachside residential area on the less-visited Big Island (it’s proper name is the Island of Hawaii), is where you want to be. A sprawling ficus tree shades the bungalow, which features an eclectic mix of Balinese teak fixtures and quirky decor (check the surfboard-adorned ceiling). Homemade dinners are best consumed alfresco beneath the twinkle of fairy lights. When you need a break from your love shack, hang out with the turtles, mantas and angelfish living in the bay. airbnb.com.au
Ride the African Explorer, South Africa and Namibia
An African safari? Just a bit unimaginative. A 13-day, 3600-kilometre expedition by railroad and open-top vehicle from Cape Town through to Namibia’s Etosha National Park? Much more inspired. See some of Africa’s best-loved landscapes from the window of a private luxury train. There’s a grand, cigar-den feel to the African Explorer’s cabins that lend this train an air of romance, yet almost any mod con you could need is available on board. But it’s what’s outside the carriages that is the main draw on this once-in-a-lifetime trip. Scale the world’s highest sand dunes at Sossusvlei in the Namib Desert, stand at the lip of Fish River Canyon – the second largest of its kind in the world – and gape at the largest salt flat in all of Africa. There are also ghost towns, German colonial settlements and braiis (barbecues) aplenty. trains-and–cruises.com
Namibia to Mozambique: Fly from Windhoek in Namibia to Nampula in Mozambique with South African Airways.
Mozambique hosts beaches to rival the Maldives, Bermuda and Brazil all squeezed together. But it’s yet to receive the same litany of travel headlines or immense tourism traffic of those tropical favourites, making these deserted shores the perfect place to wind down following the excitement of nuptials. At Ossimba, eight simple, thatch-roof villas allow the scenery to take centre stage. Surrounded by indigenous forest and settled on a 1.5-kilometre stretch of private beach, the lodge is ideal for nature lovers. Best of all you can sleep easy in the knowledge that the lodge is eco-friendly, too, since Ossimba runs on solar power and harvests its own borehole water. The usual gamut of water-based activities is on offer, so when lazy days get a bit too much, you and your partner can stand-up paddleboard into the sunset. ossimbabeachlodge.com
Paddling furiously, we manoeuvre the kayaks into the middle of the cove and peer up at two specks soaring above the hemlocks and spruces. Caught up in the thermals, they twirl around each other, nearly touch, then circle again, gliding effortlessly through the crispness of the morning sky. The ritual is repeated over and over until they crescendo into the grand finale. Grasping talons, they lock together tumbling in free fall towards the ground.
“For a bald eagle, trust is everything,” explains Megan, our expedition leader. “What we’re seeing is a courtship dance. They’re testing out each other’s fitness and strength. That is, if they don’t crash…”
It’s spring in Alaska and love is not only in the air, it’s all around us. My affair with the last frontier started when I saw a snippet on TV of Susan Butcher winning her first Iditarod sled dog race in 1986. Gary Paulsen’s novel Hatchet came out the following year and I became hooked on all things Alaskan. From Travels in Alaska by John Muir to Alaska: A Novel by James A. Michener, the poetry of Robert Service and the works of Jack London, words on dog-eared pages drew the pictures in my imagination.
This is my fifth trip to Alaska. The ‘call of the wild’ keeps drawing me back. I’m not alone. Passion for the vast wilderness is written on the faces of the people. You see it in their eyes, hear it in their voices and feel the comradeship that comes from being in a place where survival depends on what Mother Nature throws your way.
Starting in Juneau, I’m travelling with UnCruise Adventures for two weeks through the Inside Passage. It’s late April and we’re on the first itinerary for the year.
“As an Alaskan, spring is my favourite season in Southeast Alaska,” says UnCruise CEO Dan Blanchard as we prepare to set sail. “Everything is fresh. Like the bears emerging from their dens, we feel renewed. It’s like an awakening.” Dan is similar to his vessels – built for adventure. A wild, madcap type of guy who’s more comfortable with his feet in the water than under a desk. And Juneau, the rugged capital of Alaska, suits him just fine.
Originally settled by the Auke and Tlingit tribes for the abundance of food sources, and later named after gold prospector Joe Juneau, the state capital (population 35,000) is only accessible by sea or air. It was a Tlingit chief who told Joe Juneau where to find the gold that led to the town becoming the home of the three largest gold mines in the world. Speak to any local and they’ll nod towards the mountains and mumble, “There’s plenty of gold left in them hills”.
It’s the same story all the way along the Alaskan part of the Inside Passage and across the border into Canada’s Yukon territory. When cries of ‘gold’ went up in 1896, it started one of the greatest adventures in American history. The Klondike Gold Rush saw a frenzy of around 100,000 gold diggers (known as stampeders) sail from the US west coast to claim their fortune. However, once they arrived, perilous journeys on foot over the inhospitable terrain filled with steep ravines, freezing temperatures and dangerous animals dashed the hopes of many. Most either died or turned back. It’s said 99 per cent of the gold in Alaska is yet to be discovered.
Today the rush for riches is of a different kind: tourism. By the end of September, more than one million cruisers will sail on mega ships through these waters. We see none of them. UnCruise vessels get into the myriad hidden coves and sheltered inlets the big ships can’t, so virtually the only people I see are my 49 fellow guests and the 32 crew.
“Whatever nature gives, we’ll embrace it,” says Megan, who aims to get out all the toys (kayaks, paddleboards, hiking poles, skiffs) every day. Some days we tuck into coves surrounded by old-growth rainforest and paddle the kayaks through the glassy waters; other days we drift past spring meadows dotted with early bloomers like the vibrant yellow skunk cabbage flowers.
From water level there’s a sense of immediacy and surprise. The soft eyes of a harbour seal suddenly popping up in front of the kayak, a sea otter floating along on its back, the blow of a humpback whale echoing across the water. And then there’s the day we paddle to the face of a glacier.
As one of the world’s most protected sites, Glacier Bay National Park is the holy grail of Southeast Alaska. Covering around 1.3 million hectares and home to more than a thousand glaciers, it’s a glimpse of how our planet might have looked during the ice age.
Surrounded by snow-covered mountains we paddle towards Lamplugh Glacier. It’s almost t-shirt weather. Sunlight captures the drips from my paddle and transforms them into mini starbursts. As we get closer to the glacier, whooshes of cold air sting my face and we start to navigate through the bergy bits and growlers (small chunks of ice) floating past.
“Keep your kayak straight and try not to bump the ice,” says our guide Matt. Positioning the kayaks on the edge of the exclusion zone, we crane our necks up at the skyscraper of ice. A maze of spidery black lines slice through patches of iridescent blue, topped with swirls of white that look like meringues.
But within the beauty lies the beast.
From somewhere deep inside on the left of the six-kilometre face, a low rumbling sound reverberates across the water, followed by a long moan that sounds like a sick cow. Suddenly there’s a thunderous crack and, within seconds, chunks of ice start tumbling down the face of a massive column. There’s a pause as the column teeters on the brink before smacking into the water in a cloud of icy shards. “Get ready for the wave,” yells Matt.
Mesmerised, we watch the swell create a pattern across the water. The front of the kayak lifts slightly as we ride a series of ripples that peter out as quickly as they formed.
Other days we swap the paddles for boots. We walk through old-growth rainforests under a dense canopy of hemlock, spruce and cedar trees. Branches drip with moss and walking the forest floor feels like bouncing on a trampoline. Everything is silent.
“Too silent,” says Megan, before shouting, “Hey bear! Bears don’t like surprises. By letting them know we’re here, we want to keep them away.” The guides also carry a range of deterrents like bear spray. Thankfully on this occasion they don’t need to use it.
It’s low tide when we hike along the rocky shores of Keku Islands, a string of tiny islets sheltered between two larger islands. “In Tlingit tradition, this would be a banquet,” says Megan. “When the tide is out, the table is set.”
Clinging to slimy rocks, wrapped in thick straps of kelp or tucked into sheltered rock pools, the rich intertidal life of limpets, crabs, mussels, oysters, starfish, coral, sponges and clams creates a kaleidoscope of reds, oranges, blues and purples. Although the staple of the Tlingit diet was salmon, they cooked ‘beach tucker’ over an open flame. Kelp wasn’t only a source of food; it was also put to a more practical use, collected to create things like baskets and decorative jewellery.
Pulling a strap from the water, Megan explains the importance of healthy kelp forests. “The kelp here supports a variety of fish species, as well as whales, sea lions and sea otters.”
To learn more about the Tlingits we meet up with Dan’s friend Joe Williams, a Tlingit elder and Ketchikan’s former mayor.
To Joe, preserving his heritage is his life’s work. He tells how when he attended a Native American convention in the 1960s, he was told that by the year 2010 there wouldn’t be one person who could speak the Tlingit language. Fortunately, due to the work of Joe and others, the stories and traditions of the Tlingits and other Native Alaskan tribes haven’t been lost. “The younger generation embraces the culture because they consider it an honour,” he explains. “In our culture, we’re split into two groups called moieties. Everyone is either an eagle or raven. An eagle must marry a raven and vice versa. It’s all about the balance.”
I think back to all the eagles and ravens we’ve seen soaring through the skies and perching in the treetops. There is a true sense of equilibrium here, and you can’t help but marvel at the harmony in this ridiculously beautiful part of the world.
It’s 7am and I’m as high as a kite. Higher, actually.
Hot air beats down on me as flames lick the air, puffing up the 32-metre-tall rainbow holding me suspended in this surreal state of being. Up here the world is silent, but if I really concentrate, I can hear the faint jangle of cowbells below.
I’m 2000 metres above the dairy farms and storybook chalets of Château-d’Oex and at eye level with 90 per cent of the Swiss Alps. Heralded as the hot-air ballooning capital of the world, it was here, in Switzerland’s picture-perfect Saane Valley, the Breitling Orbiter 3 – the first balloon to successfully circle the globe – took flight in 1999. Cold air descends from the mountains that encircle the valley to create a unique microclimate that provides top flying conditions year round.
But for me, it’s the effortless beauty that’s hard to beat.
Our pilot, Max Duncomb, points out explorer and adventurer Mike Horn’s house as we glide over chalets made from local pine and sun-tanned like Italian retirees. At our highest point we glimpse the sapphire sparkle of Lake Geneva. Yesterday I sat beside those waters, sipping a jubilant chasselas made by fourth-generation winemaker Jacques Joly among the terraced vineyards that spill down the south-facing slopes of UNESCO World Heritage-listed, French-speaking Lavaux. Today I can see from the peak of Jungfrau as far as Mont Blanc.
“We never know where we’re going, that’s the beauty of ballooning,” Max tells me. “We’re influenced by the mountains.”
Originally from Cambridgeshire, Max started visiting Château-d’Oex 15 years ago and reckons it’s the best place in the world to get high. In 2015 he decided to move here permanently. “I’ve flown in 32 countries, but this is home to me,” he says.
We’ve been airborne for around an hour when things get interesting. While flawless Swiss sunshine is beaming down on us, the light northerly we were riding on has completely carked it. We’re drifting, moving ever closer to a rock quarry that doesn’t look so cushy.
I’m practising the brace position Max demonstrated before lift-off and trying to will the basket down onto a lush green patch in the Sanne Valley below, while our calm leader works his mastery manoeuvring the vent line.
Like it or not, this landing is going to be unconventional – we’re heading straight for a line of fir trees. I close my eyes and brace for impact. A rush of branches, a thud and it’s over. Peering over the side of the basket, I marvel at Max’s skill; he’s managed to land us neatly – and safely – to one side of a barbed wire fence. Our cascading nylon rainbow, that up until a minute ago was keeping us afloat, had luckily deflated just enough to avoid impalement.
The unromantic side of hot-air ballooning no one tells you about is the all-hands-on-deck pack-down – made all the more interesting when you’re in an emergency landing site inaccessible by road. Adrenal glands juiced, I’m calling time for fondue.
At Le Chalet, I regroup with L’Etivaz cheese – a dairy delicacy made by hand in the high alpage (alpine homes) between May and October each year. It’s only my second day in Switzerland and I’ve already come to realise any exertion (already rendered enjoyable in stupefying landscapes) is really just a warm-up – an excuse to enjoy the finer things in life. Seeing the locals’ penchant for slow living, good food and even better wine, it’s little wonder Zurich residents call this region the Greece of Switzerland.
Sufficiently refuelled, I’m now ready for a high of a different kind. I ascend from the banks of Lake Thun to the 1950-metre summit of Mount Niederhorn, this time soaring into the skies by gondola. We whiz past mountain bikers taking the more challenging route to the humble mountain lodge up top, with a front-row seat to the splendour of the snow-dusted Bernese Alps.
Standing on the edge of a paragliding platform that juts out over the Justistal Valley, I meet Pierre, the owner of the lodge, who has lived here for 25 years and admits he prefers it when the clouds are low and only the peaks are peeking out. “You have the feeling here you are in the middle of nowhere and there is nothing,” he says. Sensing he prefers it that way, I leave Pierre in peace with his panoramic view and continue to the summit to bathe in the sherbet-hued sunset.
Early the next morning, I join guide Urs Grossniklaus to hike the backbone of Niederhorn in the hope of meeting some of the locals. Within a few steps we strike gold – a male ibex, teetering on a precipitous ledge. During winter, Urs tells me, the tougher of the ibex can be found on top of the mountain waiting for the snow to blow away so they can get to the grass. Mostly, however, they stay down in the valley near the forest edge. The snow is starting to melt away in the spring sunshine and, as we walk on, we spot three chamois nibbling the grass and speckled snow chickens pecking around purple enzian flowers as golden eagles wheel overhead.
It would be easy to linger here, squirming with awe and jealousy in equal measure as paragliders launch themselves off Niederhorn to surf the thermals down into the spectacular valley below, but I’ve got a date with a celebrity chef on the banks of turquoise Lake Brienz.
Sonja Schilt and her family are fourth-generation farmers in the small village of Iseltwald. So when Sonja was handpicked to appear on the Swiss equivalent of My Kitchen Rules – called Landfrauenküche – and won, it was big news. Although softly spoken Sonja admits she would prefer to just make cheese.
“There were so many journalists and interviews – I don’t like pictures of me,” she says as she serves a platter pile with beef that’s been hot-smoked by her father who lives nearby, mountain cheese from their cellar, and a brioche-like bread called züpfe.
They’ll leave later this week with their 18 cows on an annual pilgrimage to the mountains, where they’ll spend the coming months making up to six wheels of cheese per day. This kind of workmanship has its rewards: my tastebuds can happily vouch for that.
Waving goodbye to Sonja, I sink into a meditation with nature, walking along the lake for a few kilometres to the Grandhotel Giessbach. Repaid by the sight of the foaming, five-tiered Giessbach Falls tumbling down the mountainside to the foot of this grand historic hotel, I sit below an ancient walnut tree and feel the magic the Swiss master painters who ‘discovered’ these falls in the eighteenth century must have felt.
That Switzerland is roughly two-thirds the size of Tasmania, offers 65,000 kilometres of walking trails and is serviced by a rail system that embarrasses most other urban public transport planners, this whole effort-vs-reward ratio is skewed in my favour.
In Lucerne, I ride the world’s steepest cog railway to the 2133-metre summit of Mount Pilatus to hike its trails, then watch teenagers tackle the high ropes course with a panorama of 73 peaks surrounding me as I eat forkfuls of chocolate cake.
On another day I experience a brief affair with the town of St Gallen, before collecting an e-bike at the train station and pedalling part of the perimeter of Lake Constance and across the border into Bregenz, Austria.
Reclining on the banks of the Rhine in the culture capital of Basel on my last day, I watch locals converge with charcoal grills and beer cans, while others brave the first swim of the season, jumping into the Rhine and letting the current carry them along.
It cements my theory that the natural beauty of Switzerland is easily enjoyed for just the price of admission. It’s a place where I’ve received more than my just reward, without any effort at all, really.
“What do you want in Jordan?” I’m asked as I attempt to cross the border. “Climbing and hiking,” I answer, trying not to blink or look dodgy. The border patrol looks at me with suspicion.
“Maybe a jeep tour, as well,” I hear myself say.
I am starting to sweat. The border from Israel to Jordan closes in 10 minutes and I have made it all the way from Tel Aviv just in time. I have no intention of giving up now. I was told by Shadi Khries, electronic music producer and one of the headliners of the SA7RA-OUI festival, to say as little as possible. No location, no names. The organisers want to stay under the radar.
I’m here to attend the SA7RA-OUI in Wadi Rum, a music festival, I’m told, that’s very different to the others. Hosted by local Bedouins, organised by a French production company and Jordanians from Amman, and attended by Palestinians, Israelis, Jordanians, French and Germans alike, the event embodies the bridging power inherent in music.
As Shadi puts it simply, “The desert gives freedom. We listen to what we want, we dance how we want, and we wear what we want.”
In this dried-up riverbed, all rules are different. Red rocks of sandstone and granite seem to rise randomly into the sky, reaching up to 800 metres high. “We call it The Valley of the Moon,” says Mohammad, one of the hosts from the local Bedouin clan. Dressed all in white with a traditional red keffiyeh – a checkered piece of cloth tied with a black cord around the head – he greets the first guests. Some arrive at nightfall by 4WD, their beaming headlights a beacon in the darkness, moving through the desert valley like a distant torch procession.
Mohammad shakes hands, a cigarette seemingly glued to the corner of his mouth. When he laughs, which he does often, he reveals teeth slightly stained by tobacco and Arabic coffee. “This is our land,” he says, and he is not wrong. Bedouins make up 40 per cent of the Jordanian population and have inhabited these dusty plains for around 500 years. Next to the dance floor, men are lighting a bonfire, and preparing coffee and tea for the newcomers. Hospitality is a crucial part of their identity. “We just continue our tradition – receiving strangers and wanderers of the desert, giving them shelter and food,” Mohammad explains.
For years, Shadi has been friends with the Bedouins from the village. “We agreed we have to break down all barriers,” he says in his quiet yet penetrating voice. “You have to be very careful, respect the place and find common energy with the people living here. It cannot be about girls, mingling and cocktails, but only about the music.”
This time, he’s invited Paris-based duo Acid Arab to be the night’s highlight. Members Guido Minisky and Hervé Carvalho interweave Middle Eastern strings, percussion and Arabic scales into the framework of electronic music, allowing instruments such as the rebab, oud and qanbus to dive deep into the fabric of the club sound. Whenever they hit a familiar Jordanian tune and twist the knob in the right direction, Bedouins begin jumping from the rocks into the middle of the dance floor, taking each other and the foreigners by the hands and moving to the beat in ecstasy.
“What an interesting experience – dancing in such a crowd,” says Simon, one of the attendees, his expression a mixture of excitement and astonishment. As the only Jewish guest from Israel, he rarely finds himself having fun with his Arab neighbours. “But this is the next step, this is transcendence,” he says before I see his afro disappear through the crowd.
Next to him, Spiro and Daniel from Bethlehem are shaking their dreadlocks. Their hearts belong to trance music, but they confess it’s a somewhat elusive love. “A trance or electronic scene is almost non-existent in Palestine,” says one. “You have to look for it.” According to him, Arab countries of the Middle East are still in their infancy when it comes to contemporary electronic music.
On the other hand, this is why festivals are still authentic, dedicated spaces for the true counterculture and the outcasts. Especially for musicians, bookers and producers from the underground scene in the West Bank and Gaza who have a hard time expressing their art and building a crowd. They lack funding, freedom of movement and visas to go abroad, making it hard to pursue an international music career. As a result, many bands have their fan base in places they can never visit; meanwhile their compositions travel across oceans to places like Paris, Brussels or Berlin. In the Middle East, however, music is a matter charged with politics and every line-up is a statement.
“If you want to listen to Acid Arab and dance without an intervention, you are forced to retreat to such remote areas,” explains Shadi. After the festival, he will leave immediately for Paris. Only the desert can seem to keep him a few days in his home country. “There is freedom in the desert. We have to charge this area with new energy.”
With these words in mind, I gather my belongings the next morning and shake the red dust from my hair, shoes and bags. Some guests have moved their mattresses to higher ground to wake up with the sunrise. Slowly, the light creeps up from behind the mountains. In the distance, a girl pulls her yellow suitcase over a sand dune.
Two 4WD rides, one traffic jam and three police checks later, I am once again facing the border. The Israeli official looks at me and I do not blink. He asks me if I have any Arab friends. “No, sir.” And if I have visited any Arabs. “No, of course not.” What did I do in Jordan? “Climbing and hiking,” I say with a smile. “Climbing and hiking.”
Mist infiltrates a swirl of primeval dwarf juniper trees as we clamber over their gnarled roots. All around us, spongy sphagnum peat moss is iridescent in the muted light. I half expect to see Frodo Baggins sitting on one of the misshapen jet-black basalt boulders we pass.
We’re hiking in Mistérios Negros, or the Dark Mysteries, a trail that meanders through the largest endemic forest on Terceira, one of the nine lush volcanic islands that make up the Azores. It’s a landscape unlike anything I’ve ever seen and it’s both invigorating and disorienting.
A sense of the surreal permeates this Portuguese archipelago, which sprawls across the cobalt depths of the Atlantic Ocean right where the Eurasian, African and North American tectonic plates collide, about a third of the way between Lisbon and Boston.
The vegetation alone is fascinating. Japanese cedar trees were introduced centuries ago to be made into shipping crates for oranges sent to England. Country roads lined with long alleys of plane trees and enormous hydrangeas look like France on steroids. Fast-growing eucalyptus climbs hillsides. Laurel and yellow ginger, camellias and bougainvillea, ferns and bananas, figs and morning glory grow in profusion everywhere. Many are legacies of the Age of Discovery, when Portugal dominated the world’s trading routes 500-odd years
ago and sea captains brought back exotica to these shores.
Around every corner are astonishing vistas. Cerulean crater lakes and basalt cliffs dripping with waterfalls speak of Hawaii or New Zealand, dappled dairy cows in emerald fields fenced with stone take cues from Irish pastures, and pastel-hued seaside towns look like they’ve been plucked straight out of the Mediterranean.
Despite the Azores location in the North Atlantic, the climate is surprisingly mild due to the influence of the Gulf Stream. Watching the weather here is likened to a spectator sport. From caldera ridges, billowing cumulus clouds roll around the heavens as vast sheets of rain sweep across slate seas, up arching cliffs and over green fields, only to eventually dissipate again amid bright bolts of sunshine and rainbows.
There’s a refreshing simplicity in the rhythms of its pious farming and fishing culture, which meshes remarkably well with a quiver of eco-tourism and adrenaline-filled adventure. Between lazy afternoons wandering the towns, we are seduced by the region’s activities: whale watching, surfing, diving with manta rays, swimming with dolphins, walking inside volcanoes and bathing in hot springs.
Each of the nine islands is distinguished by its geography, geology and history. Over my journey across the two largest islands of the Azores, São Miguel and Terceira, tantalising details of the other islands ensure I vow to return.
It’s a Saturday night when we arrive in Ponta Delgada, the urban hub of São Miguel and the gateway to the Azores, and locals are spilling from tiny restaurants and bars onto the black-and-white calçada (mosaic stone-like) footpaths of the old town’s narrow streets. Given the region’s reputation for deliciously fresh seafood, we waste no time and squeeze into buzzing A Tasca, where we feast on fresh tuna and bacalau (salted cod).
São Miguel’s hinterlands are a highlight and our guide is gregarious volcanologist, musician and reiki enthusiast Jorge Valerio, the 27-year-old Renaissance man behind Holistika tour company. For him, the essence of São Miguel comes from ancient volcanic energies and our adventures tap into this spiritual dimension.
At Sete Cidades, twin blue and green lakes are framed within a massive caldera to create a gasp-inducing Azorean vista that can’t be likened to anything else in the world. Walking along the vertiginous hydrangea and ginger-lined caldera rim from Vista del Rei, a viewpoint that sits seven kilometres west of Ponta Delgada, we ogle at limpid lakes and patchworks of fields and hedgerows. The aromas of the warm brown earth mix with the salty tang of the sea, while seagulls caw over the ocean on one side and church bells ring on the other. Astoundingly, the panoramas get even better when we reach Boca do Inferno, which overlooks tree-fringed lakes, each a slightly different shade of turquoise.
To get here, we meander over voluptuous hills and down a steep basalt cliff aiming to reach the destination halfway between the high and low tides to get the perfect mix of hot spring and cold ocean water. But this isn’t an experience for the faint-hearted. To enter the pool, we clamber across slippery rocks, climb down a metal ladder and hang on to the ropes to avoid getting swept away by the ocean.
As we make our way to Lagoa das Furnas, a large geyser and hot springs-filled volcanic basin an hour’s drive east of Ponta Delgada, Jorge explains that, in São Miguel, volcanoes are really at the centre of everything. They even play a role in cooking, which we learn when we stop by Lake Furnas where chicken, blood sausage, pork, root vegetables and cabbage are stewed and steamed in underground springs to create cozido das furnas. We get a chance to taste this authentic Azorean cuisine at Restaurante Tony’s in the fumarole-fringed town of Furnas.
Volcanic geothermal springs are dotted throughout the town and while the architecturally designed Poça da Dona Beija is close by, we opt for a soak in the khaki-coloured pool in the remarkable eighteenth-century gardens of Terra Nostra Park. Today, these botanic gardens are among the largest and most diverse in Europe. We wander among the endemic Azorean plants, colourful camellias, giant Amazonian lilies, azaleas and rhododendrons, and Australian hoop pines, eucalypts and bungalow palms.
With our bodies rejuvenated from the warm waters of the springs, we toast the final sunset on the island with an aromatic white wine from Pico Island’s UNESCO-listed vineyards while we dine on char-grilled limpets and parrotfish on the terrace of Bar Caloura, listening to the sounds of the waves crashing against the volcanic rocks below.
When we arrive at Praia de Vitoria on Terceira, I’m not sure what to expect. There’s a healthy jostling between islands, each competing for the title of most beautiful. I’m told there are no caldera lakes or hot springs like the ones on São Miguel. Instead, Terceira has two colonial cities, brightly trimmed, whitewashed villages, marine adventures and a treasure trove of ornate imperios (miniature shrines to the Holy Ghost), which hint to the island’s older rhythms.
During the Age of Discovery, the city of Angra do Heroismo was a bustling port for Portuguese ships bringing gold, silver and spices from Asia, Africa and the Americas. Its bishops and merchants wasted no time in fashioning elaborate mansions and churches and, as we explore Angra’s cobblestoned streets, it’s easy to understand why this became Portugal’s first UNESCO World Heritage site.
We enjoy seafood pasta at contemporary Tasca das Tias and excellent coffee at the retro A Minha Casa, which wouldn’t look out of place in Melbourne’s Brunswick. We also climb up to a huge fort built on Monte Brasil, the remnant of a tuff volcano, and enjoy its magnificent views. There are at least 80 shipwrecks in the bay, which can be explored via an underwater wreck trail.
Keen to see some of the region’s 25 whale and dolphin species, we jump aboard a small, semi-inflatable high-speed boat for a whale-watching tour with Ocean Emotion. On-shore spotters radio the boats with the position of whales, replicating the way things were done in the past when the Azores was a busy whaling hub. It’s gratifying to see how a traditional whaling culture has been converted into one of the world’s best whale-watching centres. Marine biologist Breno Toste is our host, and we spot half a dozen sperm whales, which live year-round in the Azores. He explains that this is the world’s largest toothed predator and it has the biggest brain of any creature on earth.
We spend the afternoon with SailTours, sailing across the waves to Ilheu das Cabras, a dual islet that’s a nesting site for Cory’s shearwaters. We snorkel in the translucent waters of the islands’ marine reserve and marvel at the lime-green fields atop black basalt cliffs.
Our marine experience satisfied, we head inland with Sea Adventures on a volcano tour to Algar do Carvao, an ancient volcanic vent that was formed thousands of years ago when all the magma drained out of the volcano’s cone. From above, dense vegetation hides all traces of the lava tube but, as we wander down the 90-metre-deep chimney of black obsidian, the acoustics inside the giant cathedral-like dome are so superb we’re not surprised to learn that special concerts are sometimes held here.
It’s the rustic-charmed Ti Choa farm-to-table restaurant in Serrata that entices us through its doors that night. Here, we feast on Azorean specialties such as alcatra, beef roasted in a terracotta pot and cooked in a wood-fired oven, and molasses Dona Amelia tarts dusted with powdered sugar for a sweet ending.
Despite the breathtaking landscapes, delicious food and fascinating culture, what really captures our attention are the exquisitely painted miniature imperios dotted throughout every village we pass on Terceira. The shrines to the Holy Ghost, of which there are 73 variations representing hope, faith, egalitarianism, solidarity and charity, were introduced by Franciscan mystics and became the centre of weekly post-Easter celebrations, when children are crowned as royalty, feasts are shared, and food is given to the poor.
As our plane takes off the next day and I watch Terceira disappear into the vast inky depths of the Atlantic Ocean, I reflect that the hidden paradise of the Azores has got its philosophy for life just right. Amid its adventures, and harsh landscape, it’s the resilience and generosity of the people that makes visiting these islands even more alluring.
You never forget your first time. I never will. It was on a plane, a Cessna Grand Caravan, and we were flying above the shores of Lake Nakuru. The microphone on my headset was pushed away from my mouth so my frequent squeals and exclamations wouldn’t annoy my fellow passengers. It was tangled in my hair, but I managed to get it back to my lips.
“Rhinoceros!” I yelled, microphone finally readjusted. “It’s a rhinoceros.”
Of course, by the time I manage to spit out the words for my first ever rhino sighting, we’ve flown too far for the nine others onboard to gaze downwards. Instead, everyone is scanning the area below where huge flocks of flamingos are feeding. It is an extraordinary sight. Anyone who has bumped across the plains in a 4WD on safari will know the thrill of spotting any new species for the first time, but spying it from a small plane offers a completely different perspective.
We are winging across Kenya on Scenic Air Safaris’ Endangered Species Safari, a nine-day adventure that will take us into the Maasai Mara in the southwest corner of the country, north past Mount Kenya to the reserves of Samburu and Lewa, and onto the high, dry plateau of Laikipia. Along the way, rather than simply taking guided safaris from luxury camps, we are being accompanied by wildlife experts, many of whom study the continent’s most at-risk animals. It is a rare opportunity to see what conservationists and communities are doing to haul back species from the brink of extinction.
But there is another unique aspect to this journey. The company’s Cessna not only allows guests to travel to Kenya’s farthest corners, it also offers a unique perspective of the landscape and wildlife. Rather than taking off, flying at height and landing, our pilot, Murtaza Walijee, takes any opportunity to descend so we can observe the movements of visible animals. At about 150 metres, it’s possible to spot giraffes plucking leaves from treetops, hippos wallowing in shallow pools, and elephants trudging along dry river beds. None seems offended by the low-flying single-prop aircraft.
It’s one of the most comfortable ways you’ll ever safari – each of the padded, first-class seats has its own window, so you never miss a thing. Plus, at the beginning of each flight, everyone takes turns to call shotgun for the co-pilot’s spot.
My early rhino experience has me excited to get closer to these curious creatures, but first we are on the way to Laikipia, where Simon Kenyon has been surveying African wild dogs. From his base at Sosian Lodge, he’s come to the conclusion there are about 300 in the region. In all of Africa, it’s thought there are probably only about 3500 dogs, which makes them as rare as pandas.
“Much of the land around here used to be cattle and sheep farms, so the dogs would go through and kill 50 sheep in a single night,” he tells us as we’re parked high on a ridge, transmitter out, trying to get a read on where one of the packs may be thanks to collars on a couple of the dogs. “The farmers would shoot them, but they’re also susceptible to rabies and canine distemper.”
So rare were the dogs, with their big ears and dark spots painted on tan fur, Simon was 18 before he even saw one – it was love at first sight. It
set him on a path to discover as much as possible about the smallest of Kenya’s big carnivores.
We get a signal from one of the collars and set off. “They are fascinating and there is such a family dynamic,” says Simon of the dogs as we bounce along a rough track through thorny bush and prickly pears. “When they’re moving and on a mission, they are unbelievable machines. They can travel at up to 50 kilometres an hour.” Working in a pack, they’ll chase prey until the unfortunate animal is completely exhausted. At which point the dogs pounce and tear it to pieces. It’s a bloody jungle out there.
Thankfully, some of the younger dogs with an alpha male have decided to take a break in the shade of a tree. They twitter and yip, sounding a lot like a flock of birds, to communicate with one another. Occasionally, one trots off, peers around, then flops again beneath a bush. Nothing to see here.
We began our journey in the Maasai Mara National Reserve, landing at Keekorok Airstrip to be met by Justin McCarthy and his team from Spirit of the Masai Mara. Soon, we are off in open-top 4WDs to find some of the reserve’s big cats, and the experts – Mara Lion Project’s Niels Mogensen, Dr Elena Chelysheva, who has spent 30 years studying cheetahs, and David Mascall, who’s worked with lions for most of his life – are along for the ride. Within 15 minutes, another driver has radioed through the location of a leopard.
When we arrive, it’s hiding in a hollow trying, one suspects, to escape the heat of the day. It stares and we peer back. Soon, annoyed by cameras whirring and people whispering and pointing, the leopard leaps from its hide, roaring and lunging at the truck before slinking off into the undergrowth. It happens so fast, there is no time to react. One of us could easily have ended up as a leopard lunch.
Dr Chelysheva’s assistant Mandela is soon on the radio, too, reporting the presence of three cheetahs. We park away from the thicket hiding them and soon enough they pad out. Not too far away is a pride of lionesses and their cubs in all stages of adolescence trying to shade themselves from the sun’s rays. One of the largest is lying on her back, paws in the air, revealing her stomach in an attempt to stay cool.
The presence of these big cats is awe-inspiring, particularly as David reveals that three years ago, he’d seen only one lion in the neighbouring Siana Conservancy, where the lodge is located, over the course of two weeks. As we return for dinner, he asks the driver to slow down so he can find the resident pride, which now numbers 14. We spy them in a stand of trees, drinking from a large puddle.
“It takes a lot to kill a lion,” Justin tells me later. “I’ve seen a giraffe take the skin off the head of one and a couple of weeks later it’s been fine.” Of course, humans are a far greater threat to big cats than fellow plains animals, but there are a number of initiatives being implemented so herders and their animals are protected from predation and vice versa. One has been incredibly simple – using solar power to illuminate holding yards at night. Neither lions nor leopards like the artificial light and leave the domestic animals alone.
In the following days, we fly to Samburu to spend time with Saba Douglas-Hamilton and her husband Frank Pope at Save the Elephants. Her father, Iain, formed the organisation in 1993. Now, it tracks 97 Kenyan elephants (and about 130 more across the rest of Africa) using collars fitted with SIM cards.
Out in the bush, Saba introduces us to some of the elephants who live nearby. Anwar is a young bull with a fascination for LandCruisers. He’ll walk right up and sit on the bonnet, she tells us. He’s even smashed a couple of windscreens. “Not out of maliciousness,” says Saba, “but because he’s had his tusks on the bonnet and just moved.”
Another bull, Ban Ki-moon, approaches our parked vehicle. He’s in musth, a breeding cycle male elephants go through. Not only do they secrete from glands near their ears and urinate constantly, but they also become aggressive.
“Whatever you do, don’t move,” Saba says to me as Ban Ki advances. The hairs raise on the back of my neck when he gets so close I can smell the pheromones on his skin. I want to place my hand on his broad head, which is within my reach, but I take a deep breath and remain completely still. Finally, Ban Ki flaps his ears, sending a wave of a fusty hormones over me, before plodding off in search of something more interesting.
Back at Elephant Watch Camp, Saba and Frank tell of how they’ve worked with communities in recent years, convincing them living wildlife is far more valuable in the long term than a dead elephant’s tusks. Finally, it seems the message is taking hold, with elephant numbers increasing and incidences of poaching decreasing. “In 2013, we managed to turn the community against the poachers,” Saba explains. “There were these epic meetings under the trees with all the community and no one would admit they had poachers in their midst.” Finally, one man, who admitted he had killed elephants, stood up. “He pointed out men – 19 in all – who he knew were poachers.”
They’ve also collaborated with Chinese celebrities, like actor Li Bingbing and basketball player Yao Ming, to spread the word about the damage inflicted by ivory poaching. It seems to have worked. On New Year’s Day in 2017, the Chinese government banned the domestic sale and processing of ivory.
The story is similar in the Lewa Wildlife Conservancy, where comparable methods are being used to save rhinos. Each and every rhinoceros that lives on the almost 40,000 hectares – Lewa is managed in conjunction with the neighbouring Borana Conservancy – can be identified, either by markings, their horns or by notches added to their ears.
At a bunker where collared rhinos are tracked and monitored, scientist Ian Lemaiyan runs through the figures. In the 1960s, there were about 70,000 black rhinos in Kenya; by 1993 there were only 2475. Now, it’s thought the population has grown to about 5000. In the Lewa and Borana region there are 63, as well as 75 white rhinos, the more docile, grass-eating species.
Lewa is divided into nine blocks and six rangers will patrol each sector 24 hours a day. “Every time a ranger spots a rhino he radios back to the control centre, identifies the rhino, where it is, its condition and its behaviour,” says Ian. If one hasn’t been seen in three days, the situation is considered critical. On day four, rangers go out specifically looking for it and, if that rhino still hasn’t been found by day five, the helicopter is deployed. If a whole week passes, every resource, including armed security, is sent out to search. It’s serious business.
Thankfully, there have been few recent poaching incidents; Lewa has had none in the past three years.
“The community is our first defence,” says Ian. Health clinics, school libraries and bores have been built, and farmers are allowed to graze their cattle on conservancy land when it’s particularly dry in exchange for protection of the endangered animals. “We’ve also built an education centre so children from across northern Kenya can understand the value of the wildlife.”
As we drive through the conservancy we spot herds of the endangered Grevy’s zebra – hunted almost to extinction for their beautiful hide – and a number of rhinos in the distance, but then see Zaria and her calf just off a track. Up close these are huge and unusual beasts, with wide mouths and enormous horns that appear as though they could skewer any number of poachers. Zaria stomps her feet and shakes her head in warning as we get too close, before putting herself between the 4WD and her baby and marching off.
Thinking back to that first glimpse of a rhinoceros far below our plane, I feel privileged to have been able to see these amazing animals from just metres away. But, more importantly, thankful to the humans who dedicate their lives to ensuring other visitors to Kenya will be able to gawp at these species for generations to come.
Utah’s mighty mix Park City, Canyons and Deer Valley, USA
Three distinct ski resorts in one day, without even taking off your skis? Praise Chione (the Greek goddess of winter and snow), for Utah has delivered the goods. Thanks to a new gondola – unveiled in December 2015 – Park City is now linked with Canyons Resort, creating the largest ski area in the USA. And that’s without even taking into account neighbouring Deer Valley, separated from PC only by a fence.
Boarders can get jibby with it at one of Park City’s eight terrain parks, with more pipes, half-pipes and jumps than you can shake a stick at, just 35 minutes from Salt Lake City. Deer Valley, however, is ski-only terrain. With an annual average of 900 centimetres of the white stuff, the 314 marked trails in the Park City and Canyons resorts are sure to keep both basic blue-riders and diehard black-fighters equally engrossed.
A seven-day pass at Park City (including Canyons) costs US$600. A day pass at Deer Valley starts at US$117. parkcitymountain.com deervalley.com
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Euro loop de loop Arlberg, Austria
Snow enthusiasts have been gliding down slopes in Austria’s Arlberg region for more than a century. And while ski pioneers had to slog uphill to ride among some of Europe’s most dramatic peaks, these days, 87 lifts and cable cars link more than 500 kilometres of runs, so exploring Austria’s largest ski circuit is easy – even for those still finding their ski legs.
Little huts pepper the slopes, serving soup, stews and hearty sausages to hungry powder hounds. And five Tyrolean villages tucked between the hills offer a range of ski-in ski-out sleeping options. For plush resorts and world-renowned après, cruise to the famous town of St Anton. Or for something more laid-back make for a guesthouse in the hamlet of Stuben, home to just a hundred inhabitants during summer.
Seven-day passes offer access to all the region’s cable cars and lifts for US$317. skiarlberg.at
Home to Santa Claus, an abundance of reindeer and two million saunas (steaming a population of 5.5 million), Finland is just the place to embark on a back-country adventure.
On a week-long snowshoeing tour with Upitrek you’ll shuffle through Hossa, a forest of birch, pine and spruce slathered in deep, marshmallow-like snow, which was designated a national park in June. Wander past frozen lakes and through gorges, stopping for fireside lunches and hopefully spotting the local residents – elks, wolves and lynxes – along the way.
One afternoon expedition takes you to observe shamanistic art painted on a rock face with blood and yellow ochre 4000 years ago. Come evening you’ll huddle in cute little cabins. Simple they may be, but you won’t miss out on a sauna. Nor the chance to witness the northern lights.
The six-night Off the Trails Snowshoeing trip costs US$918. upitrek.com
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Outback Alaska Chugach, USA
With only 140 kilometres of road amid an area of Alaska almost 60 times the size of Barbados, the lines you pick while skiing backcountry Chugach will almost certainly be untouched. The second-largest national forest in the country, Chugach boasts glacier-fed fjords, rivers, mountains and rugged islands.
Aside from the seven other travellers and two guides on this Alaska Alpine Adventures trip, it’s unlikely you’ll see any other humans while diving through couloirs and snaking across powder bowls. And the only thing you’ll hear is the gentle crunch of your skis slicing through pristine corn snow. Best of all, ski junkies cut through the slopes for up to eight hours a day, returning to the comfort of their 65-foot yacht every night before anchoring near a fresh slice of shoreline the following morning.
Though popular among Brits (it’s the cheapest place in Europe to buy a six-day ski pass, and a beer is less than AU$2.50), Bulgaria’s runs are yet to draw crowds of Aussies. Situated 160 kilometres south-west of capital Sofia, Bansko offers 70 kilometres of marked pistes, some rising to an altitude of 2500 metres. Coniferous forest carpets the slopes, which are part of the UNESCO-listed Pirin National Park. It’s prime beginner territory, but there’s good off-piste for the advanced, and snowboarders can frequent the extreme fun park.
There’s plenty to entertain in Bansko’s medieval town too; nose around cobblestone streets, through market stalls and past nineteenth-century mansions. Later, visit one of the 200 traditional taverns, known as mehane. Sit by a roaring fire and tuck into local merlot and hearty, home-cooked dishes, such as chomlek – a rich claypot stew of beef knuckle, chilli and potato.
You’ve never heard of it, but neither has anyone else, making Newfoundland’s Marble Mountain just the ticket for a crowd-free ski retreat. Situated in the foothills of the Appalachians, a 2400-kilometre long chain of mountains, the resort is one of the best-kept secrets in alpine skiing.
A whopping five metres of snow dumps on Marble Mountain’s pristine landscape each year, ensuring the resort’s 39 runs – catering to the entire skill-level spectrum – offer top-notch skiing. Best of all though, is the 518-metre vertical drop, which is the highest of any ski area in Canada’s Atlantic region. Throw in the high-speed Lightning Express lift (so named because its predecessor was destroyed during an electrical storm) and you’ll be powering through the mountain’s foothills from dawn ’til dusk with local snow enthusiasts to keep you company.
Winter equals short days, but the fun doesn’t have to end just because the sun sets. At Maribor Pohorje – a resort tucked within the forested Pohorje Mountains – 10 kilometres of runs are illuminated at night on Thursday through Saturday, making it the largest night-skiing site in all of Europe. The resort’s cable car is less than 15 minutes by bus from Maribor, Slovenia’s second-largest city, so you can wander the banks of the Drava River and streets lined with baroque facades and terracotta-topped buildings during daylight hours before fanging down the slopes until 9pm.
If your idea of a holiday well spent involves skiing 18 hours straight, then you’ve come to the right place. Open from 9am until 3am every Friday and Saturday during the ski season, the 25 trails and four freestyle parks at Crotched Mountain in New Hampshire are night-skiing paradise.
Carve up fresh powder; bask in the bonfire parties hosted by DJs; enjoy concerts and microbrews at the Onset Pub; and behold the resort’s famous block parties, where skiers and snowboarders bust out their best tricks for cash prizes. Inns and B&Bs are located nearby, but for the ultimate adventure, drive up from Boston (1.5 hours away) and get involved in the group lockup: ride late into the night before ‘camping’ in the main lodge (BYO sleeping bag), and in the morning indulge in a buffet breakfast.
Lift passes with access from 9pm to 3am cost US$40. crotchedmtn.com
Beaten only by rain pummelling a tin roof, listening to the rush of a waterfall is an excellent way to unwind. But come winter, Fish Creek Falls near the ski resort in Steamboat Springs, Colorado, offers an altogether different waterfall experience.
From December to March, ice climbers test their mettle by scaling the 60-metre-high falls, where the thwack of a carefully aimed pick or a crampon piercing the wall of ice replaces the burble of water. Pull an a harness and discover just how well you deal with heights.
A small fabric wing and a pair of skis are all you’ll need for one of the zaniest sports to hit the slopes. A cross between freestyle skiing and paragliding, speed riding promises a heady mix of both flying and skiing virgin runs.
Practise at the speed ride school in Andorra – the first of its kind in the Pyrenees. You’ll take off from the highest summits of Grandvalira’s steep, craggy slopes and sail over forest-freckled valleys. Only those with a good level of skiing (and courage) should dabble – speed riding comes with a not-to-be-sniffed-at risk of injury or death.
When it comes to hedonism, few have lived up to the “treat yourself” mantra as well as citizens of the Roman Empire. Luckily for you, a relic of their indulgence remains etched in the Italian Dolomites.
Steep your sore, ski-weary body in baths first built 2000 years ago and restored as part of the QC Terme Bagni Vecchi wellness centre. Find respite simmering in a natural hot spring hidden in a cave, where water temperatures sit at a delicious 40°C and soak in the outdoor pool that offers panoramic views of the ski runs snaking Bormio’s alpine landscape.
Finding a steaming hot bath in the middle of a snow-covered forest is akin to wandering through a desert and happening upon fresh water – pure fantasy. Unless you’ve chosen to explore Wyoming’s Bridger-Teton National Forest, home to Granite Hot Springs, that is.
Streak through pines on the back of a snowmobile, then leave your clothes (and your inhibitions) behind in the change rooms and tiptoe in staccato along the frosty boardwalk. Your reward will be sinking into hot and steamy bliss.
Snowmobile trips with entry to the springs cost US$207. togwoteelodge.com
If carving up black runs is too daunting but blues don’t satisfy your desire for adrenaline, unhitch your skis and plant your feet in a rally car instead. At the Ice Driving Academy at Val Thorens ski resort, skilled instructors are on hand to teach you how to control a vehicle while zooming over snow.
Set 2200 metres above sea level, the 760-metre circuit is Europe’s highest racetrack, and the first stage of the annual Andros Trophy, so you’re really riding with the pros. After a few loops you might even have the nerve to tackle the legendary Combe de Caron — the resort’s toughest black run — when you return to skis.
Hold onto your sled; you’re about to glide through backcountry Colorado with a team of Alaskan huskies at your beck and call. Family-owned Grizzle-T Sledding has been leading tours for some 15 years, allowing guests to drive their very own team of dogs across two private tracks.
The 20-kilometre-long West Trail is arguably the most eventful, skating through the rugged belly of Colorado’s mountainous ranch country. Speed between canyons and open meadows blanketed in bridal white, hurtle across a ravine and surf over undulating hills, all while taking in the surrounding peaks of the Flat Tops and Elk Mountain. You might even spot a coyote or two.
Fat biking, the latest trend in ski-free winter activities, has made its mark on North America’s mountains. The bikes are fitted with extra-wide tyres and your route is over snow not soil, but other than that it’s just like mountain biking.
At Quebec’s Mont-Tremblant, 60 kilometres of track winds through the maple and birch trees, with about a third reserved exclusively for bikes – and the occasional moose. A few steep climbs will have you shedding layers, but you’ll be rewarded with exhilarating descents and awesome views. And with a blanket of white offering some padding should you fall, you can really pick up speed.
Two-hour trips with D-Tour cost AU$70, including gear and a guide. dtourtremblant.com
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On Your Feet Vallee de Joux, Switzerland
When life gives you frozen water, skate on it. At least that’s what the Swiss do. And Switzerland’s Jura Massif offers prime sliding material. Come January, the 9.5 square kilometres of Lac de Joux transforms into Europe’s largest open-air skating rink.
Enterprising locals set up shop by the shore, selling refreshments and renting out all the equipment you’ll need for an afternoon spent practising your pirouettes. And when it’s time for a break you won’t even need to leave the ice to slurp down soup or a steaming cup of glühwein (mulled wine).
Run With the Pack Polar Park Arctic Wildlife Centre, Norway
Find your wolfpack in the wilds of Norway. Narvik, up in the country’s north, offers an impressive winter lineup – fjord-side skiing, shimmering auroras and the chance to learn about how the Sami people survive in all that snow.
The cherry on top is Polar Park, an hour’s drive away. In this 110-hectare zoo, bears, lynxes, arctic foxes, reindeer and musk oxen roam free, and guests can experience one-on-one interaction with critically endangered wolves. Those with an extra soft spot for these four-legged beasts should spend the night at WolfLodge, a comfy house set in the middle of one of the enclosures. Come morning, you might even score a cuddle with your furry friends. Although these wolves are socialised, park guides keep a close eye on each encounter. Don’t try this in the wild, folks!
Entry to Polar Park costs AU$42.
A visit to the wolf enclosure is AU$240. polarpark.no
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Bison Bonanza Yellowstone National Park, USA
Eons ago, 30 million bison roamed the North American continent. Loss of habitat and poaching whittled that number down to half a million, while in Europe hunters brought the wild beasts to near extinction. But in USA’s Yellowstone National Park, 5500 bison – the country’s national mammal – remain, and as they forage for up to 11 hours a day they’re easy to spot in the landscape.
Take a break from skiing at nearby Jackson Hole to join a Scenic Safaris tour to the Old Faithful geyser, where you’ll spy all kinds of creatures drawn to the warmth of the park’s bubbling mud pots and hissing fumaroles. Observe elk and rare grey wolves, and watch bison swinging their heads from side to side as they plough through snow on the hunt for grasses, just as they’ve done in this region since prehistoric times.
The 12-hour Old Faithful Snow Coach trip starts at AU$360 per person. scenic-safaris.com
When it comes to extremes, Iceland’s full of them – vast glaciers, seething geysers and volcanoes that spit tantrums beside the broiling sea. It also boasts the lowest population density in Europe. At three inhabitants per square kilometre it’s just the spot to test your own limits, free from any observers sniggering when you eat snow.
Join a heli-skiing adventure with Eleven Experience, which whisks guests to the remote northern Troll Peninsula, up near the Arctic Circle. Here you’ll coast through fjords and valleys, and race from summit to sea on sheets of untouched snow. Go in spring when the days are long, the North Atlantic Ocean glimmers below and the sunset lingers on the horizon.
Canada’s 4019-metre-high Coast Mountains may look impressive from the foothills, but fly over their jagged peaks and you’ll realise you’ve underestimated the true power of Mother Nature. Nowhere more so than Pemberton Icecap — an icefield about the size of Malta in the southernmost portion of the mountains.
Modern-day explorers can wander through a labyrinth of blue caves of cathedral-like proportions and run their fingers across their glassy ice walls. Head-Line Mountain Holidays scoops up passengers from the famous Whistler resort and choppers them away from the crowds. From your airborne chariot you’ll take in sky-high views of the icefield before touchdown in a landscape that looks as though a higher being upended a giant jar of Miracle Whip.
If you need a break from exploring Norway’s frosted landscape under your own steam, let a train do all the work. Considered one of the most beautiful rail journeys in the world, the Flåm Railway weaves from Myrdal in Aurland — passing through Vatnahalsen, where there’s outstanding cross-country terrain — to the town of Flåm, right by a fjord.
The train’s plush red seats and rustic atmosphere offer gold-class comfort, but you’ll probably be too busy with your nose pressed up against the glass to notice as you chug past the blue-tinged landscape of frosted trees, marzipan peaks and flash-frozen waterfalls on the hour-long journey. While in Flåm be sure to stop by Ægir, a brewery set in a Norse Viking-style church.
Or book RailPlus’s Norway in a Nutshell package, which takes you to some of the country’s best sites from US$117. railplus.com.au
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Slow Road Anchorage, USA
Don’t be surprised if you come to a halt while riding the Aurora Winter Train; someone’s no doubt spotted a moose. Wending through 572 kilometres of Alaskan countryside, this route is all about the journey (though the destination is terrific, too).
After departing Anchorage, the locomotive cruises past birch forests, great lakes and beaver dams, with branch nests visible from your carriage. Animals aren’t the only cause for pause either – the train freezes in the middle of Hurricane Gulch Bridge, allowing you to peer 90 metres to the creek below; stops for views of Denali, the highest summit in North America; and halts to pick up locals who hail a ride from the side of the tracks.
Twelve hours later you’ll roll into Fairbanks, the most reliable place to see the northern lights in Alaska and a half-hour’s drive from Ski Land, boasting the northernmost chairlift on the continent.
One-way trips from AU$179. Email gtj@railplus.com.au to book your ride. railplus.com.au
Installed amid unspoilt Sami ancestral land and accessible only on skis, this rural Swedish restaurant throws shade on almost every other destination dining spot on earth.
Everything about Tusen, meaning ‘thousand’, pays homage to nature’s bounty – from the slender local birch trees that skirt the circular edifice, to the reindeer and trout served on local stone plates. In fact, judges at the World Architectural Festival in 2009 were so floored by Tusen’s design and concept that they awarded the restaurant first prize in the event’s holiday category. Located in the small ski resort of Ramundberget, some 600 kilometres north-west of Stockholm, and close to the Norwegian border, this is one of the most snow-secure ski areas in all of Sweden.
Hurtling through the Canadian wilderness on a snowmobile is one sure-fire way to work up an appetite. The Yukon Breakfast experience takes you on an adrenaline-pumping snowmobile trip, from Whistler to Mount Sproatt, through the rugged, pine-filled backcountry of British Columbia.
A rustic mountaintop log cabin awaits your arrival, and breakfast is prepared on a wood-fired stove while you enjoy views of frosted peaks. The feast is everything a hearty Canadian breakfast should be: Yukon gold potatoes, Canadian black bacon, scrambled eggs, local veggies, cheddar cheese and, best of all, pancakes with lashings of real maple syrup. It’ll stand you in good stead for a day on Whistler’s famous trails.
Nothing hits that hungry spot better than molten, golden cheese scraped from a six-kilogram wheel onto baked potatoes and pickles. Made with milk from cows fed on alpine pastures, Switzerland’s national dish of raclette is a mainstay at European ski resorts.
No one does it better than the little hut of Cabane des Taules, perched at 2000 metres above sea level in Switzerland’s Valais region. Here raclette is prepared outdoors for the crowds that settle into plastic chairs on the slope and wash down their meal with bubbly apfelschorle (apple juice and sparkling water) and local wine as they look out over the Alps.
When Canadians say, “How aboot you try a beaver tail?” they’re not suggesting you munch on a furry creature’s appendage. Rather, these quintessential Canadian snacks are paddles of hand-stretched, deep-fried dough, typically frosted with cinnamon and sugar.
The pastry is thought to have derived from bannock (bread) cooked by settlers, who were inspired by indigenous Canadians roasting real beaver tails over open fires. These days BeaverTails pastries are a much-loved post-ski snack, often consumed while roaming the pedestrian village at the foothills of Mont Tremblant in Quebec.
Nothing will blast the cold from your insides like a hot and heavenly glass of Bombardino. According to local legend, the booze-heavy brew was first conceived in Lombardy, in the country’s north, when a group of friends stumbled into a ski resort as a blizzard raged outside. To stave off the cold, the owner simmered up a heady concoction of brandy and advocaat and topped it off with a dollop of whipped cream and a dusting of cinnamon.
These days it’s served at establishments all over Italy’s slopes, often with an extra kick courtesy of a shot of fresh espresso.
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Rummy Good Time USA
Two parts rum, a quarter part butter and infinite parts delicious, hot buttered rum (or HBR to the veterans out there) is a piste-side staple that dates back to the USA’s colonial days.
Stir your cinnamon stick and soak up the sweet, rich cloud of warmth. There can be no better spot to sample this spiced, warming libation than perched upon a bar stool at the sleek and stately Duchin Lounge – an Idaho institution. Part of Sun Valley – the continent’s oldest resort, established in 1936 – this lodge has seen American icons such as Marilyn Monroe and Ernest Hemingway, among others, stroll its corridors.
Ski-in ski-out sun terrace, toffee-infused vodka and all-day entertainment every day of the week? Welcome to Le Rond Point, where you’ll find some of France’s finest après-ski. Fondly known as the Ronnie, this venue at the Méribel ski resort may be the largest ski bar in the country, but it’s far from a sell-out.
Punctuate your day navigating the resort’s 328 pistes with Ronnie’s steaming mugs of vin chaud (mulled wine), and kick back with a burger or pork hot off the spit while taking in panoramic views with a side of sunshine. As with every good European après establishment, the party kicks off in the afternoon with live music and dancing in your snow boots.
Forget the snow – for skiers in Colorado’s A-basin it’s all about the Beach. To learn the nuts and bolts of this destination party spot is to realise that its moniker is wildly incongruous, for the Beach is an impromptu rave in a car park at the bottom of a ski slope that begins ludicrously early.
Revellers arrive armed with barbecues, beer kegs and deck chairs from 7am, popping their car boots to get the party started. And whenever Beach-goers need a breather there’s an easy escape route, with lifts to some of the steepest and highest skiable terrain in North America right at your feet.
From US$45 per parking spot, which has room for two vehicles. arapahoebasin.com
Modern incarnations of the traditional yurt and teepee have sprouted up in Utah’s Wasatch Mountain Range. But instead of simple conical shelters made from buffalo hide, the 10 rotund yurts at Whisper Ridge Resort are kitted out with queen-size beds, solar-powered lights, dressers and armchairs.
Snowcats and helicopters transport guests out to some of North America’s best (and biggest) backcountry, where annual snowfall of over a metre creates a pristine canvas on the 25,000-hectare terrain. After painting your own trails on 3600-metre vertical runs, return to the glamping set-up for a buffet and the warmth of the wood-fired hot tub.
A day of skiing and a night’s stay costs US$870 per person. whisperridgeutah.com
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DYI Igloo Engelberg, Switzerland
Sub-zero conditions and physical labour – what could be more romantic? For an unconventional stay in the Swiss Alps why not build your own love nest out of snow together with your plus one? Under the watchful eye of an Iglu-Dorf igloo expert you’ll craft a cosy, frozen home block-by-block on the slopes.
But it’s not all hard graft. Welcome drinks and pastries are supplied upon arrival; prosecco and antipasto platters are served come sundown; morning tea is delivered right to your sleeping bag and there’s even a hot tub begging to warm cold limbs. But best of all, it’s just you and your better half sleeping under the stars, with a slice of hushed Alpine landscape all to yourselves.
Build your own igloo from US$515 per person. iglu-dorf.com
Even a tale by the Brothers Grimm would fall short of the whimsy found at Les Chalets de Philippe. Facing Mont Blanc, these kitsch wooden hideaways – some accessible via stairs so steep they resemble ladders – brim with antique furniture and are warmed by wood-stoked fires.
Most of the treehouse-esque suites boast private hot tubs, perfect for unknotting muscles, plus there’s a hammam in the garden and a private cinema to help you reach peak relaxation. The hotel oozes history, especially in the seventeenth-century dining hall where French cuisine is served at a shared table by candlelight.
Strap on your skis, because the only way to reach Skoki Lodge is by tackling an 11-kilometre trail deep in the Canadian Rockies.
Departing from Lake Louise, the route takes you up over Deception Pass and seemingly back to the 1930s – when Skoki welcomed its first guests. Retired snowshoes and wooden skis line the walls, stoves still heat the nine rooms and cabins, baths are by sponge and steaming bowls of water, and candles promise enough light for a game of late-night Scrabble. That’s if you escape the food coma brought on by the spread of exceptional homemade food.
It may have started out as a seventeenth-century bakery, but Berge guesthouse at the foot of the Bavarian Alps is as modern as they come. Revamped by renowned designer Nils Holger Moormann in his signature minimalist style, the 16 self-catering apartments were created with solitude and relaxation in mind.
Wood, stone and brick all feature prominently and there’s no room service, television or telephones in the individually designed spaces. A cable car ships skiers to the Kampenwand pistes directly behind the retreat, while a labyrinth of cross-country tracks wind through the woods with another eight ski fields promising powder just a short drive away.
When your knees are sore, your cheeks cold and your feet longing for freedom from rigid boots, the Coachman Hotel is your friend. Just five minutes’ walk from the ski gondola to Heavenly Mountain ski resort (Cali’s largest), this former 60s motel has undergone a multimillion-dollar overhaul that has left competitors reeling in its wake.
Curl up under a blanket and toast complimentary s’mores over the firepit, melt away the day in a bubbly hot tub or simply burrow down in your luxury Frette linens and watch a movie on the 43-inch HDTV. And when you’re ready to hit the slopes again the next day, load up on double shot lattes from Portland’s Stumptown Coffee Roasters at the hotel bar.
This year marks the eightieth anniversary for family-owned, five-star Gasthof Post. The hotel – situated a short stroll from Lech’s slopes – is just the type of lodge you picture when you think of the Alps.
Each room is decorated with local antiques, paintings of hunts and an abundance of wood. Quaint it may be, but don’t judge a book by its cover – a new spa offers a range of beauty and relaxation treatments, and guests who fancy a swim can plunge into the 30ºC outdoor swimming pool with panoramic views of the peak of Omeshorn. Best of all is the restaurant, which dishes up local produce of such quality you’ll forget you ever imagined Austrian cuisine was solely stews and strudel.
When snow falls softly outside, nothing beats sinking into an armchair by a crackling fire. And at Lake Placid Lodge in upstate New York the stone fireplaces outnumber guest rooms almost two-to-one, so there’s always somewhere to sit and warm your toes after tackling Whiteface Mountain – the longest vertical drop of any ski mountain on America’s eastern seaboard.
First established in 1882 among the immense woodlands of Adirondack Park, the reconstructed lodge harks back to the grand summer camps built in the region by the nineteenth-century elite. Each of the 13 suites and 17 cabins is individually designed with far more flair than most people are accustomed to at home. And the handcrafted beds created with a twist of branches are truly astonishing.
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