As I climb the stairs to the Odeon of Herodes Atticus, the stone theatre located southwest of the Acropolis, about 30 people – pagan celebrators – are putting the finishing touches on their tight-fitting costumes. Some are satyrs; others are dressed as Bacchides or in maenad costumes. Most are sporting Dionysian masks, some with pointy horns. Both men and women wear furry boots and wreaths of ivy, but it’s the male pagan outfits that come with a distinguishing addition – a leather phallus is tied around their pelvises. It’s a somewhat obscene look that enhances the sight of the colossal bright red and leatherbound phallic-shaped pole that stands before a cheeky figurehead of the Greek god Dionysus.
This is all part of Falliforia, a wild celebration thrown by the paganist communities of Athens to honour Dionysus, the half-man, half-goat god of wine, theatre, fertility, religious ecstasy and orgiastic joy. It’s a yearly festival held at the end of each winter that turns the historic centre of the city into an unhinged inferno.
“The phallus is not just the male part,” says Manthos, a pensive man with a grey mane of hair. He is a leading member of the Labrys religious community, the Greek polytheistic group behind Falliforia, a procession honouring freedom and rebellion, solidarity and joy, fertility and hedonic mania, and the Dionysian spirit.
“The phallus symbolises fertility, the vigour of life,” continues Manthos, who has been disguising himself as a satyr for every Falliforia festival since 2013. “This is where all carnivals started, even the Rio one,” he adds while a Bacchis butts in, holding a plate full of raisins. Apparently, these were the favourite snack of Dionysus, to whom ancient Greek mythology attributes the birth of the grapevine.
Falliforia literally means to carry a penis and is a religious celebration dating back 2500 years. In classical Greece, worshippers of the goat-footed god Pan wore masks, brandished torches and wooden sticks adorned with leather phalluses, danced like demons, and drank until they dropped to commemorate the triumph of spring over winter and the resurrection of nature.
The blood of the festival-goers is now boiling. Young maenads are banging drums and mature animal-print–wearing shepherds are playing their bagpipes. Dionysus worshippers gather, as do a potpourri of curious locals and tourists from all corners of the world.
“Hail, Bacchus,” the revellers chant, forming a tight circle around the master phallus while stomping their feet. Manthos, now arch-satyr, drops wine in front of the Dionysus xoanon (a wooden image of a Greek deity), and a man wearing a Bacchus mask burns incense. The procession commences through the historic city centre, with four men holding a rope stretcher the titanic phallus temporarily rests upon. First stop, the Acropolis Museum.
“Everything well?” asks a sassy satyr, putting his hands uninvited around my shoulders as I stand in front of the parade to take photos. Another satyr offers a posh-looking lady, who probably just happens by chance to be in the vicinity of the acclaimed museum with her husband, a wooden stick upon which a particular male organ hangs from the top. “No, thanks,” the lady nonchalantly answers, while the glasses-wearing husband tries to conceive what just happened. A few Bacchi chase two young girls, who scurry away, laughing, while a couple of Dionysians lightheartedly threaten a middle-age man idling on a bench at the foot of the Parthenon with penises made of plastic. Indecently teasing the passers-by is part of the ritual.
“It is not about obscenity,” says Vasilis, a polytheist assuming the identity of – you guessed it – a satyr. “It is the Dionysian mania and its scoptic character.”
For the next five hours or so, the nostalgia-riddled centre of Athens transforms into a demented yet luring asylum. Bystanders better get used to it.
In front of the Acropolis Museum, the porters of the master phallus carefully prop it up for worshippers to gather around. It’s time for the first Kordakas dance. Kordakas is an ancient Greek comedy dance believed to have first appeared in Greek playwright Aristophanes’ comedy, The Clouds, in 423BCE. The etymology of the word Kordakas stems from the Greek infinitive kordakizein, which means, sarcastically, to blow your own trumpet. As a dance, it is inherently provocative and salacious, but at the same time humorous, and is thought to be the predecessor of the famous tsifteteli dance, a rhythmic, lustful jig that has predominantly been associated with Anatolia and the Balkans.
Alongside the lewd jerk of the thighs, the Kordakas dance demands revellers must also sing the gamotragouda, a selection of Greek folk songs with intense sexual content that “survived Christian influence”, says Vasilis.
Falliforia merrymakers then weave their way through the cobblestone alleys of Plaka, commonly known as the Cyclades of Athens (the district of Gods), showering dumbstruck tourists with wine and fake penises. Onlookers respond with a barrage of smartphone photos. When the frenzied march reaches Avissinias Square, the focal point of the Baroque Monastiraki neighbourhood, the phallus being hauled on the backs of the masked rabble-rousers is erected once again, as the Kordakas dance and gamotragouda songs are performed with enough gusto to shake the spirits. The scene is surreal. Monastiraki is famous for its flea markets, but it’s also a hot spot of friction.
Situated in the heart of Athens, Monastiraki’s Avissinias Square is where everybody – the trendiest local hipsters going clubbing in the nearby Psyrri district, Latin street dancers basking in attention, international socialites craving a taste of Greek folk, recently displaced refugees and migrants from Muslim countries puzzling over the European way of life – meets. Imagine what happens when you mix all these with deranged satyrs in front of Panagia Pantanassa, a Byzantine church, one of the oldest in Athens and a landmark on Avissinias Square.
It’s now about 10pm, and the Falliforia parade heads back towards the Odeon of Herodes Atticus. This year the festival will conclude with a hymn expressing devotion to the gods – all 12 of them – and the removal of the Dionysian masks, which will be deposited under the nose of the Dionysus xoanon.
Kiki and Maria, two prepossessing Bacchides, hold on to their masks, stating
the festival fills them with joy. “I feel connected to nature, to my true self,” says Kiki, a petite and curly-haired woman, who works as a public servant by day. “It’s the reversal of identities,” adds Maria, who studies history and archaeology. They both agree the Dionysian mask does not hide but rather releases their true self, and they can’t stress this message enough.
“Falliforia is about fertility, the victory of spring over winter,” reiterates Patronios, a chubby man who has not missed the festival for 10 years. “It is about nature’s virality.” Patronios’s huge grin can both entertain and swallow you, and he may have drunk one too many glasses – a bottle, perhaps – of wine. But there is no residual guilt, because every reveller lived it up today. After all, their god Dionysus has blessed the rampage.
The old woman standing beside me dressed in black, grips my arm a little tighter, her glowing grin now replaced with a look of awe as the statue of Santa Marta finally emerges.
“It’s beautiful,” her voice quivers with emotion as the first coffin appears. The animated hum of human activity that seems a permanent feature of daily life in Spain has died to an ominous calm. The only sounds are the birds tweeting behind us and the shuffling of feet on the parched concrete. The coffin draws below us. A woman in her forties lies inside, her bright red trousers dazzling against the perfect white coffin lining. The corpse wriggled a little to get comfortable before adjusting her black sunglasses.
I’m standing among a few thousand spectators to witness one of the more peculiar ceremonies, in a country that has made a name for its oddball rituals. On 29 July each year people gather for the Fiesta de Santa Marta de Ribarteme in a tiny Galician village, surrounded by gentle rolling hills near As Neves. The living, breathing occupants of these seven stout wooden coffins are here to give thanks to Santa Marta for sparing their lives. “A victory of life over death,” local priest Alfonso Besada Paraje explained to me the day before.
The tradition dates back to the medieval ages, maybe even further, and is said to be an example of fervent religious beliefs mixed with the deep superstitions that have survived in the local area to this day.
Galicia is not the Spain most people know from the travel brochures. Forget the arid landscape, paella and bullfighting.
Galicia is a brilliantly green, mountainous corner of the Iberian Peninsula, positioned almost regally above Portugal. A place of stunning but harsh Atlantic-beaten coastline, thick mystical forests and ancient Celtic hill forts.
Outside the church we are immediately befriended by Maria del Carmen, a kind-natured woman of 86 with a gold tooth and hair a deep rust colour. She leans nonchalantly on a metal barrier, a plastic bag swinging from her arm.
“My smart shoes for the church,” she winks at us. I look down at her feet to find a pair of well-worn trainers. I like her immediately.
“My son is buried just around the corner, he’s the one in military uniform,” she gestures to a set of nearby graves and her eyes momentarily mist over, her thoughts deep in the past.
“Life was hard growing up here,” she finally continues. “My husband was a fisherman and he would be away for six to eight months. I brought up the five children alone most of the time.” Spain, in the years after its destructive civil war, was a place of great hardship; a country that had almost obliterated itself and took decades to recover.
“Both of my older sons left the village at 13 to find work – it wasn’t an easy time,” her voice trails off. Yet like some famous Hollywood star she is inundated by a steady stream of friends and family, and her mood remains wonderfully upbeat.
The tiny village is essentially a single road with a small church near the centre, where a large marquee has been erected to accommodate the much larger than normal attendance. Sermons are being held on the hour, every hour, and in truth seem to go on for the better part of the 60 minute intervals.
The fourth coffin is below us when a haunting melody suddenly ruptures the silence. A group close to one of the coffins has burst into an eerie, wailing song. “Virgin Santa Marta, star of the north, we bring you those who have seen death”. It adds a deeply unsettling accompaniment to the slightly macabre visuals.
The procession is led by one of two women choosing to complete the journey on her knees. Two companions each grip a hand to help.
“Seventeen years ago I had a terrible infection in my legs, I nearly lost them,” she had told me before the procession. “I return each year to thank Santa Marta.”
As the crowd moves up the hill they are framed by a stark reminder of the perennial line between life and death. A vivid green hillside stands above, peppered with trees blackened by fires. The previous year, on a catastrophic October weekend, wildfires, fanned by the winds of Hurricane Ophelia, had swept north, decimating much of northern Portugal and huge swathes of Galicia, killing four in the local area and forty-five in Portugal. Though this was unquestionably one of the worst in recent times, wildfires are now almost a yearly occurrence.
Despite the presence of coffins, there is a surprisingly jovial atmosphere – this is Spain after all. They take religion as seriously as they take fiestas – when the two are combined, you’re in for quite an experience.
The procession inches steadily past those choosing to pay their respects safely behind a table groaning with octopus and barbecued meat, and past the children’s trampoline, which provides the unique image of a coffin, juxtaposed with a child flying happily into the air. Two dogs, oblivious to their surroundings, amble casually into the procession to become comically entangled between the legs of the pallbearers.
“Madre mia!” one man hoots loudly while aiming a playful kick at the leading dog, drawing hearty chuckles from those around him.
As the church comes into view again, a young man, gripping one of the Saint’s poles, pulls out his ringing mobile.
“Digame,” (Spanish for ‘tell me’) he exclaims loudly, before chatting nonchalantly for a good minute. Nobody seems to care; he hasn’t caused any offence. Older ladies behind him smirk and playfully shake their heads.
One by one, the coffins arrive back at the church, the pallbearers grunting as they lower their occupants safely back to Earth. A young man in his twenties steps out, straightens his red and black chequered shirt and runs a hand through his casually-styled black hair. He seems unfazed by the whole experience.
“My father and I made a pact that if my grandmother survived her cancer I would come here,” he tells me.
One woman steps out of her coffin, her face already contorting with emotion. She is immediately engulfed by her large family and begins to sob uncontrollably. A year ago her family had attended the service as she lay in a coma after a serious accident. One year later, she is here herself.
The procession wasn’t quite what I was expecting. Moments of real sadness sit alongside those of joy. The people who attend, come not to mimic death but to revel in its defeat – to rejoice in that precious second chance. Those who have faced death, and who have turned away, come to this tiny Galician village surrounded by eucalyptus forests to shout wildly back into the abyss, “Yes, I’m still here.”
As we leave, I spot Maria del Carmen in the distance, sitting comfortably at a table surrounded by her family, one hand clutching a glass of white wine, the other foraging among the mounds of barbecued meat in front of her. There is a look of complete happiness on her deeply wrinkled face.
The world needs more people like Maria del Carmen who will remind you that even though life will beat you down, you should take every chance to sit with your face in the sun, smile, drink great wine, gorge on plentiful ribs and not be afraid to wear comfortable shoes.
The midnight sun and the chance to experience everlasting daylight are what brought us this far north. We are in search of adventure and craving somewhere remote, beautiful, mystic and challenging. We have hopes our journey across the open ocean on stand-up paddleboards will allow us to witness the spectacular dance of horizon and sun.
Finding the perfect destination wasn’t easy. We’d considered the Faroe Islands, Greenland and Svalbard, but it was the Norwegian islands north of Tromsø that captured our attention. We knew a 15-day, self-supported SUP journey around the islands of Rebbenesøya, Grøtøya and Nordkvaløyac wasn’t going to be easy, but we never could have imagined just how rewarding it would be.
The water is cold in the 70th Parallel, far into the Arctic Circle, the days are never-ending and the adventure is pumped up to max. Our SUP experience so far is limited to the lakes of Switzerland, but Norway takes it up a notch. To paddle the open ocean, standing on our own inflatable island of just three metres by one, with our gear strapped to the board, raises several unknowns. Are we going to sink or get blown away? Will paddling be so difficult that we can’t make progress?
As our SUPs hit the near-freezing water on day one, a feeling of unease runs our nerves a little ragged. The weather plays a critical role, but thankfully we’re blessed with calm seas, a gentle breeze and warming sunshine. It’s a chance to get a feel for the boards loaded with food, camping gear, clothes and photography equipment.
In the beginning, we monitor the weather closely, using apps that are updated hourly and pinpoint our exact location. Our days are filled with riding the ocean swell as it rises and falls. Hours pass as we stare at the blue-hued mountains approaching in the distance and the physical challenge becomes draining, but there is no chance to stop. We are surrounded by water, which holds no mercy for surrender. We have no choice but to paddle on.
Occasionally, we check our phones for reception. If the weather is going to change we need to be vigilant, otherwise we could be in danger of getting blown out to sea. SUPs don’t handle wind very well and it doesn’t take much of a headwind to stop progress. If it really turns nasty and starts blowing offshore, our closest landmass is Greenland, 1500 kilometres away – if we’re lucky.
It’s not all weather-watching, though. On a trip as long as this, we have many hours to immerse ourselves in the surrounding nature. The commotion of the city fades behind us and it’s replaced by the sounds of Mother Nature. Even when the waves aren’t lapping against the board and stillness takes over, there is always a far-off cry of a bird or gentle splash. When the seas grow rough, nature amps up the volume as if to tell us it’s time to be aware.
The midnight sun is elusive. As evening falls, the clouds stretch their way across the horizon, creating an impenetrable wall for the ball of light. Sure, our evening is clear, but the shy sun disappointingly hides behind the clouds. We still have 15 days ahead of us, and nature heeds no call to a wish.
Surrounding us is the rugged Norwegian landscape, shaped by the winter winds. The cliffs are dark and powerful, and their jagged edges drop vertically to the sea. It’s as intimidating as it is mesmerising. We realise, at this moment, we are weak in the face of such power and so small in these surroundings. This landscape is certainly delivering the adventure we sought.
Although we’re paddling around three main islands, there are hundreds of smaller ones, too tiny to earn a mention on our maps, scattered like shells on a beach. They seem to huddle together as if seeking protection and draw us nearer as we seek the same. Most of the islands are low-lying, free of trees and surrounded by rocks with the odd sandy cove to entice the weary traveller. The flowers on the islands know this is their chance too. They have been dormant, covered in a blanket of snow so thick and suffocating it seemed almost unlikely they would ever see light again. But their blues, yellows and purples now cluster low, escaping the fierce winds of the Norwegian Sea. Waking each morning to a field of beautiful colour heightens our senses and excites our spirit.
Camping reveals the beautiful coves, islands and rocky outcrops, and there’s not a person in sight. Being on SUPs allows us to move close to the shore to find the best spots to pitch a tent for the night. Once we tie down our boards together to ensure they aren’t blown away in our sleep, we turn to dinner. Norway is famous for its fishing and marine life, but unfortunately for us, fish swim in abundance during winter, while at this time of year, in the summer months, there’s just the occasional small cod to be caught. We feast on mussels at low tide and eat fish most nights, supplemented by our dehydrated packaged food.
As we approach the end of our first week, the weather ups its intensity and slows our progress. The calm seas and blue skies pass, but we are racing a deadline and need to keep pushing – hunkering down in our tents for a week while we wait for the winds to pass would create a problem down the track. They are so strong it feels as if we are barely moving and, at one point, we end up kilometres away from our destination. Doubts start to creep into our minds and while we are comfortable on the boards, we start to see the wind as the enemy. Our arms begin to tire and our minds are just as exhausted, constantly reminding us to beware of ending up in Greenland.
The weather is unforgiving, and as the days pass, it grows more and more dangerous, forcing us into a two-day layover. We make the most of the opportunity and explore the inner islands, swapping our paddles for hiking boots. As we reach the top of cliffs, we’re rewarded with the most spectacular view of Norway. The wind whips the grass, as if trying to pull its roots from the soil and our breath is almost entirely stolen, due to a combination of the hike, the wind’s ferocity and the view before us. As we maintain a healthy distance from the edge of the cliff for fear of the wind toppling us over, deep menacing clouds present themselves on the horizon, threatening to dump their freezing water within minutes. We watch on as the sun pokes its way through, shining its hopefulness, before being suffocated by the next grey mass in what seemed like a never-ending game of peek-a-boo.
Of all the land masses that cross our paths, it is the small island of Sørfugløya that really inspires. What it lacks in size, it makes up for in grandeur. It is dark and powerful, and has us spellbound with its vertical walls rising from watery depths. The sun’s rays expose the cliff’s scars from years of heavy winter winds. Its pyramid silhouette shimmers against the backdrop of the evening sky like a mirage. As it’s a bird sanctuary, camping is prohibited on the island and it seems almost lost in the space between the waves. We have made it to the westernmost point of our trip and, as we continue, Sørfugløya becomes the backdrop of many of our photos and keeps us company in our tiresome paddles.
When calm finally sets in again after days of storms, we have to make up for the lost time. We paddle hard, our bodies yearning for rest and our food supplies running short. Often our thoughts drift with the Arctic terns as they skim the swells synchronised to the ocean’s peaks and troughs. One could watch these amazing birds for days. They are the ultimate travellers, covering more than 64,000 kilometres each year as they travel from pole to pole.
Throughout history, the Norwegian Arctic region has played a special part in polar expeditions. Amundsen, like the Arctic terns above, also undertook a famous journey from the northern Arctic to be the first to the South Pole. His travels are admired, documented and made legend.
We came to the Arctic with less ambition, but a similar fascination about experiencing life under the midnight sun and feeling 24-hour daylight. It isn’t until our last day that the weather decides to take our side. As our aching bodies paddle towards our final destination, aching for relief, the blue sky pushes through the clouds as if drawing a curtain to make way for the sun. Nature was finally granting us our wish.
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.
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.
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.
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.
All day I’ve been resisting the urge to buy a weapon. Everyone else in York seems to be tooled up for the weekend. The ancient city in England’s northeast is celebrating its Viking heritage with a festival of fighting, and people are wandering the gory-storied streets nonchalantly wielding one lethal-looking spiky implement or another.
There is, apparently, more to Viking life than violence. During the week-long celebration there’s loads of feasting, beer swilling and browsing to be done, between banquets, pop-up bars and markets selling Scandinavian arts and crafts. There’s also music, history and poetry aplenty to enjoy at performances in various venues around town. But let’s be honest, most people seem to be here for the beards and battles – to the extent that I’m feeling somewhat underdressed with my bare chin and lack of killing apparatus.
So when you’re walking home from the pub, with a mind moisturised by mead and other inebriating elixirs of old England, and you discover a double-headed Viking battleaxe just hanging from a church fence… Well, you can’t simply ignore it can you?
“If I don’t take this axe,” I reason, “someone even drunker than me will grab it and test it out on another person’s head. I’m performing a public service. And I get to keep a double-headed Viking battleaxe.”
It’s a good argument, well made – if I do say so myself – and that’s why, in the wee hours of a Friday night, I’m walking through Whip-Ma-Whop-Ma-Gate, across crooked cobblestones and past the higgledy-piggledy old buildings of the Shambles, carrying a wooden axe and talking to myself. It’s not a great look, but I’m pretty sure these twisted streets have witnessed much scarier sights.
Place names in York aren’t just quirky, they’re clues to the city’s history, which entails more violence and a bigger body count than a Game of Thrones box set. The Gate in Whip-Ma-Whop-Ma-Gate, for example, comes from the Norse word gata, meaning street, and this was once the site of the city’s whipping post.
York has been a powerhouse of northern England for nearly two millennia. The Romans founded the city in 71 CE, in the strategically sensible spot where the River Foss joins the River Ouse, granting them a natural defensive barrier on several sides.
Times were tough and rough back then, though, and to further shield themselves from the lethal locals, the occupiers built walls around the city, which steadily grew in importance. Two Roman emperors died in York, and one – Constantine the Great, who founded Constantinople and invented Christmas – was hailed as emperor here.
By the fourth century, however, things weren’t looking so sweet for the swords and sandals brigade in Britain. Having struggled to keep the barbarians at bay, the Italians eventually scuttled home to Rome, where the very foundations of their once mighty empire were crumbling.
Amid the chaos and carnage that rushed into the vacuum they left behind, Anglo-Saxons moved in and a Middle Eastern cult called Christianity managed to take hold, with York as its epicentre. Churches began sprouting up across the city, one of them ultimately evolving into the mighty York Minster, which still towers over inhabitants of the modern city like a gorgeous Gothic guilt complex.
The church grew wealthy, which attracted a new breed of invader from across the North Sea. Vikings began arriving in 793 to plunder monasteries, pocket gold, steal men, women and children to sell as slaves, and generally create merry hell all over the British Isles.
Viking warriors were the Dark Ages’ most formidable fighting force, with fast ships, superior weapons and a ruthless approach to battle. Their arrival was like a tsunami of terror that hit the coast and washed right across the country.
Led by men with names like Sigurd Snake-in-the-Eye, Ivar the Boneless, Halfdan Ragnarsson, Sweyn Forkbeard and Eric Bloodaxe, these flaxen-haired hard nuts soon controlled most of England. York – or Jórvík as they called it – was their main base.
It didn’t always go the Viking’s way. In 954, Eric Bloodaxe was driven from York and killed, and the city was reclaimed by the Anglo-Saxons. The Vikings, however, soon bounced back, setting the scene for an almighty dust-up that took place exactly 1000 years ago. It forms the theme for this year’s festival. The Battle of Assandun was fought between Danish King Canute – aka Cnut the Great – and England’s King Edmund Ironside in 1016.
As the weekend gets going, scenes in pubs across York’s city centre become surreal. Young women on hens’ nights, wearing skirts that barely pass their waists, mingle with rugged old Vikings sporting beards to their knees. In fact, between hipsters on bucks’ parties and men dressed as Vikings, I’m virtually the only beardless bloke in town, and I’m starting to feel slightly self-conscious.
Predictably, this only gets worse during Saturday’s best beard contest, which draws a huge crowd of hirsute heroes and hairy hangers-on to the City Camp in Parliament Street. Shamed by my lack of face foliage, I soon decamp to the toughest Viking competition, the Brawl in the Guildhall, which is a little like American wrestling meets World’s Strongest Man with some axes thrown in for good measure.
Alongside a boisterous crowd, I watch as four wannabe warriors take on a series of brawn-based challenges, such as running around with logs on their shoulders, before squaring up for various bouts of fighting. Things get particularly interesting when one of the combatants – the local favourite – lets out a shriek of pain as his opponent accidentally axes him in the face. Real blood flows, but fortunately it’s only a flesh wound, and his beard remains unscathed. The crowd laps it up, and the homegrown hero is ultimately declared the winner.
In the sober light of day, I opt to leave my newly acquired weapon back at the hotel, but the city is in full Viking mode now, and there are wenches and warriors everywhere. Some look less berserker and more Bill Bailey – I suspect there’s quite a few IT specialists here – but plenty make a decent stab at coming across as the real deal.
There’s also a smattering of genuine Viking blood among the marauding hordes. Travellers are drawn to this unique and extraordinary spectacle from all over the planet, including Australia, but there’s a considerable contingent of Scandinavians. During the weekend I meet Danes, Swedes, Norwegians and an Icelander, all delighted their culture is being celebrated and commemorated so uproariously by the descendants of the very people whose arses they whipped a thousand years ago.
It’s about to kick off again. During the day, the rival forces, all dressed in full battle garb, amass around the ankles of York Minster. There’s much sabre rattling and rabble rousing as the two mock armies march through the centre of the city. The streets are lined with onlookers, some clutching swords, others cuddling beers. There’s a strange mix of tension, expectation and celebration in the air – like the atmosphere at a derby day football match. But this is just the dress rehearsal.
When the sun dips, the two armies face each other again – in a theatre of war in front of York’s historic Clifford’s Tower, built by William the Conqueror (himself a descendant of Vikings) a few years after the Battle of Assandun.
This time things are more serious. In the real bloody battle, Canute’s Vikings were victorious over Edmund’s Englishmen, but during these dramatic re-enactments things can go either way. Actual fatalities are discouraged, but the rules state that if you are walloped by a weapon you have to lay down dead – it’s like a medieval version of paintball.
Twice the clans clash, taking a victory apiece under a sky regularly ripped apart by fireworks, but in the final action the Danes come out on top and history repeats itself. England’s destiny is decided in favour of the invaders again. The slain return to life and everyone heads off to wet their beards with beer – friends again until next year.
As timeless as it is quirky, Amsterdam is the kind of place romantics put on their bucket list, and the type of destination travellers want to come back to. Ignore the rise of river cruise ships. Forget about the coffee shops. Instead, enjoy the curiosities in a city where you can ride a bike through a museum filled with billions of dollars of art on your way to dinner at a restaurant whose previous tenant operated red light windows. While Amsterdam’s tick-the-box attractions can easily fill your days, take advantage of the country’s excellent rail services to venture a little further to less-visited destinations like Utrecht, Rotterdam and The Hague to truly understand why the Dutch way of life is so desirable.
These are our tips for a five-day Amsterdam trip.
DAY ONE (AMSTERDAM)
Amsterdam is a city conquered by water. Get better acquainted with the waterways by hopping on a 75-minute canal-boat tour departing Amsterdam Centraal Station. Next, book in advance to visit Amsterdam’s most important and sombre attraction, Anne Frank House, where the young girl hid during the Nazi occupation of Holland.
Afterwards, head to the nearby Begijnhof for some quiet reflection away from the din of bicycle bells. Considered the city’s worst-kept secret, the garden and private chapel is accessible by an unmarked heavy wooden door just off the plaza known as the Spui. When darkness falls, check out the Paradiso, Amsterdam’s cathedral turned live music venue, favoured by performers for its acoustics and atmosphere.
After an obligatory tiptoe through the tourists at the Bloemenmarkt, the city’s floating flower market, head to Museumplein to get your culture on (and take that mandatory selfie next to the I amsterdam sign). Seeing Holland’s best art galleries in a day requires strategy: book in advance and hit the Van Gogh Museum when it opens, follow with a lap of the underrated Stedelijk modern art museum next door, before rounding out the day at the Rijksmuseum when crowds have dropped off.
At dusk, visit De Wallen, the city’s old Red Light District. It’s vastly overhyped, but bypass the overpriced bars and head down the cobbled Zeedijk, settling into one of the city’s old brown bars – so named for their wooden interiors – for a tipple of jenever (Dutch gin).
DAY THREE (AMSTERDAM)
Keep the party going with a visit to the Heineken Experience, showcasing Holland’s best-known beer export. Along with organised tours and sample beers, you can pick up what is for many the ultimate souvenir: a bottle of beer with your name on it. Not quite your cup of brew? Those looking to fill their suitcases should seek out Amsterdam’s 9 Straatjes or Nine Streets, a stylish concentration of the city’s best local designer stores, art galleries, upmarket cafes and vintage shops. From there, put your pedal power to good use to explore the leafy green surrounds of the picture-perfect Jordaan residential and arts neighbourhood, or if you’re not museum-ed out, head to Hermitage Amsterdam, which hosts satellite exhibitions on loan from the larger Russian collection in Saint Petersburg.
DAY FOUR (UTRECHT)
Jump on a train to Utrecht, a university town described by locals as Amsterdam without the tourists. Rent a bike from the tourist office and head out along the River Vecht, past eighteenth-century windmills, historic country castles and tiny villages for a taste of local life in the Dutch countryside.
In the afternoon, return your bike and climb up the 600-year-old, 112-metre Dom Tower, the city’s most famous landmark. After smashing the 400-odd steps to the top, reward yourself with a beer at Oudean, a medieval castle turned brewery on the canal in the historical centre. Finish the day at Olivier, a decommissioned church turned Belgian beer cafe.
DAY FIVE (ROTTERDAM)
The Netherlands’ most futuristic city is an hour away from Amsterdam, but a world away in modern design. Take in its jarringly post-modern architectural highlights, including Erasmus Bridge, the famous yellow cube houses and the enormous tunnel-like Market Hall. While adventurers can abseil down the landmark Euromast observation tower, those after a slower pace should seek out the Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen. In the late afternoon, stretch out on a terrace for some premium people-watching opportunities along the Witte de Withstraat, one of the city’s most vibrant bar and arts hubs. Once you’ve sunk your pint of Amstel, browse the collection of museums and galleries, keeping an eye out for de Aanschouw, the world’s smallest art gallery, with works changing weekly.
There’s no sugar coating it – accommodation can get pricey in Amsterdam. Dorm beds at the Flying Pig start at AU$57, while Hans Brinker, which once dubbed itself the ‘worst hotel in the world’ has doubles for AU$129. Our pick? Stay in a houseboat B&B on the canals. Prices vary depending on the season, with cheaper, more spacious options located out of the main canal belt from AU$150 for two with bike rental.
TOTAL = AU$750 (or AU$375 per person)
FOOD AND DRINK
Holland’s best culinary treats are cheap and cheerful. During summer, pickled herring (affectingly known as Dutch sushi) can be sampled for a few euros, while bitterballen (deep-fried gravy meatballs) are a popular bar snack.
At 3am nothing beats a fried treat from a FEBO hole-in-the-wall coin machine, but for a filling, sit-down meal, try Caribbean-style Suriname food. Plan on budgeting around AU$100 per day.
TOTAL = AU$500
TRANSPORT
Return flights from Sydney to Amsterdam with Qatar Airways – from AU$1650
Return train to the airport – AU$20
Train ticket Amsterdam to Utrecht return – AU$24
Train ticket Amsterdam to Rotterdam return – AU$52
Bike hire for five days – AU$74
TOTAL = AU$1820
TOURS AND ACTIVITIES
Anne Frank House – AU$13
Canal Boat Tour – AU$23
Van Gogh Museum – AU$25
Rijksmuseum – AU$26
Stedelijk – AU$26
Dom Tower – AU$13
Heineken Experience – AU$24
The Hermitage – AU$26
Euromast abseiling or ziplining – AU$81
Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen – AU$22
TOTAL = AU$279
GRAND TOTAL = AU$2974
WHEN TO GO
Spring, which coincides with tulip time, and summer is peak season for the city, however with most attractions located indoors, Amsterdam is the perfect year-round destination.
TOP TIP
Visiting during summer? Rock your socks at Friday Night Skate. Rollerblading might have fallen out of fashion elsewhere, but lives on in Amsterdam. Each Friday evening during summer the streets are shut down and thousands show up to skate behind DJs in trucks blasting tunes along a kilometre-long route. It’s so popular, there’s also a Wednesday Night Skate in Rotterdam.
Quite possibly the most extreme adventure since Shackleton’s polar expeditions, the Ice Run sees motorbike riders careening across a frozen landscape in the depths of Russia’s winter.
Form your own team of two and hop aboard a Ural motorcycle to traverse the world’s largest, deepest and oldest lake – a body of water so vast that it’s often mistaken for a sea – in temperatures that can reach –27°C.
Three days of training preps bikers for the Siberian slog-athon; sharp gusts of 20 different winds can abruptly materialise, threatening to freeze your face; snow is pockmarked with patches of polished ice, creating a veritable skating rink; and the barren landscape, almost entirely devoid of landmarks, means riders have almost no sense of perspective.
Come the big ride, the frosty beauty of Lake Baikal will take your breath away – if the freezing temperatures haven’t already – while the camaraderie will warm your heart, even if every other part of your body is frozen.
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