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<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:blogger='http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2214539750224445924</id><updated>2024-09-25T15:52:31.801-07:00</updated><category term="South Africa"/><category term="Africa"/><category term="Dive"/><category term="Antarctica Adventure"/><category term="Bermuda"/><category term="Biking"/><category term="Boat"/><category term="Bus trip"/><category term="Camping"/><category term="Chiang Khong"/><category term="Egypt"/><category term="Ghana"/><category term="Insurance"/><category term="Kenya"/><category term="London"/><category term="Luang Prabang"/><category term="SAN MARINO"/><category term="Scuba Diving"/><category term="South West Florida"/><category term="Train"/><category term="Travel"/><category term="Western Africa"/><category term="Whales"/><category term="Wheelchair"/><category term="Wide"/><category term="World"/><category term="diving"/><category term="elephants"/><category term="fishing"/><category term="fishing village"/><category term="phuket"/><category term="road trip"/><category term="safari"/><title type='text'>Travel Stories</title><subtitle type='html'>Stories of travel in around the world...</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2214539750224445924/posts/default?redirect=false'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>18</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2214539750224445924.post-7392965316156126014</id><published>2010-09-27T18:10:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-27T18:10:09.152-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Insurance"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Travel"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Wide"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="World"/><title type='text'>World Wide Travel Insurance!</title><content type='html'>World wide travel insurance provides you with comprehensive and customised insurance package for any kind of emergency situation no matter what your age may be. Cheap travel insurance policies for a range of trip types and travel needs. Travel Insurance companies have a number of levels of travel insurance to suit the different insurance needs of our customers. Annual Multi Trip insurance policy offers cover for those who travel more than once a year, while Single Trip insurance policies can cover travel of up to 365 days.Certain provisions are to be made in certain instances. In case you decide to extend your overseas stay, the holiday insurance should be able to adjust to your travel needs. Your policy should be flexible enough as well as accommodate for any value that you might add during your holidays while making purchases.Such travel insurance offers single trip travel insurance cover for 1-12 months for people aged up to 99 years of age , get a quote online. Travel insurance protects you on medical emergencies, flight delay or cancellation, loss of baggage, trip cancellation insurance etc.World wide Travel insurance can be used to cover the following:Medical Insurance: covers all your medical and dental expenses. Look out for the procedures of reimbursement of the emergency expenses.Flight Insurance: a life insurance that safeguards you from any plane crash, and keeps your dependents happy. Here's where you get the least value for your money after all how often do planes actually crash?Comprehensive travel Insurance : covers your airfare, car rentals, tour etc. better deal for travelers with less of the trip prepaid because coverage is the same regardless of the premium paid.Interruption insurance and trip cancellation insurance - it covers losses you encounter when you cancel a prepaid tour of flight for an acceptable reason. It covers a host of reasons for cancellation from family sickness to weather that doesn't a flight to occur. If you have an accident you'll be flown home.Trip Cancellation insurance: when you cancel a ticket or miss your flight due to delay, you will incur a loss of your flight charges. It covers a host of reasons for cancellation from family sickness to weather that doesn't a flight to occur. If you have an accident you'll be flown home.Baggage Insurance: Your baggage insurance insures items such as jewelry, eyewear, electronics and photographic equipments. If the airline checked your baggage, it is covered by the airline not your rider. Kirthy Shetty, expert author, platinum statusYour international travel insurance deal: <a target="_new" href="http://www.travel-insurance-discounts.com/cheapest_travel_insurance.asp" rel="nofollow,external">Worldwide Travel Insurance</a>Cheap Annual Travel Insurance: <a target="_new" href="http://www.travel-insurance-discounts.com/cheapest_travel_insurance.asp" rel="nofollow,external">cheap annual travel insurance UK</a> <a href="http://vanuatu-travel.blogspot.com/" rel="dofollow" title="Vanuatu-travel ">Vanuatu-travel </a> </content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/feeds/7392965316156126014/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2214539750224445924&postID=7392965316156126014' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2214539750224445924/posts/default/7392965316156126014'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2214539750224445924/posts/default/7392965316156126014'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/2010/09/world-wide-travel-insurance.html' title='World Wide Travel Insurance!'/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2214539750224445924.post-5682880920819318898</id><published>2010-06-11T14:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-11T14:53:51.108-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Chiang Khong"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Luang Prabang"/><title type='text'>With the Masses on the Mekong</title><content type='html'><a href="http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/2010/06/with-masses-on-mekong.html">With the Masses on the Mekong.</a>
By <a href="http://blog.joshuaberman.net/06-02/with-the-masses-on-the-mekong.html">Joshua</a> 
 
The two-day trip down the Mekong River, from Chiang Khong, Thailand, into the very heart of Laos at Luang Prabang, is indeed something to write home about. The greenery passes by almost interrupted, with only a handful of small thatch villages to be seen, including Pram Bek, where we spend the night in a dingy, stained room, under a torn pink mosquito net. During the days, our long wooden boat follows the main current of the khaki-colored river, swerving from bank to bank and gently rocking and creaking with the motion. The air is cool, bordering on cold in the mornings, when mists cling to the riverbanks and rising hills.
 
And yet, booking passage on the “slow boat,” which we did in Chiang Mai, and dealing with the rest of the logistics (immigration, visa, ferry service, etc.) is way too easy, thus ensuring a boat crowded with yahoos so busy yapping, complaining, and slamming beers that they barely notice where they are—passing through one of the most amazing wildernesses in Asia! I am just as guilty of chatting with my fellow travelers and enjoying a cold, overpriced Beer Lao as anyone, but by the second day, the floating frat party takes on new levels when a cocky Brit blasts bad American music on his radio and the volume of the voices reaches new heights.
 
It doesn’t help that there are 140 people, nearly all farangs, on a boat meant for 80. At one point, I make my way to the bow to take a few photos, and I note that at least half of the passengers are fiddling with iPods, cameras, or other digital gadgets. Every other person it seems, is smoking cigarettes and flinging their butts into the river; a few dozen people are reading, mostly with their noses buried deep inside their Lonely Planet instruction manuals, and a few lost in novels, oblivious to the scenery passing by: I spy two copies of the Davinci Code, one of On the Road, and one older gentlemen reading When Presidents Lie.
 
Again, I am the pot calling the kettle black, as I plow through Tom Robbins’ Villa Incognito for a part of the ride, telling myself it’s okay because it takes place in Laos. But why can’t we look around and realize where we are!? We take for granted just how simple it is to get on the boat in one town and get off in Luang Prabang where we are immediately coddled by the classy comforts of this ancient capital. 
 
Sitting in the common space balcony of our guesthouse in Luang Prabang, we meet Heather and Matt, a young couple from Vermont and Massachussetts who, with similar opinions of the slow boat trip as us, decided to create their own adventure of it by disembarking in various villages not on the itinerary; they even purchased a dugout canoe for the second half of the trip, but sold it back to the family when they realize the danger and rashness of this plan. Instead, they ended up on “Noah’s Ark,” as they called it, where human passengers were outnumbered by water buffalos, goats, and chickens.
 
It took them five days to reach Luang Prabang. Respect. This is what is meant by “slow travel.” Matt and Heather also spent time in Darjeeling and Kalimpong, and the four of us wax nostalgic over momos, the steamed Tibetan dumplings that we all loved in northern India. After sharing our favorite momo stories, we take a few meals together, including spicy noodles and Beerlaos at a beach on the river for sunset.. 
 
Tourism is a recent phenomenon in Laos, just like in Nicaragua; but like Nicaragua, the majority of visitors stick to only a couple of relatively easy (and totally worthy, beautiful) sites. Our plan is to break from this trail, for at least a part of the 12 days remaining on our visas. 
 
But first, calm and languid Luang Prabang.</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/feeds/5682880920819318898/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2214539750224445924&postID=5682880920819318898' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2214539750224445924/posts/default/5682880920819318898'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2214539750224445924/posts/default/5682880920819318898'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/2010/06/with-masses-on-mekong.html' title='With the Masses on the Mekong'/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2214539750224445924.post-707936411827703398</id><published>2010-06-11T14:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-11T14:25:36.829-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Whales"/><title type='text'>Dancing With Whales</title><content type='html'><a href="http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/2010/06/dancing-with-whales.html">Dancing With Whales.</a>
By <a href="http://www.writers.worldcountries.info/Australia-Oceania/WhalesTonga.shtml">David Stanley</a> 
 
We've all heard about whalewatching from boats or shore, and a few companies are now offering the possibility of actually swimming and snorkeling with whales in the wild. Is this a good thing? 
 
Some whalewatching operators in the Kingdom of Tonga, South Pacific islands, advertise the possibility of swimming and snorkeling with humpback whales during the cetacean's annual migration from July to October. This activity sounds appealing, yet there are a number of things to consider. 
To drop clients off within snorkeling distance of a whale, the swim boats must come closer than the 30 meters laid down in Tongan government guidelines in 1997. Engine noise from a maneuvering boat can startle a whale, and repeated disturbances can lead to the animals changing their behaviour and even abandoning their traditional habitat. The nursing and resting routines of the pods can be disrupted, potentially threatening the health of the whales. 
 
This high-risk activity is not covered by most travel insurance policies. The humpback whales of Tonga are wild animals with powerful fins, and swimming near one always involves some risk. The movements of these huge creatures can be fatal to a human swimmer, either accidentally or if the beast feels threatened, and a nursing mother with calf can be especially unpredictable. Swimming into the path of a whale greatly increases the danger. 
 
In Tonga, sharks are known to frequent areas where there are whales, especially calves, and at least one shark attack on a Tongan guide swimming with whales has been recorded. A tragic accident involving tourists seems to be only a matter of time. 
 
Most whale encounters occur in deep waters where unperceived currents and wave action can soon tire a snorkeler and possibly lead to panic. For these reasons, responsible whalewatching companies like Whales Discoveries do not offer snorkeling with whales. 
 
Of course, the demand is there, and pressure has come to bear on the Tongan Government to revise its guidelines to allow boats to come within 10 meters of a whale. Several new whalewatching licenses have been issued recently, raising the number of commercial operators in this small area to about a dozen, and vessels often have to queue to drop off swimmers. Cases have been observed of boats approaching to within five meters of whale pods, and of mother humpbacks and calves being pursued out to sea.
 
Visitors should be aware that by purchasing such an excursion, they could be adversely affecting the noble creatures they came to see. It's a good idea to discuss these matters with the operator before booking your trip, and to avoid those who seem most interested in maximizing their own profits at the expense of the whales. 
 
Even if you decide to book such a tour, be aware that only 10 percent of swim-with attempts are successful and there are no refunds. These concerns only apply to attempts to actually swim with whales, and whalewatching from a boat at a safe distance is no problem.</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/feeds/707936411827703398/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2214539750224445924&postID=707936411827703398' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2214539750224445924/posts/default/707936411827703398'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2214539750224445924/posts/default/707936411827703398'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/2010/06/dancing-with-whales.html' title='Dancing With Whales'/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2214539750224445924.post-3555164197937897778</id><published>2010-06-11T14:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-11T14:17:41.727-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Biking"/><title type='text'>Biking Solo from Maine to Pennsylvania</title><content type='html'><a href="http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/2010/06/biking-solo-from-maine-to-pennsylvania.html">Biking Solo from Maine to Pennsylvania.</a>
by <a href="http://www.icdc.com/~neubauer/maine.htm">Bob Neubauer</a> 
 
For two weeks I pedaled alone through New England, meeting people, getting invited into their homes and learning about their lives. 
 
North Barnstead, N.H.--The pickup truck rumbled past me on the pebble-strewn dirt road, kicking up a thick, brown cloud in its wake. 
 
 
Grimacing, I ducked my head against the dust storm and peered down at my feet on the pedals and at my tires spinning in the loose dirt. My balance wavered and I threw down a leg to keep myself, my bike and my 50 pounds of gear from toppling into the thick, thorny underbrush at the road's edge. 
 
And this was supposed to be my vacation? 
 
I was five days into a two-week, 800-mile solo bicycle trek from Maine to Pennsylvania--and things were not going as planned. I had anticipated an idyllic romp through fragrant meadows and small villages. I hadn't counted on sweltering heat, bugs and dirt roads that seemed to have no end. 
 
So much for idealism. 
 
I approached a small cottage at a dirt crossroads, surprising an elderly woman out watering her garden. She gaped at me, a tall, unshaven, sunburned 27-year-old on a ridiculously overloaded bicycle, bumping along a dirt road in the woods. 
 
"How far to the nearest paved road?" I asked. 
 
"About seven miles," she yelled back. 
 
My heart stopped. Seven miles! I'd die of heatstroke! 
 
"Awful hot to be doing that, isn't it?" she chastised. 
 
"Well, I've come this far," I countered. "I'm sort of committed now." 
 
"If you don't watch out you will be committed," she muttered. 
 
At that moment, the security of the rubber room would have been a welcome relief. That was where most people thought I belonged anyway for undertaking this little excursion.</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/feeds/3555164197937897778/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2214539750224445924&postID=3555164197937897778' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2214539750224445924/posts/default/3555164197937897778'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2214539750224445924/posts/default/3555164197937897778'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/2010/06/biking-solo-from-maine-to-pennsylvania.html' title='Biking Solo from Maine to Pennsylvania'/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2214539750224445924.post-9110373430539465713</id><published>2008-06-14T08:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-10T21:45:05.818-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="road trip"/><title type='text'>Iberian Road Trip – A Scary Story</title><content type='html'><a href="http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/2008/06/iberian-road-trip-scary-story.html">Iberian Road Trip – A Scary Story</a>
by <a href="http://www.lonelyplanet.com/travelstories/article/iberianroadtrip_1105/">Christophe Rosseel</a> 
 
<div class="intro">When I walked out of Spanish class, it wasn't the poster advertising an organised trip to Toledo that caught my eye. It was the Canadian girls standing around the don Quijote message board hollering 'roaaad triiiip!' Although a coach ride from Salamanca to Toledo and back could technically be considered a road trip, I was hoping for something more exciting. So I decided to organise my own.</div><div class="clear"></div>I had no doubt that the good people at don Quijote, my Spanish school here in Salamanca, would organise a well laid out tour, and while I do like my Spanish classes well-organised, I prefer my road trips unforeseen and lawless. Coach trips are just a bit too middle of the road for me. Plus coaches make me nauseous (the tour guide yapping away in the microphone doesn't help much either).
I don't want to pass judgment though. Few people annoy me more than those horribly contemptuous, 'authentic' backpackers telling you how you should travel, belittling you for owning a guidebook or washing your hair. Not me. Nor will I force local delicacies down my fellow travellers' throats when they really feel like eating Chinese food or Burger King. Want to take a picture of you holding up the Tower of Pisa? Be my guest. 
We all have our favourite way of travelling but it really isn't necessary to bother other people with it. Nevertheless, I would like to impose my travel mantra on you: road tripping – the real deal. All you need is a car, music and sunglasses… 
The quintessential road trip vehicle is obviously a minivan. Preferably one with a big-ass spoiler and a knob on the wheel. Unfortunately, I do not yet own a black 1983 G-series GMC (uhuh, the A-team van). So my friend and I went to a car rental place instead. Alas, no flower-power Volkswagens were available either, so we eventually settled for a less charismatic yet practical new Renault. 
Music is at least as important as the car. Do not, and I cannot stress this enough, embark on a road trip in Southern Europe relying on local radio to entertain you. Bring CDs, and plenty of 'em, or you'll go stark raving mad. You'll want to keep the entire car happy so don't be selfish. Think mainstream. 
Our playlist went a little something like this. Plenty of guitars and classic rock for on the highway: Rolling Stones, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Jimi Hendrix, Bob Dylan and the like. I always bring some acid jazz or other lounge tunes for serious chilling. Saint-Germain always does the trick. For dead moments it's nice to have a couple of lame sing-alongs that are so bad they actually become funny. I particularly love to hate Yes sir, I can Boogie, Do you really want to hurt me, So lonely, Papa Chico or anything by Vanilla Ice.
Don't forget some cool music for cruising by the beachside. Picture it: one driver's tanned arm out the window, shades on your nose and Don Omar's Dale con dale cranked to the max. By the way, here's a tip to make traffic jams more interesting. When no cars are moving, open all windows. Everybody but the driver get out of the car. Put on some loud party music (my personal favorite in this case: Vitalic's Poney part 2). Get on the roof of your van (what do you care, it's a rental...) and start partying like it's 2999. Try and get the commuters to join you. The look on their faces is priceless.
Now you're good to go. You could make an itinerary first if you want to... I prefer just asking around on where to go. Planning simply creates expectations the actual experience has to live up to. Chance adventures are that much easier to enjoy. 
Friday finally arrived and my partner in crime Sebastian and I picked up our fellow trippers (Fabienne from Antwerp, Belgium and Jessica from New Haven, Connecticut) in our brand-new MPV. After the all too obvious multi-purpose-vehicle jokes it was time to decide where we'd go. We didn't have to talk for long about a destination. Clearly we would drive off into the sunset, i.e. in the direction of Portugal. The first couple of days were random but very enjoyable. Good food, mediocre alcohol, uncalled-for dancing etc. During daytime we didn't avoid the cultural sights although we probably spent more time at the beaches to shake off our hangovers. The scenery in Portugal was breathtaking. Ironically, the many forest fires seem to have made the Portuguese landscape even more attractive, at least from a distance. The withered trees ranged in colour from gold red to pitch black, contrasting with the bright green of new growth.
 
Fall was catching up with us so we turned our back on the beaches and headed inland towards the mountains. We ended up in the strangest of mountain towns: Bragança. Although not at all a tourist hot spot, it does have an awe-inspiring, 13th-century fortress. That's not why I'll remember it, though. Bragança was the spitting image of Royston Vasey, the English village from the comedy series The League of Gentlemen where ugly, inbred locals molest and eventually kill innocent passers-by.
We asked the first local we saw for directions to our hostel. A big smile appeared on his face, he opened the door, squeezed his burly body into the back of the car and insisted on showing us the castle first. Scruffy-looking and reeking of liquor (among other things) he introduced himself as Ramiro, owner of the castle. He promised to give us an amazing tour. He seemed harmless enough; with his placid smile and doglike eyes he almost looked like the village idiot. 
He apparently wasn't. When we arrived at the castle Ramiro pulled out a set of keys and opened the gate. 'No problem, maybe he's the janitor', we said to ourselves while we set out on our tour. The guy we had figured for a well-intentioned simpleton was now lecturing us on European history. He momentarily disrupted his discourse to take a colossal sword from the wall. Gazing at the blade as if it were a woman, he told us it was a 15th century bastard-sword and then proceeded to wield it with amazing agility. Maybe it was just the sight of the castle at dusk but suddenly, Ramiro's smile didn't seem so placid anymore ... When our guide, still carrying the huge sword, insisted we'd follow him below to the fortress' dungeons, we simultaneously started muttering protests while backing away from the stairs: 'Desculpe Ramiro, we are all getting really hungry...' 'Besides, we have to arrive at the hostel before eight...' 'Thank you so much for the tour, though.' 'We'll be back tomorrow, for sure!' We practically ran out of the place.
It may have been our heightened self-consciousness but we felt like the entire village was staring and pointing at us. We did our best to ignore the glares and continued to the only hostel in town, where the chills did not cease. By now we were psyched up and seeing ghosts everywhere. 
'You are not locals' the clerk stated. Clearly, there was no fooling this guy. We slowly explained him that, not being locals, we had come to this pension looking for a place to stay the night. He nodded understanding. When we offered him our passports, he shook his head and smilingly said: 'Don't worry about it, I'll get them later.' I heard Fabienne break into sobs behind me. 'We are not Americans...' I began in a misguided attempt to fraternise with the clerk. No reaction. 'Can you recommend a good restaurant?' I tried. 'Yes, we have an excellent restaurant right here,' was all he said. Somehow nobody felt like eating at the hostel so Sebastian and I ran for take-out pizza and Porto while the girls barricaded themselves in the rooms. Seb, as always looking at the bright side of life, laid out the game plan for the night. After all, the whole thing had provided us with an excellent excuse to keep the girls company.
We did feel stupid though, waking up the next morning. No one had been poisoned or stabbed to death. Bragança was no Royston Vasey. Like little kids, we had let ourselves be frightened by some eccentric castle owner. And of course the villagers had been staring; they had just seen four flustered tourists dashing out of their castle at nightfall. Word of the weird gringos had probably spread to the pension before we even arrived. You are not locals, indeed. 
And so, shamefaced and tired, we got in our car and headed back to Salamanca, contemplating our road trip. On the stereo Lynard Skynyrd were giving their best. Sweet home Salamanca!</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/feeds/9110373430539465713/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2214539750224445924&postID=9110373430539465713' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2214539750224445924/posts/default/9110373430539465713'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2214539750224445924/posts/default/9110373430539465713'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/2008/06/iberian-road-trip-scary-story.html' title='Iberian Road Trip – A Scary Story'/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2214539750224445924.post-4849379754000773781</id><published>2008-06-14T08:04:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-10T21:45:57.411-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="diving"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="elephants"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="phuket"/><title type='text'>Diving With Elephants</title><content type='html'><a href="http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/2008/06/diving-with-elephants.html">Diving With Elephants</a>
by <a href="http://www.sharkeyscuba.com/Phuket_Diving_Park_Thailand_Art_5.htm">sharkeyscuba.com</a> 
 
<h2>Diving With Elephants</h2>When I e-mailed some friends a few days ago with the subject "Diving with Elephants" it certainly caught their attention. They all know that underwater I've seen sharks, turtles, manta rays and many other species of marine life but elephants? What is that all about? After reading the first few lines all became clear as the story of Phuket's new marine park unfolded.
<h2>Amazing Thailand</h2>It was the third dive of the day and our boat, the Greta, had moved from the fantastic dive sites of Racha Noi island to it's bigger brother, Racha Yai. Unfortunately that day we hadn't seen the big stuff we were hoping for a.k.a. mantas and sharks, but were far from disappointed after a couple of superb dives with excellent visibility. With the sun starting to drop it was time to decide where to end the day's trip.
With me on the boat was my sister-in-law and current divemaster in training, Oor (picture left) who came up with the brilliant idea of visiting Phuket's latest underwater attraction, the Phuket Diving Park. I had dived the park a week earlier and had since been telling everyone what a bizarre experience I had had. With the tour leader , Owen, more than happy with the suggestion we pointed the captain in the right direction and off we went. 
The park itself is located just on the edge of Siam Bay on the northern end of Racha Yai island. Its creation came about on the suggestion of the Thai government as a way of attracting divers back to Thailand after the tsunami. With some reefs suffering bad damage from the giant waves four new underwater parks were created around Thai diving hot spots including Phuket. The park consists of a number of concrete,fibre glass and metal structures placed on a clear sand patch at a depth of 18 metres, the perfect depth for certified divers and those on the last dives of their open water courses. With a mooring marking the site descents are easy - just pull yourself down the line and there is the park right in front of you.
<h2>Park and Ride</h2>As it happened Oor was taking her Diver Propulsion Vehicle specialty so we grabbed our underwater scooters and off we went to explore. As we reached the line the first thing we came across were a bunch of hollow concrete cubic frames, absolutely perfect for buoyancy practice and even more perfect for us to motor in and out of on our scooters. We could tell already that this was going to be a great dive. After half a dozen loop-the-loops we then spotted a rather bizarre silhouette about 10 metres off to the south. Off we zoomed directly towards one of the strangest thing I have ever seen under water, a three metre high elephant!
Round and round we went and then Oor broke off and motored straight underneath it between the elephant's legs obviously being careful with her buoyancy to ensure that she didn't touch it. Later on I asked why she had done this and she explained that in Thai culture it is considered good luck to pass underneath an elephant. I guess you would have to be pretty lucky to pass underneath an elephant without getting squashed! At least the probabilities were on our side here as this elephant's feet were securely moored to the ground!
Further to the south we saw another elephant, this one with its trunk raised giving a photo opportunity too good to miss. Off Oor went, DPV in hand, ready to pose. Unfortunately with the sun dropping late afternoon the light was not the best for photography but it's amazing what can be done nowadays with a little bit of photo editing! 
 
The next main attraction was a Thai sala, a traditional pavilion like structure used country wide as a resting place for workers and visitors alike. This building had the perfect design to enable us to practice yet another swim-through experience on our scooters! 
The final main attraction is a replication of the entrance to a temple with a couple of yaks standing guard. Yaks are a class of nature ghosts or demons, originally from Hindu mythology, that are often found at the entrances to Buddhist temples. Their role is to protect the temple from evil spirits or anyone in general wanting to carry out bad deeds within the temple itself. 
<h2>Back To Reef-ality </h2>Having had great entertainment from the underwater statues we ended the dive by heading over sand for a short distance to the main reef. Consisting almost entirely of staghorn, blue and lobe pore corals we saw a surprising amount of interesting marine species. In the sand you can see blue-spotted stingrays often with just eyes and tail protruding up. We also came across one of my favourite types of pipefish, the bent stick pipefish, a curious looking creature that really does resemble a bent stick! As we swam over the reef itself we were joined by a large school of Forster's barracuda, a smaller species of barracuda than the norm, but very curious. It was a good ten minutes before they got bored of us and swam off in another direction. Ending the dive in the shallowest part of the reef at about 5 metres deep we spent the safety stop with a group of sergeant majors, a colourful damsel fish with yellow, blue and white markings all over their bodies.
Back on the boat, having packed away the gear, we spent the journey home relaxing in the sun and eating pancakes! This is an added bonus of the boat that we were on that day, the Greta, who supply their special pancakes on all three dive days. Then it was back to the pier, a smooth journey home eager to view the day's photos and looking forward to the next chance to going diving with elephants!</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/feeds/4849379754000773781/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2214539750224445924&postID=4849379754000773781' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2214539750224445924/posts/default/4849379754000773781'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2214539750224445924/posts/default/4849379754000773781'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/2008/06/diving-with-elephants.html' title='Diving With Elephants'/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2214539750224445924.post-2591613078384114624</id><published>2008-06-14T07:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-10T21:46:54.857-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Antarctica Adventure"/><title type='text'>The Amazing Antarctica</title><content type='html'><a href="http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/2008/06/amazing-antarctica.html">The Amazing Antarctica</a>
by <a href="http://www.dcrimages.com/travel/antarctica/index.htm">Diane Ross</a> 
 
Antarctica Adventure 
<div align="left">My trip to Antarctica did not start out well. I had a couple hour layover in Miami. About a half hour before my flight left Miami I got the stomach flu. Throwing up in an airplane bathroom on an eight hour flight is not a good time. We landed in Buenos Aires early in the morning and I spent the day in the Hotel room. I was feeling better around dinner time (well dinner time here in the states) and went out to find dinner. I found a nice looking restaurant and asked when the would open. They didn't even open until 8 P.M. and it was only around 5 P.M. I ended up eating a very expensive ham sandwich in the hotel bar. </div><div align="left">The next day we went to a Gaucho ranch. We got to ride horses on Argentinean saddles. They look like they are made out of lama skin. Extremely soft and comfortable. It is very weird to be able to fell the horse move through the saddle. We were served a bar-b-que dinner and watched some traditional dances afterward. (One of the performers was the ugliest women I have ever seen.)</div><div align="left">From Buenos Aires we went to Ushuaia. This is the southern most city in the world (not to be confused with the southernmost town which is a little further south). This is not a place I would want to live. Not because of anything wrong with the city itself, but it was snowing on the first day of summer. Winter must be a real treat.</div>After a couple days of exploring around Ushuaia we boarded our boat and headed out across the Drake Passage. It takes two days to sail across to Antarctica and 25 foot seas made it anything but enjoyable. Most of the passengers were sea sick including me. My father sailed through just fine. He was in the Canadian Navy during World War II and claims he has never been sea sick. He also believes that sea sickness is more mental than physical. He may be right but my mind can not control my stomach.
<div align="left">Antarctica is beautiful, rugged country. We sailed through one channel that was full of icebergs. I was laying in my bunk and I kept hearing a strange noise. It sounded like we were sailing into chunks of ice. I went up on deck only too discover we were. It was around midnight, but it was still light out. All around us was some of the most beautiful scenery I have ever seen. The roll of film I shot there was my favorite of the whole trip. Unfortunately I misplaced it and I haven't been able to find it, though I have looked for it many times. There is really no way to describe what it was like. It is just something you have to experience.</div><div align="left">We spent four days going from penguin rookery to penguin rookery. Penguins make nests out of small rocks. You would think from watching them that there was a shortage of rocks. They are constantly stealing rocks from each others nests. Personally I think they just don't want to go very far to get their rocks. There are more than enough to go around but it is easier to grab one from a neighboring nest. They keep their eggs warm by cradling them between their feet and their belly. This is probably the real reason they steal the rocks. They don't want to leave their eggs or chicks unattended.</div>Penguins also don't go very far to, how shall I put this, relieve themselves. They just raise their posteriors and let fly. As a result their nests tend to look like the spin art you made as a kid. (You know. Where you put a card in a machine that spins it around and you squirt paint on it.) The penguins themselves also get stripped by their neighbors. Speaking of which, penguin rookeries are not the most pleasant smelling places.
 
 
<div align="left">In addition to the penguins we also saw numerous sea birds, some seals and a couple whales. I was hoping to see more whales. I had seen many humpbacks in Alaska and thought I would see them here too. As I am writing this I have finally realized why that was unlikely. The water is probably too fresh. All the glaciers and icebergs melting. Even in Alaska you don't see many whales in water surrounded by glaciers.</div><div align="left">Two more days back across the Drake Passage. The seas are calmer and I only feel queasy on the way back. Then a long flight home and the trip is over. </div></content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/feeds/2591613078384114624/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2214539750224445924&postID=2591613078384114624' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2214539750224445924/posts/default/2591613078384114624'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2214539750224445924/posts/default/2591613078384114624'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/2008/06/amazing-antarctica.html' title='The Amazing Antarctica'/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2214539750224445924.post-3597079606364847279</id><published>2008-06-14T07:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-10T21:47:55.538-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="fishing"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="fishing village"/><title type='text'>The "Fishing Village"</title><content type='html'>The "Fishing Village"
by <a href="http://www.wired2theworld.com/cambodia2002fishingvillage.html">Kristina</a> 
The Vietnamese fishing village is said to be a good option as a break from "temple overload". The Tonle Sap lake, which is one of the largest freshwater lakes in the world, rises and falls with the yearly monsoon tides. During the monsoon season (May to October) the Mekong river rises and actually reverses its flow back into the lake, casusing the lake to more than double in size. The lake provides most of the country's fish as well.
The fishing community has it's houses either on top of boat hulls or in the form of small shacks which sit on stilts. As the tide rises, the entire community packs up their homes and moves to higher ground. If they did not, they would be stranded out in the middle of the lake, or under water. As we got closer, we could see many houses, not much more than sticks and boards, literally being moved on the back of a truck, to places further inland due to the rising of the water. Once out on the water, we would also see boats being tugged inland toward the shallower water.
We arrived at an area set up just for tourists to take boat rides out onto the lake. There had to be at least 50 empty boats waiting for customers. Since Ponheary set up everything in advance, we did not need to haggle with the many people who wanted our business. Phall brought us directly to the boat, which, as it turned out, we had to ourselves. The boat sat at least 16 in wooden chairs set on the deck. Our fare was $15 total, for the two of us (Phall again staying with his car), and the trip took a little over two hours. This is overpriced according to the LP guidebook, but the book is out of date. Plus, if we'd had more people with us, my guess is that the price would have been the same. The trip was well worth the money.
The boat captain pushed us out of his space in the canal, much like a Venetian gondolier. He had a difficult time maneuvering the large boat through the shallow water and the reeds. The further we got, the deeper the water, and the wider the channel became. I don't know why I had expected the "village" to be out on the lake, but in fact, it lined the sides of a small tributary. He motored slowly along and we had an excellent opportunity to take it all in. We were passed a few times by quicker boats, crowded with more people, but I'm not sure how they could enjoy the scenery while going so fast.
Along the way, we saw all the trappings of a regular, land locked village. There was a school, a billiards hall, markets, agriculture and aquaculture, and many homes, all floating atop variously sized boats. Some of the markets reminded me of the produce trucks that ply the streets of Latino neighborhoods in Los Angeles. These were small boats, filled with the basic necessities of life (bottles of fish sauce, produce, plastic baskets, etc.) paddled about from houseboat to houseboat, usually by a solo female proprietor. The farming techniques were quite interesting as well. We could see that some families had planted vegetables on a sort of floating island or in pots on rafts along side their boats. There was also some sort of aquaculture (fish farming) going on in large, cage covered barges.
When we finally reached the mouth of the river, the boat's captain took us out onto the lake and turned off the motor. It was a bit unnerving, since he did not speak English and we weren't sure why we were stopped. Was he going to ask us for more money? Was it a scam? My traveler's paranoia was suddenly in full force. Fortunately, he spoke a bit of French and David was able to determine that this was part of the "tour". To appreciate the vastness of the lake, one had to sit in silence on the calm water.
On our way back in from the lake, the boat made the standard "restaurant/gift shop" stop any good tour makes. Though we weren't really interested, we got out of the boat anyway. At the restaurants on both sides of the river mouth were huge birds, some sort of stork I think, sitting on top of cages with more big birds inside. I'm not sure why they were there, but I think they were fed to keep them there for the benefit of the tourists. Inside the shop I bought a bottle of water and noticed the shop owner had a pet monkey. Forgive me, I do not know what kind of primate it was. Maybe a gibbon? Anyway, I was torn between my horror of someone keeping it as a "pet" (though common here in South East Asia) and wanting to play with it and check it out. He was quite a tiny fellow, not even as big as our cats. I didn't attempt to pick him up (not after what happened to me with the monkey at the Bangkok Zoo back in '98) but I did get a couple of photos.
After our busy morning we stopped in town for lunch at Cafe Kampuccino. While standing outside reading their menu, we met a woman named Kim who said she'd eaten there before and that the food was very good. We invited her to sit with us and like any good travelers, got to hear her life story over lunch. Kim, a Canadian, was in Cambodia with the N.G.O., "Doctors Without Borders". She's stationed in a remote village and was in Siem Reap after spending 10 days traveling in Laos on her own. She was 6 months into a 9 month stay in Cambodia and it seemed like the stress of the job was quite high. Two other doctors that had started with her dropped out after 3 months and she was the only doctor left. Still, she didn't seem to have any regrets. She also confirmed something that Ponheary had told us, that there is no malaria in Siem Reap. Of course, the CDC still recommends the medicine, so, better safe than sorry, we decided to continue taking it, at least until the end of our trip.
In the afternoon we went for a traditional Khmer massage at Angkor Massage. The place is run by the blind and helps to support and give jobs to the blind community in Siem Reap. The cost is $3 per hour per person. We walked in and there were 8 or 10 massage tables set up side by side in a large room. We were asked to change clothes and given pajamas, but I declined as I was already wearing loose clothes. Each of us was assigned a masseuse, who was indeed blind, and asked to lie face down on the table. It was then that the torture began.
Let me begin by saying that I've had many a massage in my time. I've had traditional Thai, Balinese, Swedish, all different types of massage. Never have I had a more painful massage than in Siem Reap. Imagine someone taking their thumb and pressing it into the most tender part of your body, like the inside of your upper arm. This is the type of move that is taught to commandos to incapacitate people. Now, imagine the person taking all their body weight and putting it behind that thumb, again and again. It was one of the most excruciating experiences of my life. All of my "ow!" exclamations did not seem to elicit any respite, just the occasional "sorry" and then more of the same. I'm not really sure why I didn't just get up and leave, but I guess I kept hoping it would get better. David, on the other hand, said his massage was excellent, and only hurt a little. Maybe I'm just too "sensitive". Oddly enough, afterward, I felt strangely good, if only a little bruised.
Next, we visited the artist's school, Les Chantiers Ecoles. Here, we saw how students from rural areas learn the ancient arts of stone and wood carving and painting. And of course, at the end was the obligatory visit to the gift shop. The quality was much better than what was available in the central market, but very expensive. Had I the money, I would have loved to purchase a giant stone buddha or angkor era goddess, but these were in the $300-$500 US range.
After a trip back to the market where we bought several more silk scarves and a couple "Danger:Land Mine!" T-shirts (of questionable taste if you ask me) for gifts, we went to the Red Piano, a popular bar/restaurant where we had an early dinner. Tomorrow we're off to Phnom Penh....</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/feeds/3597079606364847279/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2214539750224445924&postID=3597079606364847279' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2214539750224445924/posts/default/3597079606364847279'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2214539750224445924/posts/default/3597079606364847279'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/2008/06/fishing-village.html' title='The "Fishing Village"'/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2214539750224445924.post-6996132143777190049</id><published>2008-05-18T09:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-10T21:49:28.530-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="London"/><title type='text'>My Impressions Of London</title><content type='html'><a href="http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/2008/05/my-impressions-of-london.html">My Impressions Of London</a>
By <a href="http://www.myeuropeanadventure.com/travel_journal/3/">Daniel Scrivner </a> 
 
I absolutely love London! I love the public transportation, the ideals and the attitudes of the city. I love all the gardens, parks and public areas of the city - something seriously lacking in the United States. And I love the sound and look of the people of London. 
 
You can't help but be amused and envious of their accent - especially as a U.S. citizen. All of my life I feel as if I've heard English drawled and butchered. In the U.S. (especially where I live) I often feel as if I'm listening to people who couldn't put a coherent, intelligent sentence together with a fill in the blank book! But in London, I got to hear English spoken as it really should be. And it's beautiful to hear! 
 
I also love the feeling of diversity in city. There's a great mixture of people and cultures in London. You get that feeling on the Tube, walking around the city and even stopping for coffee. From a tourist's point-of-view, there's so much to see in London. And you really get the feeling while touring the city, that there's people all over the world in London that are just there to explore the city's beauty, art and history. It's a great feeling! One I truly enjoyed.
 
What I Did In LondonBefore my trip was to officially begin with Contiki, I stayed for three nights in London. This was my time to explore the city on my own - without anything or anyone holding me back or adjusting my itinerary. And I had an incredible time! 
 
I checked in with Contiki as soon as I arrived. And then promptly dropped all my baggage off at the hotel, to begin exploring the city. I checked out the British Museum, Natural History Museum, Tower of London, Big Ben, House of Parliament, Royal Palace, and many, many of the cities parks and lakes. And I really took my time to explore each location - stopping for coffee whenever I wanted, eating wherever I wanted, and even purchasing a few books along the way. 
 
What I Liked MostThe thing I like most about London was not any one single attraction, but the general feeling and experience of the city. London is a great city to explore. I remember at one point, trying to navigate from the Tower Bridge over to the Millenium Bridge. And I thought, "This looks so easy! All I need to do is walk down this side of the Thames, along the water, until I get to the Millenium Bridge." 
 
And that turned out to be much easier said than done. But it gave me a great opportunity to find my own way, and explore that part of the city. Along the way, I came to a pitchfork in my path. I could either continue to take the major roads (which seemed to be leading me further and further from the Thames), or take a side alley which appeared empty, but had several people walking out of it. So I took the alley! 
 
And down the alley I ran into a whole, secluded shopping and dining section. The alley was packed with cool wine and cheese shops, pubs, restaurants, and small clothing shops. It turned out to be the best thing I did all day! I ended up stopping at EAT to grab a milkshake, and then just sitting on the side of the Thames, at the end of the alley, just watching the people and soaking up the experience of the city. 
 
It was an awesome day! And I would definitely like to visit London again in the future, and stay for longer than three days.</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/feeds/6996132143777190049/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2214539750224445924&postID=6996132143777190049' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2214539750224445924/posts/default/6996132143777190049'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2214539750224445924/posts/default/6996132143777190049'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/2008/05/my-impressions-of-london.html' title='My Impressions Of London'/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2214539750224445924.post-6266632027125803284</id><published>2008-05-18T09:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-10T21:51:11.509-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="South West Florida"/><title type='text'>Fort Myers & Nalples in South West Florida</title><content type='html'><a href="http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/2008/05/fort-myers-nalples-in-south-west.html">Fort Myers &amp; Nalples in South West Florida</a>
by <a href="http://www.perfectfloridavillas.com/blog/post/Fort-Myers-and-Naples-in-South-West-Florida.aspx">Steve</a> 
 
After all said and done as much as I enjoy the "buzz" of Orlando with it's theme parks and attractions there comes a time when you just want to unwind and chill out. Or maybe it is not your type of thing to mix it up with the mouse. 
 
Then the ideal place is South Florida and Fort Myers or Naples in particular. I love these places they are so far removed from the hustle and bustle of Orlando with an almost "Caribbean" laid back way of life. 
 
Around a 3 hour drive from Orlando brings you to these Gulf Coast treasures. Fort Myers Beach is basically on a peninsula called Estero Island. It has a population of around 6,000 locals. It is quite close to the Airport too. The accommodation here is mainly Condo's but there are hotels too. A large proportion the Condo's can be rented and most of these are privately owned. With a price tag of around $750,000 for one on the beach with an ocean view! They are all well equipped and the ones I have stayed in were fantastic. We had an ocean view with 2 bedrooms and all the things we needed to make us feel at home. Every Condo had a jacuzzi and it was enormous, without any exaggeration you could get 4 people in it easily. I am 6ft 2in and I could lay out flat and neither my head nor my feet would touch the ends.
 
We had the most fantastic view of the Ocean from the master bedroom windows it was a delight to wake up to in the mornings. You could lay there for a while and watch the joggers exercising in the cooler early morning temperatures or the beachcombers walking along the waters edge looking for that elusive shell. 
 
The communal swimming pool was a delight and a 2 minute stroll gives you access to the uncrowded, white sandy beach. You can walk for miles along this unspoilt coastline. There is a pier if you wish to maybe do a spot of fishing. 
 
There are many places to dine in Fort Myers beach, with most of them around the pier area. One place we went to and found it quite a novelty was the dinner and a movie at the Beach Theater. You choose your movie, order your food and a server brings it to your table where you can watch the movie in comfort. The rooms are quite small so it is has quite a personal feel to it. There area few rows of seats at the front, a counter top that you can sit at and then behind them are the tables.
 
If you wish to do your own thing, the condo has it's own set of gas barbecues. We did it one night, went to the nearby publix supermarket and got a couple of nice steaks and some shrimp and conjured up a tasty meal. 
 
For shopping you really have to go to Naples which is about a 20-30 minute drive. There is the Coastlands Mall which contains the usual offerings of stores. One thing you will see a lot of are high priced furniture stores that cater for the wealthy residents of Naples, some quite famous ones too such as Judge Judy and Steven Spielburg has a place here too. It is said the Naples has more millionaires per capita than any other city in the US. There are also a lot of seniors here which has earned Naples the nickname "God's waiting room"
 
There are a lot more hotels here than at Fort Myers. It has a lovely Mediterranean feel to it inherited from it's namesake. It has tall palm tree lined roads and is well worth a visit. 
 
Even if you don't spend your entire vacation (holiday) here just try to get down for a few days and chill out. The condos that we stayed at were Pointe Estero and the sister property next door The Gullwing. We got our 2 bedroom condo for $180 per night. You can contact the property direct or if you are in Orlando before you visit, do what we did and go to a room wholesaler such as "Know before you go" they have 2 locations in Orlando one on Sand lake and I drive and the other non the 192 around the mile 13 marker if I remember rightly.
 
Enjoy!!</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/feeds/6266632027125803284/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2214539750224445924&postID=6266632027125803284' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2214539750224445924/posts/default/6266632027125803284'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2214539750224445924/posts/default/6266632027125803284'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/2008/05/fort-myers-nalples-in-south-west.html' title='Fort Myers & Nalples in South West Florida'/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2214539750224445924.post-2654486519702336771</id><published>2008-05-18T08:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-10T21:52:48.590-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Africa"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Camping"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="safari"/><title type='text'>Africa Under Canvas: Camping in Botswana</title><content type='html'><a href="http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/2008/05/africa-under-canvas-camping-in-botswana.html">Africa Under Canvas: Camping in Botswana</a>
By <a href="http://www.gonomad.com/features/0703/botswana-camping.html">Peter Mandel </a> 
 
sun pours from smiles. Somebody’s wave is like a branch back and forth in the wind. 
Everyone is kind. Except for, I would guess, some of the lions. I will see. And except for the customs guy at the airport who won’t let up. “Why are you here?” he keeps asking, even when I tell him it’s for a six-day safari. 
 
My trip is run by CC Africa, I say. Camping in tents with a guide from this big tour company. Driving in jeeps to see the animals and to let them see me. 
 
“No, no,” says the guy. “Why are you here?” 
 
Maybe he is asking me, not logistics, but life’s Big Question. We could have tea and a talk. But at last, when I pull out my camera and a brochure picturing a giraffe he nods. I get a stamp. I am allowed to pass by. 
 
Jeep 
 
I meet my , safari group in Maun, a town with no more than three or four stores but with a large and multi-colored herd of friendly goats. 
 
This is my first time in Africa and everything is a surprise. The goats. Our guide, Peter, who is not Botswanian but Swiss. And our safari jeep which isn’t a Land Rover as I had guessed. It’s a Toyota pickup with comfy seating, a canvas canopy, even a fridge, bolted onto the bed. 
 
Botswana is Africa’s big sky country and the dry horizon seems to stretch on and on. Much of the land here is desert, including the famous Kalahari, but we’ll be camping in the Okavango River delta, which lures animals and makes the desert green. 
 
We load up our gear and Peter speeds us out of town along a dusty road. Bouncing around in back, besides me, are Wolfgang, an Austrian from Vienna, and Andreas, a nervous German who has questions about birds, trees, African cigarettes -- everything we see. 
 
Also in the tour group is Louise from Dublin who spots our first impala -- a suede-soft female who hops into the air when she sees us and disappears. And there is Anders, a middle-aged Dane who has the latest in safari khaki, a shiny new bowie knife, and a hunter’s hat. 
 
This is almost too cross-cultural for words. It feels like a set-up of some kind, or like the start of a play. 
 
Canvas 
 
Andreas is whistling as we drive deep into some scrubby woods. He is still whistling as we pull to a stop by a line of canvas tents and a table set with wooden bowls of snacks and glasses for wine. 
Nxabega Trails Camp will be our home for the first two nights. This may be the bush, but CC Africa stewards will do nearly everything. They will cook and pour drinks and set up cots for sleeping and clean up afterward. 
 
Any tse-tse flies around here?” says Anders warily, poking his head through the flap of the latrine. He doesn’t look happy, but I am. Our stewards have somehow dragged along and rigged up a porcelain toilet with water to pour in and flush. Luxury. 
 
Showers will rain out of a bag that hangs on a tree branch and in our tents is a selection of “African Grass” brand toiletries. Shampoo, conditioner, and gel. We’ve got it all. 
 
Camp is shaded by a fat baobab tree, and as the light begins to die, we get a lecture on animals. “Lions were here two days ago,” says Peter, “but not a problem. We postponed dinner until they went away. Hyenas, the strongest jaws in nature. They’ll be around looking for scraps as soon as it’s dark.” 
 
We start detecting sounds. 
 
Beep, beep, beep. (Peter tells us this is made by tiny frogs.) 
 
Hoooomph. Hoooomph. Hoooomph. Hooooomph. (Hippos). 
 
BreeEEEEEEeeeeeaaah-AAAMMMMPH. (Elephant!) 
 
A campfire is crackling and Andreas has stopped whistling. “At night,” he asks quietly, “will there be guards around camp? Don’t we put up a fence?” 
 
“Keep your tent zipper closed,” says Peter. “You’ll be fine.” 
 
Night 
 
Once I am tucked into canvas, I do not want to go out. Despite my three full glasses of South African wine. Despite my Botswana-brewed ‘St. Louis’ beer. “A satisfying blend of flavor and refreshment” boasted the can that I had crushed before turning in. Now I wish I had kept it. Or, better yet, that I had a jar. 
 
Though the night is quiet, I think I hear a rustling in the leaves outside. I swing the beam of my flashlight but see nothing except the trunk of a tree. 
 
I hear it again. It is crunching, not rustling. 
 
Someone chewing on something brittle and hard. 
 
Crunching or not, I’ve got to leave the tent. When I unzip the flap and edge outside the chewing stops. I do what I have to do and grab my flashlight again and shoot the beam towards the coals of the fire. 
 
Two dog-like mottled shapes. Four electrified eyes. 
 
I am back in the tent and zipped up before I take a breath. And I lie there making sure my cot is squeakless and that I gingerly exhale. Strongest jaws in nature, I think. Masticating. Swallowing. Probably wanting more. 
 
It is dawn and I am awake with my still-bright flashlight clutched in my hand. 
 
“Yes, hyenas,” says Peter blandly, when I ask. “They eat the chicken bones. The bones from the fire.” 
 
Suddenly there is shouting -- there’s a fanfare in the brush near Wolfgang’s tent. A flappy ear pokes out. Now the wrinkled rear. Elephant. A big one. 
 
Time for our game drive. 
 
Beasts 
 
Each of our days of camping -- at Nxabega, Savute inside Chobe National Park, and Nantanga near the banks of the Chobe River -- we roar off in the Toyota at dawn. 
The billboard on an ice cream machine we pass instructs us to “Get Ready to Assault Your Senses!” 
 
We are ready. 
 
Our lenses are out. Our shutters buzz and snap since animals are everywhere. Kicking up dust in herds. Padding along alone in-between twisted shrubs. 
 
No one ever told us that zebras have tiny stripes on their tails, and on their ears, and that their mane has stripes, too. “Yes,” says Andreas, “and I don’t remember seeing this at the zoo.” Buzz, snap. Buzz, snap. 
 
No brochure has warned us that the humpbacked, chalk-gray wildebeest looks like a cave painting popped to life. Buzz, snap. 
 
That crocodiles have a crossword-puzzle pattern stamped on their backs. Buzz, snap. 
 
Or that a leopard blends in slinkily, sneakily, in a forest dappled with dots of sun. Buzz, snap. Buzz, snap. 
 
There is only one major animal, we think, that’s missing. One that we have not seen or buzzed or snapped. 
 
It is the one, says Anders, for which you come to Africa. 
 
Pride 
Lion, lion, lion, lion, lion. 
 
I am saying this to myself, as if a chant. As if a prayer. 
 
Lion, lion, lion, lion, lion. 
 
It is our final Botswana day. We push off on a boat trip on the Chobe River and there are baboons, and buffalo, and an elephant rumbling down a hill to drink. 
 
We’ve got it all. The day is white hot. A monkey scampers beside us when we load up the truck and longjumps in. We want him to ride with us to the airstrip. We’ve got it all. 
 
Except for the One. 
 
It is Wolfgang who, in our last half hour, notices the shapes. 
 
Low and lazy. 
 
Swayback shapes that are resting. Now they’re rolling in a field of grass. These are females, we know. And here’s a round-bellied male stretched out asleep beneath a tree. 
 
“Lion,” whispers Louise. 
 
There is a glow behind them that shows us each whisker. That somehow picks out the light in strands of fur. 
 
Andreas lets out his whistle, soft and long. 
 
Why are you here? I say to myself, remembering the man at customs. I want to see him again. I want to answer his question, once and for all. 
 
Why did I come to Botswana? Listen, listen, listen. 
 
Now I know.</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/feeds/2654486519702336771/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2214539750224445924&postID=2654486519702336771' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2214539750224445924/posts/default/2654486519702336771'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2214539750224445924/posts/default/2654486519702336771'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/2008/05/africa-under-canvas-camping-in-botswana.html' title='Africa Under Canvas: Camping in Botswana'/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2214539750224445924.post-7239176051224578197</id><published>2008-05-18T08:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-10T22:16:01.460-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Bus trip"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="South Africa"/><title type='text'>Bus trip from Malawi to Tanzania</title><content type='html'><a href="http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/2008/05/bus-trip-from-malawi-to-tanzania.html">Bus trip from Malawi to Tanzania</a>
By <a href="http://newpittsburghcourieronline.com/articlelive/articles/39736/1/Diary-from-South-Africa-Bus-trip-from-Malawi-to-Tanzania-an-unforgettable-journey/Page1.html">Ayana Haaruun</a> 
 
Diary from South Africa : Bus trip from Malawi to Tanzania an unforgettable journey 
 
Editor’s note: Chicago Defender archivist Ayana Haaruun’s fellowship to South Africa is ending. Here’s her next to last report from the mother Land. 
 
On the bus ride from Malawi to Tanzania, I met the kindest Africans yet, saw the most beautiful landscapes imaginable, and survived a bus ride from hell. 
Malawi, a small Southern African country, truly lives up to its slogan “the warm heart of Africa.” I spent a night in Blantyre, a beautiful, clean city nestled between tropical trees and rolling green hills. 
Malawians seemed more conservative than South Africans. With a high population of both Muslims and Christians, alcohol was forbidden on the hotel premises. In the city, well-mannered, conservatively dressed men and women gave a respectable and distinguished air. And, the Malawian men seemed kinder, and “less forward” than the South African men. 
The next morning, I took a clean, comfortable, air-conditioned coach bus to Lilongwe, Malawi’s capital city. Riding down the highway, the city landscape quickly became a rural, agricultural environment. Just outside the city, small one-room brick homes stood on the sides of mountains. There were miles and miles of green fields, and an occasional single, green mountain peak. 
In Lilongwe, my problems began, when a taxi driver took me to an area he called “hell’s row.” “This is a where bad people are,” he mumbled, while driving up a narrow, unpaved road. Standing in the middle of a filthy, crowded area filled with rundown shops was the “seedy” bus station office. Reluctant to leave the taxi, I nervously looked around me. I knew that traveling with a large suitcase and a white woman put me in more danger of being robbed. To make matters worse, the bus company operator said the bus we’d planned to take was fully booked, and that we’d have to wait two days for another bus.
After two hours of standing in “hell’s row” pleading for a safe transport, the bus operator offered us two seats on the bus. As I boarded the old, sub-standard coach bus, I watched the sunset. In the distance, I listened to the evening Muslim call to prayer floating from a beautiful mosque down the road. 
Soon after departing, however, the bus broke down. We sat idly alongside a dark road for more than three hours. When the bus finally became functional, the unpaved two-lane highway was so bumpy, I became nauseous. There was no toilet on the bus, nor was there a restroom anywhere we stopped. To relieve ourselves, women passengers had to “squat” together behind bushes or in the open fields. 
The next morning near the Malawi/Tanzania border, the landscape was absolutely breathtaking. I was hypnotized by the lush green cliffs and valleys, beautiful rivers, tropical plants and clear skies. Along the road were rectangular one-room brick homes with grass or aluminum roofing built on red dirt. There were banana and mango trees everywhere. 
In villages, I saw mostly women working in green fields or fetching water from wells and rivers. I saw men sitting in the shade, tending to cows or sheep, or working in small shops. Children sold fruit picked from local trees. 
After about 20 hours on the bus, which continued to break down periodically, I was happy to arrive at the Tanzanian border. The customs office was modern and organized—a sign of Tanzania’s stable economy and valued tourism industry. 
At the border, the bus filled with even more passengers. By night, people were literally laying in the aisles. Moving through the bus became a real test of agility and coordination. In the dark, I strategically squirmed down the aisle, tip-toeing around bodies and luggage. 
At one point, I heard a strange sound, and looked around the bus. As I expected, on the floor, lay a live chicken. Now I really felt like a fellow villager. 
The second day of the bus trip was unbearable. Many passengers began smelling badly, and I was hungry and thirsty. To send a hint, I stared down the stinky guy sitting across from me, while applying excessive amounts of deodorant to my underarms. And, because there was no place to stop for a “real meal” I had eaten only cookies and bananas, carefully rationed between me and my colleague. 
After about 30 hours, we finally stopped at a rural Tanzanian hotel with a restaurant, where I demolished a tasty plate of fish, rice and greens. 
During the next bus breakdown, I stepped outside the bus to be greeted by sparking stars. There were no other lights. Standing alone on the side of a dusty road in east Africa, I thought about all the inconvenience poverty brings. 
Then I realized my colleague and I were alone in our constant complaining. While she deliriously mumbled about her swollen ankles and “shooting herself in the head,” people without seats were quiet. Lying on the floor being walked on, sitting on suitcases or milk crates with babies strapped to their bodies, they were patient and without complaint. 
Sure, my 40-hour bus journey from Malawi to Tanzania was a challenging feat that I’m happy to have survived. It’s just miniscule in comparison to what many African people endure everyday.</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/feeds/7239176051224578197/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2214539750224445924&postID=7239176051224578197' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2214539750224445924/posts/default/7239176051224578197'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2214539750224445924/posts/default/7239176051224578197'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/2008/05/bus-trip-from-malawi-to-tanzania.html' title='Bus trip from Malawi to Tanzania'/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2214539750224445924.post-6967147017093862625</id><published>2008-05-18T08:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-10T22:16:26.071-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Africa"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Dive"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="South Africa"/><title type='text'>Mauritius Dive Diary</title><content type='html'><a href="http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/2008/05/mauritius-dive-diary.html">Mauritius Dive Diary</a>
by <a href="http://www.bsactravelclub.co.uk/reports/mauritius1.htm">Derek Dear </a> 
 
Situation: 
Mauritius is difficult to find on a map, as it is a tiny group of tropical islands of volcanic origin in the Indian Ocean about 3,000 kilometres from the coast of Africa. Look for Mozambique on the east coast of Africa, then draw a line out to sea, crossing Madagascar in the middle. Mauritius is about the same sea distance from Madagascar as Madagascar is from Mozambique (i.e. about 800 kms). Flying time from the UK is about 121/2 hours from Heathrow. From South Africa, it is about 41/2 hours from Johannesburg.
 
Geography: 
There are three main islands and several smaller ones which make up the state of Mauritius. Mauritius itself, though not the largest, has the capital, Port Louis. The other two main islands are Reunion and Rodrigues. The island of Mauritius is 58 kms from north to south, and 47 kms from east to west. The island is thought to be the peak of an enormous sunken volcanic chain stretching from the Seychelles in the north to Reunion. The island rises steeply in the south to a central plateau. Beyond the mountains behind Port Louis, the plateau slopes gently down to the northern coast. The mountains are not high, but they do have the gaunt and unusual shapes of peaks formed by volcanic eruption. The island has 330 kms of coastline almost entirely surrounded by coral reefs. Time is GMT+4. We were there during British Summer Time, so the difference was BST+3.
 
Climate: 
Like all tropical islands, there are no well defined wet and dry seasons. The island has rain and therefore colourful vegetation all the year round. Because of the geography of the island, in spite of its small size, climate varies from place to place. The east coast is drier during January and February, when the prevailing winds drive in, hit the mountains and dump rain on the west coast and the central plateau. On the central plateau, temperatures can be up to 5°C cooler than on the coast, and it can be raining up there, while the sun is shining on the coast, and vice versa. The summer weather can be hot and humid (25°C to 37°C) . Winter, from July to September, has temperatures which range from a daytime 24°C to a cool 16°C at night. The prevailing winds can make it seem much cooler. Sea temperatures ranges from 22°C to 27°C.
 
Language: 
English, the official language, is used throughout the education system and government. In spite of this, most people are more comfortable speaking French, which is the main language used by the media, so English and French are the languages of the business classes. 
 
Currency: 
The currency is the Mauritian Rupee (Rs) which is divided into 100 cents. At the time we were there, the exchange was about Rs30 to ?1 sterling. 
 
Dive One 
I arrived at the Boathouse at 11.45, which was not quite enough time to prepare. There were seven guests (including me) and three members of staff going to dive, as well as the boatman. The boat, a shallow draft speedboat, was taken carefully along the lagoon and out through the gap in the reef. Then I discovered how they really go! The boatman opened up the throttle and we planed our way across the ocean for about fifteen minutes. The dive plan was for an easy dive to not more than seventeen metres. This would allow me to check things out. My buddy was a Mauritian boy, Benito, who didn't seem to believe in buddy checks and was keen to get into the water. I insisted that we did a check, while hanging onto the anchor line. We were supposed to have an Italian man with us, but we didn't catch up with him till about three quarters of the way through the dive!I pulled myself down the anchor line through clear, warm water to a barren seabed, clearing my ears on the way. We swam over to some gullies and rock formations, where the fish gather. I saw some pale blue parrot fish and red squirrel fish with their V-shaped tail fins, each about fourteen inches long. The squirrel fish's gills are a long spine shape, and these are venomous. It isn't a good idea to get too close to these. The poison carried by the mature fish is called ciguatera, and doesn't do one any good at all. There were butterfly fish and puffer fish, about four inches long, with vivid blue spots. Suddenly, I noticed Benito grabbing his equipment and pointing energetically. At first, I didn't know what he was doing, then I realised he was trying to show me something in a gully that was about two and a half feet wide, and equally deep. I peered in, and saw a stone fish, an ugly beast with indeterminate brown-ish colouring. This is one fish we are all warned to keep away from, as his poison can be fatal. A starfish lay quietly close by. There was very little coral, but lots of big, slow-moving fish, about ten inches long, which didn't bother to move away from us. An odd 'plopping' sound attracted my attention. I looked round for my buddy, and found him lying on his back, blowing 'air rings' towards the surface, as an old man might blow smoke rings from his pipe. It was obviously his party trick, and we were suitably impressed. My own air consumption was very good in the clear waters and a very slight current. After thirty-five minutes, I signalled that I had just 70 bar of air, and we ascended. I thought Benito took it a bit fast, and took my time, carefully watching my gauge. On the surface, I was picked up by the boatman, and just missed seeing a sting ray. It was a fast trip back to the hotel, during which the three Mauritians complained that the water had been cold. I kept my thoughts to myself, but as my computer had registered 23 degrees at 18.9 metres, I had been happy. What would they make of the North Sea in the spring? It was an enjoyable dive."
 
Dive Two 
Today we went to Snake Ramparts, which is one of the furthest dive sites, and not a place for novice divers. We were on our way by 8.55. When we arrived, the boat was anchored on a sandy bottom and we descended to 25 metres. There was a slight current, and we finned slowly against it towards a small circular mound of coral rock, about 50 metres across and standing about a metre high, with gullies cutting it through. I had the Aquashot II with me. My buddy (one of the dive school team, whose name is spelled Benoit, but who is known as Benito) had a camera and light system with him, and this worked very well - he took his photos, then kept the light trained so I could take mine! There was a lot to see, and a lion fish, moray eel and stone fish were so close together that I tried to frame them all in the same picture. Three brown striped lion fish swam lazily past, and we saw two stonefish together. I lay quietly on the bottom and a lion fish came very close. There were several Moray eels, ranging in size from white babies of 15 centimetres, to yellow ones to a large brown one who had about a metre of his length extending from his lair. I watched as one held his mouth open while a tiny blue fish swam in and out, cleaning as it went. A shoal of small black and white striped fish, about 10 centimetres in length moved about under a rock in such a dense ball-shaped group that it looked like moving coral. I was slightly under weighted, and as I used air, found I was being bumped about a bit. It wasn't a long dive because it was quite deep, and my lack of weight meant I needed to be careful not to ascend too fast, but I took twelve photos today, and enjoyed the dive. Met and dived with a very pleasent Swiss Couple called Doris and Rolf, they dived as a buddy pair, but before and after the dive were always ready to talk about what we had all seen and we still send post cards to each other from our Dive trips six years on.
 
Dive Three 
My buddy was Daniel Tan, a young man from Singapore. The plan was to complete my twentieth dive since qualifying as a sports diver. The dive, in an area known as 'Little Switzerland', began with a descent of the anchor line. I cleared my ears on the way down. We left the line at twelve metres and swam a short way to a drop off to twenty-three metres. The sea bed was barren and sandy, the marine life being found among the overhangs and gullies that give the place its name. I had trouble with the camera, till I remembered that the Fuji film winds differently from the Kodak one. We explored some caves, caverns and chimneys. Daniel pointed out a large lobster and I managed to photograph an angel fish and a damsel fish before we ascended through a chimney and sat on a ledge. I kept checking where Daniel was, as he seemed quite happy for me to lead him along. As we ascended, we checked out more caverns and chimneys. My air consumption was good, while several others were onto reserve as we swam slowly in the direction of the boat before making a controlled ascent to the surface. It was a pleasant, peaceful dive."
 
Dive Four Night Dive! 
&amp;The dive school policy is that they don't take anyone who hasn't dived with them before, and that they go to a place that the divers have visited in daylight. The plan was to do a dive of a maximum depth of twenty metres, and a maximum time of twenty-five minutes at the Aquarium site. The last two night dives had been cancelled because of the danger of bringing the boat back over the reef in the dark when the tide is low. Benito likes a small group, and four of us had booked. Only two of us, Peter and I, went, as the other couple had been involved in a minor road traffic accident. No-one was hurt, but the paperwork for these things takes forever. On Benito's last dive, there were six people. He told them to stay close and do exactly what they were told (normal briefing!) but two of the women stuck to him like glue.Peter was an experienced diver. He had done twenty-five dives (I've done thirty-two), but he had never done a night dive before. While we waited at the site for the moon to rise, Benito gave us a careful and thorough briefing on the plan and the use of torches. Benito had brought torches for us, and said he would take the big one. I had my own, and we checked it out. It was much better than the one he was offering. I took the camera, too. By 7.15, the moon was up, and we dropped into the water, leaving the boatman to a lone vigil. We went down the line to twelve metres, then swam for about twenty metres till we came to a drop down to twenty metres. I was amazed at the power of my torch in the clear water, as I've only used it in murky British waters up till tonight. About ten minutes into the dive, I realised that I was gulping at my air. There is an acute embarrassment factor if a diver cuts short the dive for the others because he's been daft like this, so I consciously slowed and steadied my breathing and checked my gauge. In spite of the gulping, I was doing all right. I saw a baby lion fish, and as we swam over the overhang, a blue parrot fish, fast asleep under a rock. We saw three about the same size - about thirty inches long. The largest I've seen in the daytime has been a third of that size. A huge hermit crab waved its tentacles at us. All the little fish, like the butterflies and damsels were gone to bed. Benito led, with Peter behind me. Benito was just rounding a corner, when suddenly, he signalled to us to stop. He called Peter forward, then me, and pointed out a strange fish, about a metre long. With black and grey colouration, it had a deep, boxy-shaped head which was a quarter of its body length in height, with a high, flat forehead. Its body tapered away rapidly. After we'd had a good look at this odd creature, I took a photograph. The next thing was a large crab, about forty-five centimetres across. He had huge claws. None of us wanted to come to close to those imposing appendages! We stayed down an extra five minutes, as we all had plenty of air. Benito then signalled for us to switch off our torches, so we could appreciate the bioluminescence. This is a common thing in tropical waters, and most people call it phosphorus. It is caused by a variety of things. Jellyfish and algae contribute, as well as some of the worms and plankton. If the plankton is seriously disturbed, it gets annoyed, and responds by lighting up, creating a constellation of bright, winking lights. We were to do a controlled ascent without lights, to get the best from the natural lights, and it was like ascending in a snowstorm. I knew I would feel a little disorientated, so I put out my hand and clasped hold of Benito and we came up together. I was pleased to note that in spite of my earlier gulping, I had plenty of air left. Back on the boat, I felt a little cold to begin with. I rubbed myself with my towel, put on my blue cagoule and was soon warm, but Peter and Benito were shivering. I lent Peter my dry towel, as he didn't have one. As we made our way back, we were accompanied by a shoal of flying fish, which swam just ahead of us, their bodies flashing in the moonlight. The boatman used a powerful torch to help him find the two poles which mark the gate to the reef. We crossed safely, but the boat scraped the bottom of the lagoon at times as we crawled slowly along towards the hotel jetty.Benito also told Peter and Derek that a man has to check the lagoon every day for scorpion fish. These hide in the sand, and only their eye or a fin can be seen. This is another reason, besides the sea urchins, that it is important to wear shoes when swimming in the lagoon.
 
Dive Five 
We dived Cathedral Rock today. My buddy was Benito. When we arrived at the dive site, we dropped over the side and pulled ourselves to the anchor rope along a roped buoy, because the current was very strong. We descended to ten metres. The current was so strong that we helped ourselves over the seabed using our hands till we came to the drop-off. Benito went over the drop, and I followed. We went down to twenty-eight metres. Our air consumption was high because of the conditions in the water. We found Cathedral Rock. It is an arched rock which is the home of lots of spider crabs. We dived through the arch, which is where we all were grazed by the coral, because of the strong surge. It was at this point that I discovered that blood looks dark green at this depth. As I caught sight of it, it made me feel quite odd, till I realised everyone else's looked the same. We ascended through the cave where a moray eel lives. This was an elderly specimen who has obviously been around a long time. I wasn't able to take any photos, as I needed both hands to steady myself. We also saw lots of coral groupers in the crannies and overhangs of the rocks. Benito was running low on air, so we ascended after twenty-five minutes. This was a hard dive, and the first where I haven't seen a lion fish, but it was worth it to do the drop-off and see the moray eel. When we were back on the boat, I found that the rest of the group had worse cuts and grazes than I did.
 
Dive Six 
We dived on the wreck of the Kai Sai, opposite Flic en Flac. The anchor line was dropped and we descended slowly down it towards the large wreck. It was a deep dive, and I was buddied with Thierry, the dive school boss, who knew it was my first dive over thirty metres. The line was caught up on the superstructure at twenty-five metres, so we waited while it was disentangled before going deeper . We sank towards the deck, and I watched as my computer showed me numbers I haven't seen on it before. At thirty-two metres I felt fine, because conditions were good, visibility was unlimited and I had a firm area to rest on. Thierry showed us around the deck area before moving us on to view the ship from the bow. I saw large fish and small nudibranches and peered into the hold. We didn't go inside. The plan was a maximum dive of seventeen minutes or 70 bar, and soon Thierry signalled to us to ascend. I went up the line hand over hand until I reached six metres, and felt in control. I then hung in the water to do my three minute decompression stop while the anchor was hauled up. This deep dive was made easy because Thierry was a good buddy and conditions were so good.
 
Dive Seven 
We dived at Rempart Park, close to Rempart Serpent. My buddy was Peter, who came on the night dive. We descended the anchor line, and I wasn't aware of a need to clear my ears. We finned slowly along, and I was able to take some photographs. Peter was waving his arms around all over the place, and using a lot of air, so I signalled to him to fold his arms. He did for a while, then forgot, so I told him again. I saw a large sweetlips, a large angel fish and a large group of yellowish-grey fish that I didn't recognise (they were not goatfish). We went into a cave where there were a lot of lobsters. As we left the cave, Benito saw a sixty centimetre long anemone, with soft spines. He picked it up and threw it to me to look at it. It looked rather like an elongated sea cucumber. I gave it back to Benito, and he carefully put it down in the same spot. After finning slowly along the coral cliff, Peter was running low on air, so Benito signalled for us to ascend. Peter went up very fast, but I caught him, and made him go more slowly. He looked puzzled, so I showed him the arrow on my dive computer. He still looked puzzled, but stayed with me, and we did a one minute decompression stop at six metres. Back on Sundiver, Peter told me he has never seen a dive computer before. He said, "Why did you go so slowly? Benito was already on the surface." "Benito is responsible for himself. My computer told me we should go more slowly and make a stop, so I did. It's the way I've been trained." Peter seemed happy enough with this explanation. I enjoyed this dive. It was easy, I felt completely in control and it was a pleasant way to end my diving in Mauritius.</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/feeds/6967147017093862625/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2214539750224445924&postID=6967147017093862625' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2214539750224445924/posts/default/6967147017093862625'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2214539750224445924/posts/default/6967147017093862625'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/2008/05/mauritius-dive-diary.html' title='Mauritius Dive Diary'/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2214539750224445924.post-6463861684059715565</id><published>2008-05-18T08:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-10T22:16:55.544-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Ghana"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Western Africa"/><title type='text'>A Journey In The Gold Coast : In Ghana</title><content type='html'><a href="http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/2008/05/journey-in-gold-coast-in-ghana.html">A Journey In The Gold Coast : In Ghana</a>
by <a href="http://www.escapeartist.com/efam/66/Travel_To_Ghana.html">Junfil N. Olarte</a> 
 
Accra–Ghana 2nd–19th August 2004It was breezy late afternoon as I descended – boarding EK 781 – in the fertile soil of Ghana, a country in Western Africa. Indeed, it was my first visit to an entirely Black African nation with hospitable people. The uniqueness of humidity caught my attention next as we steered through traffic. Accompanied by my Ghanaian lawyer from the airport going to the place I was to stay. 
Ghana has a typical tropical climate: two rainy seasons in the northern part from March to June, and September until November; and two dry seasons, the first starts in July and ends in August; the other begins in December and ends in February. The coastal belt of the east is warm and comparatively dry, whilst the southwest is hot and humid including the rainforest areas. 
Ghana has 18.4 million people (2004 Census), Ghana has an area of 91,843 sq. miles and is located just north of the equator. Its neighboring countries are the Côte d’Ivoire to the west, Togo to the east and Upper Volta to the north and northwest. Half of Ghana is at least 500 ft. above sea level; it stretches from the Gulf of Guinea to the edge of the Sahara Desert. 
The Gold Coast (Ghana’s colonial name) was a British protectorate. Accra, the capital, is one of Africa’s popular cities with a population of 2.3 million people. The name Ghana was chosen for the Gold Coast on the presumption that at least a few of the Ghanaians were descended from inhabitants of the ancient Kingdom of Ghana, which had existed in Western Sudan (now Mauritania and Mali) in the 10th century. Despite its numerous ethnic divisions and languages that include 56 dialects, English is chosen as the official and commercial language. Among Ghana’s important linguistic tribal groups are the Akans, Fanti, Ashanti, Guans, Ga and the Ewe – speaking people. The Ga, Akwapim and Nzima (a group of tribes in the south) harmoniously created a strong tribal union; the British introduced modern education, commerce and administration in the southern districts of the country. Also, southern ethnic groups were politcally united with the result that modernization occured much more quickly in the south than in other regions of Ghana.
Ghana is a tourist nation with a mixed culture of African and European. Several transients from Belgium, France, and the Netherlands and other countries across Europe used to visit this country for recreational tours and sightseeing. The famous Cape Coast and the Elmina Castle built by the Portuguese in 1842 (first among such castles along the coast), commemorates the historical trading of gold dust and permanent trading base of the Portuguese. The gold trade was later replaced by the trading of other lucrative commodities – slaves. Nonetheless, Ghana still has a plethora of gold, manganese, diamond, bauxite, and is also one of the largest cocoa producers in the world.
In the 18th century, the British, Dutch, Portuguese along with other countries in Europe regimented certain areas of the coast. And later in the 19th century, withdrew its trade interests with the exception of the British who took full control of the coast and became involved in series of wars with the Ashanti tribe, the largest in Ghana. The illegal trade of slaves was termminated by the British Government in 1807. Ghana was then named Gold Coast Colony by the British: it was annexed to the British Crown in 1886 during the time of Queen Victoria.
 
Culture And Currency 
I was taking my meal in the hotel’s restaurant, when some European guests joined my table and conversed with me. Among them were a Dutchman, 2 Belgian ladies, and a French linguist. We sojourned in the same hotel and shared each other’s perspectives about Ghana during dinner. I found out that they came often to Ghana to visit. Aside from having leisure and recreation, they found Ghana to be very safe. Ghana is a peace–loving and free country. Its people have affluent self–values, hospitality, respect and humility. Culture is well–kept and preserved and family ties remain very important. Thus, it is an attractive destination for many tourists and visitors all across Europe and the States. Cedi is the currency as US$ 1.00 is equivalent to 8,913.00 to 9,000.00 Cedis, while selling paced to 9,200.00 Cedis.
From my time spent in Accra, I was very impressed with the people and the country; during my stay I made many friends, and enjoyed the personalties of the people of Ghana: the people of Ghana are very friendly. 
Festivals in Ghana are marked with beach parties, for example, on New Year’s Day and the Rice Festival at Akpafu in the Volta region. Most Ghanaians are Christians, at least 69% of the population, 16% of the population are Moslems, while the rest of the population is still practicing traditional religions. Parliamentary democracy is the system of governance, as mining, lumber, cocoa and light manufacturing are the major industries; the U.S., U.K., Germany, France, Japan and South Korea are the major trading partners.
The major ethnic groups; Akan 44%; Yoruba 1%; Moshi-Dagomba 16%; Ewe 13%; Ga 8%; Gurma 8%; European &amp; other 1.5%, lead to one Ghana Republic with FREEDOM and JUSTICE declared on its sovereign will. Places of interest such as the Cape Coast and the Elmina Castle are situated along the Central Region of the country. Transients and visitors, however, are required to have a visa with an exemption to those citizens belonging to the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS); such as Nigeria, Côte d’Ivoire and Mali, which only requires valid Identification upon entry.
 
Present–Day Menace And Threat 
Ghana has a stable economy unlike other African States. This is according to a reliable source of information relayed to me by one of the important personalities of the nation. However, risk in Ghana must be given great importance especially to visitors and tourists. At least 20 persons every 24 hours are being infected with HIV in Ghana. 
Rampant and unbridled AIDS in Africa is, indeed, one of the indecipherable predicaments of the regime particularly in the AIDS-affected countries. Furthermore, the Ghanaian Government with the support of the Ministry of Health is engaged in a strong campaign against AIDS. It is then extremely important to every vistor and foreigner in this country to be cautious and wary and to avoid harm; and to take precautions againist this fatal and morbid malady.</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/feeds/6463861684059715565/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2214539750224445924&postID=6463861684059715565' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2214539750224445924/posts/default/6463861684059715565'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2214539750224445924/posts/default/6463861684059715565'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/2008/05/journey-in-gold-coast-in-ghana.html' title='A Journey In The Gold Coast : In Ghana'/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2214539750224445924.post-4151823537377040974</id><published>2008-05-16T14:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-10T22:18:07.672-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Boat"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Kenya"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="South Africa"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Train"/><title type='text'>South Africa to Kenya by Train and Boat</title><content type='html'><a href="http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/2008/05/south-africa-to-kenya-by-train-and-boat.html">South Africa to Kenya by Train and Boat</a>
by <a href="http://www.africaguide.com/travelog/mlr-2001.htm">Matz Lonnedal Risberg</a> 
 
<a href="" name="intro">INTRODUCTION</a> 
For as long as I can remember, I've always dreamt of making six Transcontinental journeys, and when I write journeys I do not mean jumping from one spot to another by aeroplane - I mean travelling. The first one was to go by the TransSiberian Railway to Vladivostok and from there to Japan. The second one was to take a steamer to North America and go by the "Canadian" from the Atlantic to the Pacific. The third one was to go to Beijing, through Mongolia one way and Manchuria the other. The fourth one was to go all the way through Africa down to Cape Town, including riding the famous "Blue Train". The fifth one was to go to Alaska and the sixth one was to go to Singapore overland.
Like Cecil Rhodes I had the dream of going by rail, or at least overland, from Cairo to the Cape. That has never been possible in my lifetime; border crossings between African countries has always been tricky, with several ones closed at any time and there has never been public transport across the Sudanese/Ugandan border. The Sudanese Civil War makes it less advisable to travel through the country. But with the help of freight ships, my fourth dream journey became my sixth and last to fulfil (counting my South America trip in 1999 as a substitute for an Alaska journey). As in 2001 I went by a freighter from Lisbon to Cape Town and Port Elizabeth, by train around in South Africa, to Maputo and all the way from Cape Town to Dar-es-Salaam and the Victoria Lake, by boat to Zanzibar and Mombasa, by train again to Nairobi and then by freighter from Mombasa to Fos-sur-Mer in France.
Just like when going to South America in 1999 the ships agent, Kapitän Peter Zylmann, nearly ruined my journey, as he booked me on a ship leaving Lisbon 18th April and scheduled to arrive Cape Town approximately at 3rd or 4th May, and not telling me until very late, although I one year in advance had told him I absolutely had to be in Cape Town not later than 5th May. Luckily enough the passenger (owner's) cabin on the ship ahead was free and I could board the m.v. "Grey Fox" in Lisbon 4th April. The ship I originally was booked on, the "Amber Lagoon", was late and did not arrive to Cape Town before I left by "The Blue Train" 7th May!!
 
<a href="" name="begin">THE BEGINNING</a> 
My train trip from Oslo to Lisbon was my first journey ever from the Scandinavian peninsular to the Continent of Europe without using a ferry on any part. Ten years earlier I could have travelled by train from Oslo to Lisbon only changing trains in Copenhagen and Paris. But that journey would have lasted four nights and three days. Now I had to change at seven stations; Hallsberg, Mjölby, Malmö, Copenhagen, Cologne, Paris and Irun, but was able to make the trip in 52 hours. 
The journey on "Grey Fox" was the most enjoyable freight ship journey I have made so far; the cabin being the biggest and nicest I've ever met on a ship and the Polish captain and crew extremely nice and friendly. On board we celebrated Polish Easter, which is nearly as special as Scandinavian Yule. The weather on the Canary Islands, which we passed between, was surprisingly bad in April. 
 
<a href="" name="001">FIRST STEP ONTO THE SHORES OF </a>AFRICA 
 
The ship called into Walvis Bay in Namibia, where I went off and strolled around and wouldn't have needed the visa I had got in advance. Wednesday 18th April the ship got an order to call into Port Elizabeth after Cape Town, to take some empty containers to Richardsbay. I thought it could be fun to have rounded the Cape of Good Hope and asked if I could prolong my journey. The immigration authorities in South Africa didn't mind that, however stamped my entrance in Cape Town and regarded the Cape Town - Port Elizabeth journey as a domestic one, and the ships company macs let me continue without extra costs.
However we arrived in Cape Town Thursday 19th and I went off with my main luggage and stayed one night at Breakwater Lodge, where I also kept my main luggage during my two weeks round trip in South Africa. I had a lovely Friday visiting Table Mountain - which was impossible to do when I came back to Cape Town two weeks later. Friday night I went to town together with some of the crew members, and Saturday we left Cape Town for Port Elizabeth, docking Sunday evening. Next day I took the train to Johannesburg, the commuter train to Pretoria, where I found a lovely hotel, in which I pre-booked a room for my visit two weeks later and then went by the night train to Komatipoort.
 
<a href="" name="002">TO MOZAMBIQUE AND AROUND IN </a>SOUTH AFRICA 
 
South African trains are not very comfortable but have mostly excellent dining cars. My train to Komatipoort was six hours late, which enabled me to see and photograph the spectacular mountainous landscape that the train normally passes through in the middle of the night. According to the Thomas Cook Overseas Timetable there was supposed to be 1st and 2nd class air-conditioned coaches to the Mozambique capital Maputo. There were only 3rd class cars. I was definitely the only non-local passenger on that train. As the train from Johannesburg was six hours late nobody really knew when the Maputo train was supposed to depart. Suddenly the Mozambique engine driver blew the horn and went off. Passengers outside the train yelled and tried to run after and on the train but he just accelerated and they never got on.
Maputo railway station 
At the Mozambique border the immigration officer demanded ZAR 12 (around US$ 1.60) from everybody to stamp their passports (I had already paid US$ 65 for my Mozambique visa in Lisbon). This was enough for some passengers not to have the fare (also ZAR 12) for the train journey to Maputo. It was a fascinating journey through remote villages on an extremely bad railway track, where 40 km/h felt dangerously fast. Maputo has the most beautiful railway station in Africa, but the railyard reminded me of Sarajevo's half a year earlier. Both railyards were filled with damaged rail coaches out of use. In Maputo I stayed at the Hotel Avenida, which charged US$ 120 for a single room. You get a better room for ZAR 300 (US$ 40) in South Africa.
Next day I went back the same way and by the night train from Komatipoort to Johannesburg, from where I went to East London. The drunken Boer (Afrikaner) that was in my compartment had a gun inside his trousers' waist, luckily enough he left the train the same evening. 
Just as Chile and Argentina in 1999 had surprised me by being much more European and much less North American than I had expected, South Africa disappointed me by being the opposite. It is nearly impossible to be a pedestrian in the country, and a lot of towns are as ugly as American towns. East London is one of them. However standard is extremely high and prices very low on lodging, food and drinks in South Africa. After having spent the weekend in East London I went to Johannesburg again - spent the day at the Johannesburg railway station, as the city is regarded one of the most dangerous in Africa and has little to offer the tourist - and then caught the night train to Durban. Durban is a fascinating city, a melting pot of different cultures, and the only South African city I really liked, besides Cape Town.
From Durban I took the 36 hours through train to Cape Town. Again a drunken Boer in my compartment made the first night unpleasant, so I changed compartment the next morning. The two drunken Boers I met on South African trains were the only persons on my entire African journey that were unpleasant. 
Back in Cape Town Friday 4th May it rained cats and dogs. Saturday I took a tour of the city on my own and Sunday I participated on a tour to the Cape of Good Hope, also watching wild penguins, ostriches and baboons. I really liked Cape Town and had some marvellous food there, as elsewhere in South Africa, like venison, ostrich, crocodile, calamari and lobster. 
LUXURY ON THE BLUE TRAIN Monday 7th May I boarded "The Blue Train"; the world's most comfortable train, running after schedule. It lived up to it's reputation - Excellent service, comfortable sleeping compartments with bath tubs, comfortable lounge cars, excellent dining car and everything included. "Even the cigars?", I asked. "Yes." "Do you have Havana cigars?" "We have nothing less, Sir." But it is amazing how the South African railways have managed to make this train into the worldwide known and popular train it is, as it runs from Cape town to Pretoria, which is not a very exciting city although being the country's capital and through a landscape that is not nearly as spectacular as neither the North American, the Norwegian nor the West Chinese.
I arrived Pretoria 26 hours later where I stayed at the wonderful Victoria Hotel, a very cozy and fine, old hotel opposite to the railway station, where you however should not walk outside after dark (which applies to most African towns and cities). In Pretoria I took out the money for my onward journey, so from there I carried US$ 6 600 in cash on my body, as I had got the information that cards were more or less impossible to use in Zambia or Tanzania. As it is so totally unwise to run around with that amount of money in cash on yourself nobody expects you to do it, and I didn't loose a cent of it, having hidden it in three different bags under my clothes and in my wrist belt. Next day I went to Pilasenberg National Park, where I saw lions, giraffes, elephants, buffaloes, baboons and zebras.
Thursday I went on "The Blue Train" again, this time taking a two day journey to Victoria Falls. In Bulawayo we went on an excursion and picnic. When we returned we were given the news that "The Blue Train" had derailed, trying to turn at the railyard. For a short while it looked like they would substitute the rail trip for a bus journey already that night and I panicked. But we were put at the Holiday Inn Hotel, hoping that "The Blue Train" could continue the next morning. It couldn't, and the rest of the passengers were taken by bus to Victoria Falls in the morning. I spent the entire day on "The Blue Train" at Bulawayo station, being served an excellent lunch, drinks and Havana cigars when I was not photographing the "NRZ Garrat" engine, that was shifting on the railyard, until the ordinary train from Bulawayo to Victoria Falls left that evening. Boarding that train I was followed by four of "The Blue Train" staff carrying my luggage and bringing a plate with cheese and fruit, a bottle of white wine, a bottle of sect and two Havana cigars. At Bulawayo station I was asked by a local for South African newspapers; press freedom was not highly valued in Zimbabwe at the time. In the papers on the train we could read that the Western embassies had decided not to evacuate their citizens yet! At the petrol stations long queues could be seen.
 
&gt;&gt; Read more about <a href="http://www.africaguide.com/travelog/mlr-2001.htm">South Africa to Kenya by Train and Boat</a></content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/feeds/4151823537377040974/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2214539750224445924&postID=4151823537377040974' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2214539750224445924/posts/default/4151823537377040974'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2214539750224445924/posts/default/4151823537377040974'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/2008/05/south-africa-to-kenya-by-train-and-boat.html' title='South Africa to Kenya by Train and Boat'/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2214539750224445924.post-1669835222645917922</id><published>2008-05-16T14:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-10T22:18:31.831-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Dive"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Egypt"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Scuba Diving"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Wheelchair"/><title type='text'>Egypt: Wheelchair Scuba Diving</title><content type='html'>Egypt: Wheelchair Scuba Diving
By <a href="http://www.gimponthego.com/dest4a.htm">Julie Mora Perez and Jasmine Boyd </a>in association with the Handicapped Scuba Association International 
 
As an exotic dive/travel destination it would be difficult to outdo Egypt, especially when part of the journey includes actually touching the Great Pyramid, marveling at the centuries-old wall paintings in the Valley of the Kings tomb of Ramesses IV, and riding a camel to "The Oasis" - a dive site that's like a rare sapphire set in the shimmering desert sands. 
That's how a dozen vacationers spent 16 activity-packed days on the Handicapped Scuba Association's (HSA) annual "big" trip. The travel group included 5 people in wheelchairs who bravely waited on the airport tarmac 3 hours before even beginning the 11 hour flight from New York to Cairo. 
 
CairoOur first impressions of Cairo are that it is a city which in some ways has entered the 20th century, with cars, taxi's, noise, and people abounding, but it is also a city steeped in an ancient allure that exists even today. There are donkeys in the streets pulling wagons, all the men wear robes, and the women all wear the traditional hijabs to cover their heads. 
It is a 40 minute drive through horribly chaotic traffic to arrive at the Movenpick Pyramids Hotel (20-2-385-2555), a peacefully landscaped, single story edifice that is not only accessible but also has an extremely accommodating staff. Upon noting that there was no wheelchair access to the pool, hotel employees built a ramp within 15 minutes of our request. 
On the ground, travel within Egypt was in the air-conditioned comfort of mini-vans with hired helpers to lift people in wheelchairs. One or two steps were encountered at almost every location, and getting across sand was often required, but with assistance from the hired aides, virtually everything was possible. The helpers were arranged in advance through a tour company, Sylvia Tours (20-2-302-6699), at a rate of $30 per day/per person. 
As wheelchair users we found Egypt fairly accessible with minimal assistance, particularly when visiting the Great Pyramid and The Sphinx, both of which date back to 1700 BC. You can get dropped off right at the pyramid and wheel your chair up and touch one of the massive blocks; Each one about 5-1/2 feet tall. Getting all the way around the pyramid in a chair, though, is not as easy. However, the interesting option of renting a camel does exist. Still, even with this alternative transportation, the only way into the Great Pyramid is to be carried, which is made all the more difficult by the heat and narrow interior. The Sphinx, with caravans of camels crossing the desert in the nearby vista, also provided an accessibility challenge. To get as close as possible, three steps had to be overcome with the aid of our hired assistants.
Accessibility certainly wasn't an issue for those whose credit cards burned as hot as the desert sand while touring the Khan Al Khalili Bazaar - an open-air marketplace where rows and rows of boutiques competed with one another across narrow passageways -- selling everything from perfume bottles to gold and silver jewelry to rugs. 
For those whom shopping wasn't enough of a thrill, back at the hotel was another sort of hypnotic entertainment - belly dancing. There was a belly dancing act every night and we often relaxed and took in the show. 
For the archaeologically-inclined, the Cairo Museum contains a huge collection of Egyptian antiquities. Among them, the treasures of Tutankhamun, the famous boy-king who ascended the throne at the age of 9 in about 1334 BC. First excavated in 1922, King Tut's tomb was the only one in the Valley of the Kings to have been found not pillaged by robbers. His throne is only the size of a modern dining chair, but made entirely out of gold. 
 
DahabA soft, low murmur of predominantly male voices assemble beneath a star-filled night. It's a social gathering with little cups of espresso so strong it is syrupy, so dark it matches the inky-black desert sky. In the spirit of friendship a hookah pipe is passed, containing a lung-searing, eye-watering, but tasty tobacco. Black-banded, white headdresses flutter around faces weathered by heat and wind and sand. No, it's not a scene from some "Lawrence of Arabia" sequel, it's a typical laid-back night in downtown Dahab - a Bedouin village on the east coast of the Sinai peninsula.
By day Dahab is just as interesting, just as much of a cultural surprise, as one could imagine. We found Dahab to be the highlight of the trip. It was like an old hippie town: very quaint and charming, with one dirt street and camels everywhere. Camels in Dahab are still a main mode of transportation. Accessibility is also good, as you can wheel from the hotel all the way to the other end of town, stopping at shops along the way. 
Unlike the distinctively native atmosphere of Dahab itself, the Nesima Resort and Diving Center (20-62-640-320) is not only luxurious and accessible (with 5 wheelchair accessible rooms), but its open-air dining area is right on the beach with the Red Sea as a stunning backdrop. It is mesmerizing to sit in the cool ocean breeze and snack on pita bread with tahini dip while watching camels cross the beach, led by Bedouin riders, their hoods flapping in the wind. 
And the diving? Not far from shore, the calm, clear water reveals spectacular reefs and lots and lots of lionfish, beginning at a depth of about 20 feet. More than 1000 species of fish inhabit Dahab's abundant and colorful coral reefs. 
As if all this weren't enough, an entirely different type of adventure awaited our divers on the Camel Safari Dive. Camels transported us to a remote dive spot called "The Oasis," a palm-tree lined Blue Pool surrounded by nothing but desert. While the camels were turned loose to graze, we swam through the Blue Pool to the other side and the reef. There were pristine corals - cones and formations you could swim through, blanketing mounds in every direction. After surfacing from the first dive an authentic Bedouin lunch was prepared on-site.
Although it felt a little precarious perched atop the hump of a one-humped camel, we loved the safari dive. It was an incredible experience, riding through the Egyptian desert along the Sinai coast with a mild wind blowing through your hair and listening to the pitter-patter of camel feet. 
Dahab scored well with everyone from the standpoint of its quality dive sites and for its accessibility. The divers truly enjoyed diving in Dahab where entries were easier, marine life was plentiful and there were no currents to struggle against. 
 
Sharm El SheikhOf course, for an Egyptian dive trip to be truly complete, it's a "must" to experience Sharm El Sheikh, where the tip of the Sinai peninsula juts into the Red Sea. Exhaustively publicized, Sharm boasts a number of notable dive sites. Unfortunately, most of these also involve water currents, sometimes quite strong. It's boat diving in Sharm and it's a veritable bustle of boats since they all depart from the same public dock. In its favor, it is a flat, easy push from the hotel, The Camel Dive Resort (20-62-600-700), which has 5 totally accessible rooms.
At sea, the boat traffic is only slightly better. Some commented that it was a zoo, with boats anchored like cars at Christmas time in a Macy's parking lot. However, sea life was teeming at the dive spot, Ras Ghazalni - swarms of small fish like a rippling curtain of fins and tails. There was even a huge angel shark, some 10 feet long. 
For travelers who appreciate the ways of pre-high rise Egypt, the crowding in Sharm is not likely to please. It is quickly being built up because after the year 2000 there will be no more building permits issued, so all along the coast you are finding wall-to-wall hotels. Sharm is, sadly, losing some of its charm. 
 
Luxor 
The last stop on our tour required a flight aboard Egypt Air to the city of Luxor. On the Nile River, it is green and plush, but holds quite a cultural surprise for Western visitors. Some of the people there live like they did 2000 years ago, in mud-brick houses that appear to blend into the sand and the mountainsides. 
Leaving the mud houses to their inhabitants, our group settled into the Movenpick Luxor (20-95-374-855) with its view of the Nile - a stunning contrast of beauty and industry. Fishermen still use ancient methods, throwing down their nets and slapping the water with a stick to chase the fish into them. It is almost like traveling back in time. 
If there is time and opportunity, the best way to see Luxor is by horse and buggy. A rental is only $5.00. Of course, there is the almost mandatory temple tour, where the standard answer to "Where are we going now?" becomes "ABT" ("Another Bloody Temple"). However, the true standout is viewing the massive grandeur of the Karnak Temple, first on the tour, and the most transforming in its capacity to recapture the era in its original magnificence. The temples are truly awesome to behold. All are open air and wheelchair accessible with only minor assistance. Nothing can compare with the feeling of being at the Luxor Temple near sunset... It is simply gorgeous!
The Valley of the Kings, close to Luxor, is known to be the final resting place of at least 33 Pharaohs. Their tombs are visible as entrance holes in a mountainside, where steps lead to once elaborately furnished burial chambers deep within the earth. The ancient Egyptians believed in reincarnation, and as the personification of the Sun God, the Pharaoh was customarily buried with every imaginable convenience and luxury he might need in the Afterlife. Today, all that remains of these tombs, which were pillaged, sometimes only a few years after they were sealed, are the detailed wall paintings depicting events in the life of the Pharaoh. Surprisingly, the tomb of Ramesses IV is ramped, providing wheelchair access quite deep inside!
Once you've been somewhere like Egypt, traveling takes on a whole new meaning. You just cannot imagine how people live in other parts of the world until you've been there and experienced it. It's what I call "culture shock travel" and Egypt is one of the best places for such an experience. A final word to the wise: Despite the venerable age of the country, baggage handlers WILL be baggage handlers, so wheelchair travelers are advised not to take their best chairs. Realize too, that accessibility of hotel rooms generally means hand-held showers and passable doorways. We're not talking ADA standards.</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/feeds/1669835222645917922/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2214539750224445924&postID=1669835222645917922' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2214539750224445924/posts/default/1669835222645917922'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2214539750224445924/posts/default/1669835222645917922'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/2008/05/egypt-wheelchair-scuba-diving.html' title='Egypt: Wheelchair Scuba Diving'/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2214539750224445924.post-766621055134530695</id><published>2008-05-16T13:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-10T22:18:49.349-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Bermuda"/><title type='text'>Bermuda is another world</title><content type='html'><a href="http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/2008/05/bermuda-is-another-world.html">Bermuda is another world ... tired of snow and cold?</a>
<a href="http://melrosemirror.media.mit.edu/servlet/pluto?state=303034706167653030375765625061676530303269643030353130323534">by James Tierney</a> 
 
We’ve heard that expression many times over the years from people coming back from Bermuda or, maybe, I only heard it from my wife after each of our four visits. No where on the planet is there such a rich palette of wondrous colors: the turquoise sea, pink sand beaches, vivid scarlet, crimson, and magenta flowers, deep green and vibrant vegetation, cerulean blue skies, and eccentric pastel homes. Even the bright pink and blue busses brighten the visuals. To avoid pollution and traffic congestion, only one car per family is allowed, and there are no rental cars available (mopeds are the primary mode of transportation). Traffic also moves slowly: the maximum speed limit anywhere in Bermuda is only 20 miles per hour, and is strictly enforced. Here the beauty of the landscape, uncluttered by billboard advertisements, neon signs, or litter, is best enjoyed at a slower pace. Bermuda boasts a very high quality of life and has no income tax, no sales tax, no unemployment, no slums, and virtually no crime. It’s no wonder Bermuda has one of the highest return visitor rates in the world and makes it one of the most popular destinations for honeymooners and romantics of any age. Bermuda actually consists of 300 islands, all within a 20 mile long by a 2 mile wide area, all arranged roughly in the shape of a huge fishhook. Only about 20 of the islands are inhabited. Bermuda came into being as a result of Admiral Sir George Somers ship the Sea Venture wrecked in a violent tempest while on a trip to aid settlers in Jamestown, Virginia in 1609. This event inspired Shakespeare to pen “The Tempest”. Somers promptly claimed this land for England, thus beginning Bermuda’s history of permanent settlement. Bermuda wears its history like a comfortable old coat. Resting in the Atlantic Ocean just 600 miles off the coast of North Carolina, Bermuda remarkably has never succumbed to American cultural influences. Instead, lying more than 3,400 miles from London, it is quite close to Britain on a cultural plane. Bermuda gave up pounds and shillings in favor of a dollar pegged to the greenback in 1970. It is in the Atlantic Time Zone, 1 hour ahead of the Eastern Time Zone, and observes daylight savings time.
We sailed on the Celebrity Zenith from New York to Bermuda, about 700 miles, which took about a day and a half. It’s actually only a couple of hours by plane. Leaving New York harbor we enjoyed the sights, including the Manhattan Skyline, Ground Zero, the Statue of Liberty, and Ellis Island. We took full advantage of the amenities of the ship on the way to Hamilton. Cruising is the only way to go for vacation. You drop your luggage at the dock, find it in your stateroom later and you don’t pick it up until the end when you get off the ship. Your meals are available continually within “walking” distance and you have entertainment all day and night, again, within “walking” distance. Of course, the cruise itself is always a great experience with the ocean surrounding you, changing skylines, beautiful scenery with spectacular sunrises and sunsets, as well as just soaking up the sun with a good book.
Docking on Front Street in Hamilton, Bermuda’s capital, and only city, makes it very convenient for easy access and walking distance to all the shops and attractions. Old buildings on Front Street with graceful porches and verandas still house retail stores run by families whose ancestors founded them a hundred years ago, A.S Cooper, TriminghamBros., and Smith’s, to name a few. Prominent on Front St. is the famous Birdcage Traffic Island, occasionally occupied by a “bobbie” for photo ops. Shore excursions were also available providing a variety of options to explore the island. You could go by taxi, train, or boat. You could snorkel, swim with dolphins, scuba dive, kayaking, glassbottomboat, caves, champagne sail. You could also stay on the ship and enjoy the all- day activities. After two nights in Hamilton we moved over to four centuries old St. George's which is conditional depending on the weather. Entrance to St. George’s harbour is through the Town Cut which is 150 feet wide allowing only 25 feet on either side of the ship. The wind velocity determines whether or not the ship will enter the “cut”, perhaps, keeping us in Hamilton for the duration of our visit to Bermuda. Fortunately, we made it through the “cut” and had the opportunity to “walk” off the ship and “walk” to St. George’s cobbled streets, historic homes, museums, forts, and churches. We visited St. Peter’s Church, once merely called “the church”, and the oldest Anglican church in the Western Hemisphere, built in 1612. We also visited Fort Catherine, one of many forts in Bermuda, built to protect against invaders. Adjacent to the fort, is the beautiful pink sand St. Catherine’s beach. King’s Square is the hub of all activity in St. George’s. Prominent on the Square is the replica of the stocks and pillory that was used to publicly punish “criminals” who missed Sunday church services or stole a chicken. Visitors “lock” themselves in the stocks and pillory for photo ops. When the clock strikes noon, life is transformed back to the 17th century as the Town Crier greets the assemblage with the time and day’s events. There is also a dunking of a “gossiping wench”, a recreation of the dunking of nagging wives, gossips, and suspected witches who are strapped in a dunking stool and dunked in the ocean a number of times depending on their “crime”. There is also a “drunk” chained to the pillory. St. George also features a replica of Deliverance in the Square, one of the two ships built to carry Admiral Somers and his crew to Virginia in 1609 ( the other was the ill-fated Sea Venture). It offers a rare glimpse of ocean travel over 400 years ago.
There are many “basics” about Bermuda, including Bermuda onions, Bermuda Triangle, Bermuda grass, and Bermuda shorts, as well as jackets and ties with the shorts as business attire. Bermuda also features the world’s smallest drawbridge which opens only 18 inches, just wide enough for the mast of a sailboat to slip through. The magical moongates, circular stone arches, which grace homes, parks, gardens, and byways, attract visitors, especially honeymooners, to stand under and make a wish for good fortune. We revisited the moongate at the Elbow Beach Hotel where we stayed on our 25th anniversary, 24 years ago. The pink sand beaches are also main attractions, including the famous Horseshoe Bay, considered one of the best beaches in the world. Gibb’s Lighthouse is also a must visit, built in the 1840’s and provides a panoramic view of the island.
The Historic Royal Naval Dockyard, whose fortifications and ramparts were formerly bastions of British sea power, was established just after the American War of Independence to provide an operational base off the east coast of the 13 former colonies. During the War of 1812, British war vessels set sail from the dockyard to attack Washington D.C. During World War I and II, the facility was a launch base for submarines and ships, as well as a supply base. Now, as the region’s tourist centerpiece, you can find the Bermuda Maritime Museum, several restaurants, shops, arts and crafts, glass blowing, and the Clocktower Building with walls 3 feet thick and towers 100 feet high. An unexpected treat was the bus ride to and from New York twisting and turning through Manhattan streets to and from the dock. It became a sightseeing trip as we observed the hustle and bustle of Manhattan activity on a Saturday, traveling on Madison Ave., Park Ave., Fifth Ave, passing Central Park, Rockefeller Center and the ice skating, NBC Studios, St. Patrick’s Cathedral, Yankee Stadium, the Hudson River, George Washington and Brooklyn Bridge, and many more familiar sights.</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/feeds/766621055134530695/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2214539750224445924&postID=766621055134530695' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2214539750224445924/posts/default/766621055134530695'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2214539750224445924/posts/default/766621055134530695'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/2008/05/bermuda-is-another-world.html' title='Bermuda is another world'/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2214539750224445924.post-5044237449220235060</id><published>2008-05-16T13:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-10T22:19:09.580-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="SAN MARINO"/><title type='text'>Welcome to world's smallest republic</title><content type='html'><div align="left"><a href="http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/2008/05/welcome-to-worlds-smallest-republic.html">SAN MARINO was on my travel itinerary for one reason - to get the passport stamp.</a> </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">By <a href="http://www.chebucto.ns.ca/Recreation/JnMtravel/articles/sanmarino_article.htm">JoAnn Alberstat</a></div><div align="justify">
I wasn't expecting much from a visit to the tiny hilltop republic in the midst of Italy. Guidebooks, if they mention the place at all, saying it's little more than a tacky shopping mecca for tourists.</div><div align="justify">I wanted to go anyway and add it to my list of countries visited.</div><div align="justify">But I wound up enjoying my time there so much that I count San Marino among my favourite places during a three-week Italian trip.</div><div align="justify">I wandered for hours along the medieval ramparts surrounding the small hilltop capital city, also called San Marino. The stunning scenery from along the walls, with their castle-like watchtowers, included a panoramic landscape of mountains and flatlands.</div><div align="justify">San Marino - billed as the world's smallest, oldest republic - is the third smallest state in Europe after the Vatican and Monaco. The mountainous enclave covers only 61 square kilometres, most of it on the slopes of Mount Titano and the surrounding valley.</div><div align="justify">That's where most of the about 30,000 residents, called Sammarinese, live. Some 4,500 of them call the capital home.</div><div align="justify">Mount Titano, visible from about 20 kilometres away, is an impressive sight. Its sloping, rocky cliffs rise nearly 750 metres to tower over the surrounding countryside.
From a distance, the mountain and the capital city, including its walls and towers, first appear in silhouette before gradually coming into full view.</div><div align="justify">It's a slow, hair-rising bus ride up the mountain. Our driver honked the horn every time the bus rounded one of the narrow hairpin turns. A few times, oncoming cars had to stop, back up and let us pass. (Many visitors leave their cars below the mountain, taking the short funicular ride up to the top.)</div><div align="justify">No wonder potential invaders have left San Marino alone for centuries.
The republic was founded in 301 by Marinus, a stonecutter who fled Croatia's Dalmatia region because of religious prosecution. He settled atop the mountain with a group of other Christians, founding the settlement that still bears his name.</div><div align="justify">Since 1243, San Marino's government has been led by co-presidents called captains regent. They're elected for a six-month term by a 60-member legislature, the Grand and General Council.</div><div align="justify">The political system, designed to ensure no one person holds too much power, may be unique. But to most visitors, the landlocked republic doesn't seem any different than its larger neighbour. It could easy pass for another Italian hill town.
San Marino doesn't even have a real border. An overhead sign proclaims: Welcome to the Land of Liberty. But visitors just drive by without having to stop at a customs check point. 
To get a passport stamp, you have to visit the capital's town hall and ante up $2 Cdn.</div><div align="justify">The tiny country also has its own licence plate, stamps and coins. The coins seem to be souvenirs, since the official currency is the euro. A set of coins, nicely displayed on cardboard, will set you back $34 Cdn.</div><div align="justify">That may sound like a gouge but San Marino is supposed to be a good place to shop, which makes it a popular day trip with Italians.
They account for the majority of the more than three million people who visit every year, fuelling the country's economy.</div><div align="justify">Even in October, the capital's shopping district was bustling with people on a sunny Sunday afternoon, when most stores in Italy are closed. A lot of shops specialize in perfume, tobacco and racing gear. (Many of Italian automaking and racing's biggest names, like Ferrari and Maserati, hail from Italy's Emilia-Romagna region surrounding San Marino.)
Plastic guns and swords were also displayed in several stores. It wasn't until later that I discovered these shops were selling real weapons. Apparently guns, fireworks and crossbows - all illegal in Italy and other countries - can be bought in San Marino.</div><div align="justify">My husband and I, accompanied by honeymooning Australian friends, walked through the shopping area in the city centre en route to the ramparts. Our plan was to spend the next few hours walking around the walls in search of the city's trademark three watchtowers.
Two of the towers, which grace the country's coat of arms, are open to the public. One houses a museum of antique weapons.</div><div align="justify">Our journey along the perimetre, which was surprising deserted compared to the touristy city centre, took us through narrow stone streets, up steep hills and along wooded paths. Along the way, we often got sidetracked by the mountain-top view. 
On one side, we frequently paused to survey the sweeping green plain that stretches out to Rimini, an Italian coast resort city 10 kilometres away. Visibility was good enough that we could just glimpse the Adriatic Sea.</div><div align="justify">A fine mist swirled around the valley below, pierced in spots by beams of sunlight that broke through the clouds, illuminating fields, stone houses and farms below. 
On the high side of the hill, we looked inland toward Tuscany. The landscape morphed, becoming the forested foothills of the Apennines mountain range. 
In every direction, the verdant landscape contrasted with the city's simple brick and stone buildings with their terra cotta tile roofs. The splashes of colour were few but striking. Tendrils of Virginia creeper, the leaves turned red, climbed the side of a building. Trees ablaze in fall colours dominated the view through an archway.</div><div align="justify">We began wandering in mid-afternoon, the sun tempered by a mountaintop breeze that occasionally carried the scent of pine from the many umbrella-shaped trees along the way. Our sightseeing continued until after a glorious sunset, when the dark and cold began to take over the mountain.</div><div align="justify">When I go back to Italy, San Marino will again be part of my travel plan. But my motivation for visiting the world's smallest, oldest republic will be different this time.
I plan to spend a relaxing day or two there. I'll explore the handful of churches and museums, as well as the city square, guarded by soldiers in green and rust-coloured uniforms. 
Or I may once again spend all my time walking along the city walls, gazing in awe at the mountaintop views.</div><div align="justify">*** IF YOU GO *** 
Location: Landlocked state surrounded by northeastern Italy and located about 10 kilometres from the Adriatic Sea.</div><div align="justify">When to go: May-June or Sept.-October. Avoid going in July and August, when the narrow streets of the mountaintop capital city, also called San Marino, are most crowded. 
How to get there: By bus or train from Italian cities such as Venice and Bologna. A funicular connects the capital with towns in the valley.</div><div align="justify">Where to stay: Lots of hotels in all price ranges.</div><div align="justify">What to do: Most sights are in the capital city. Get your passport stamped at town hall. Walk the medieval ramparts, with their sweeping views of the surrounding countryside. Museums tend to be touristy, with such themes as antique weapons, torture and Ferrari cars. San Marino is also a popular shopping destination with Italians.</div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div></content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/feeds/5044237449220235060/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2214539750224445924&postID=5044237449220235060' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2214539750224445924/posts/default/5044237449220235060'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2214539750224445924/posts/default/5044237449220235060'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gotravelstories.blogspot.com/2008/05/welcome-to-worlds-smallest-republic.html' title='Welcome to world's smallest republic'/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>

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