Snowmobile Ride in Kirkenes

One of the best “travel thrills” for me, was relishing the ultimate excitement (!) of a Snowmobile ride in Kirkenes, Norway. Just the name of the company was intriguing – “Arctic Adventures” – and they offered up a gleaming, glistening, brand new (it costs well over two thousand dollars) sleek looking piece of machinery called a Snowmobile. Once seated, and fitted out in suitable gear, and yes, a crash helmet too, I pressed the little lever on the handle and was amazed that I zoomed away faster than a jet at takeoff. When our group of travel media got back to Base, we were treated to Ice fishing! Our host donned a wet suit, cut a hole in the thick ice over which we’d all just been snowmobiling, and jumped into the freezing, blackness of water below. 10 minutes later he surfaced with some gorgeous looking crabs. After cooking, we all knew how delicious fresh caught crabs could be. THIS is a unique travel experience, in a special location, that I know you’ll love.

Germany on a Trabant car

When you’re in Germany, give yourself a taste of what life was like under the Communists, and take a ride – or, if you have the courage, drive it yourself! – in a Trabant. What, you might ask is that? Well, as hard as this is to believe, that’s what East Germans’ (back in the day) paid thousands and thousands of their hard earned money, for a so called car that had a lawn mower type engine. Buyers waited up to – are you ready for this – 15 years to get one, and in E. Germany over a 30 year period, some 3 million plastic bodied automobiles, were somehow stuck together with a two cycle, air cooled engine that generated more smoke than acceleration. I was too chicken when I was in Dresden and Munich to rent and drive one myself, but I wanted to see what it was like. So I had the rental car folks take me. It was total fun. Google German Trabants. If you do ride in one – and when you return Stateside – send me an email with your comments. jd******@*ox.net

If you fly into London Heathrow Airport, and want to get into London Central real fast, do what I do every time I fly to London. Take the Heathrow Express. It goes from Heathrow Central, and gives you a fast 15 minute train trip to Paddington Station in the heart of London. It’s far better than a taxi, bus or even the Underground, and gets you there more comfortably – and faster – than you can say “I can’t wait to see the new Royal baby.” Here’s a money saving tip. Get your tickets online, as they cost LESS, and buy a RT. Your questions answered at www.heathrowexpress.com

If you were traveling around Europe by night, you could have done what I did a before 2016, and sleep in the lap of luxury. Here’s how. Take the Swiss based City Night Line. They specialize in providing sleeping cars for many of Europe’s best trains, and the accommodations are superlative – I thoroughly enjoyed taking a shower!!! The carriages, food, beds and all that includes, are so good you’ll want to stay in your cabin long after you’ve arrived at your destination. Sadly, at the end of 2016, CityNightLine stopped operating and carriages were sold to the Austrian Railways which extended their night train network under the brand Nightjet. Nightjet trains still connect Munich, Vienna, Zurich, Hamburg, Cologne, Berlin, Milan, Rome and other cities.

For breathtaking mountain scenery that DOES take your breath away, try this. A trip to the Swiss mountains of the Jungfrau and Eiger. Best bet is to stay in the charming postcard town (it’s more like a village) of Grindlewald. The cog wheel drive train takes about an hour to get to the top of the Jungfrau, and the views are absolutely awesome. Just over half a million tourists take this unique trip every year, and I’d do it again right now if I could.

TRIVIA that might surprise you – especially as it concerns the journalist for this travel column:
When Edgar Rice Burroughs’s originally described Tarzan as a British aristocrat, what do YOU think he called him?

ANSWER: He gave him the name of — (ahem!) John Clayton. (see below)

Tarzan is his ape name; his real English name is John Clayton, Viscount Greystoke (according to Burroughs in Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle; Earl of Greystoke in… Tarzan (1999 film) – Tarzan (disambiguation) – Jane Porter – Tarzan of the Apes.

The post 5 Offbeat Travel Destinations Then and Now appeared first on Traveling Boy.

Story by Fyllis Hockman. Photos by Victor Block. Originally published on May 2013.

The endangered white rhino. The elusive silverback mountain gorilla. The rare tree-climbing lion. Hippos, elephants, crocodiles. The massive shoebill? Yup, him, too. These are just a few of the multitude of wildlife we cavorted with during our ElderTreks’s safari and trekking journey to southwestern Uganda. But the visit to the Kibale Chimpanzee National Forest to see the ever-playful chimps in the wild was one of the more delightful surprises.

A quick briefing introduced us to the chimps said to share 98.7% of their DNA with us humans. 98.7! Already feeling an affinity, we split into smaller groups with an assigned guide carrying her assigned rifle. Were our relatives in danger? It seems elephants and buffalo also roam these grounds and are more aggressive than those seen on game drives where the animals are more accustomed to people in vehicles. The guides, we were assured, shoot the rifles only if necessary to scare them away

Also armed, so to speak, with a number of rules governing our outing, we were told to stay 25′ away, if lucky enough to find them on low-lying branches, to be quiet so that the guides can listen to the calls and not to mimic the sounds of the chimps – as if that were even possible – because you don’t know what you might be saying. I couldn’t help but think the chimp would probably turn down a date if I made the mistake of coming on to him.

Finally we took off through very dense forest. Lots of tweets and trills, whistles and warbles, cries and caws produced a symphony of sound which accompanied our walk. I knew our guide recognized every note and was thankful she didn’t feel compelled to share all that information with us. I’m pretty sure the resident bird watcher in our group would have preferred otherwise.

Our tracker did point out a variety of monkeys in the trees above but they were so high as to be indistinguishable from the leaves unless the branch was moving – and then, of course, it was already too late. Clearly, I would not make a good tracker – or birder.

The troop of chimpanzees we were tracking numbered 120 but because it was the end of September, our guide lamented that the chimps were harder to find because much of their nearby food supply had been exhausted. You might want to check ahead of time to see when the fig trees are bearing the most fruit – that apparently determines how many chimps you’re likely to see.

Due to this added challenge, we were diverging from the more standard trails and were pretty much blazing new paths. It had been over an hour and we were no closer to finding chimps. I, on the other hand, was more worried we’d never find our way back.

The guide, unfazed, claimed to have found our sought-after prey though those of us less technically proficient in chimp tracking could not yet see any. Still, ten pairs of eyes looked eagerly toward the tree tops, seeming miles away, to catch some movement, any movement, to justify our presence. Suddenly a cry of “There he is” erupted, quickly followed by a disappointed sigh of “Maybe not.”

And then an ear-splitting onslaught of a barking/howling/screeching shriek indicated that yes, in fact, they were around. This gave us all hope but still, without any precise sightings. However, the periodic wailings breaking out in every direction were so loud and disconcerting as to be sufficiently exciting in themselves. When all of a sudden two chimps scrambled past within several feet of our group, we knew we had arrived. “Now that’s more like it,” someone declared!

We literally followed in their footsteps through the bush to find what our guide later insisted was a rare occurrence: an 18-year-old adolescent lying upon the ground in apparent repose, head resting on hand, taking time out to occasionally scratch and snort, totally ignoring our large semi-circle of astonished gawkers. We all forgot how frustrated we had been just moments before. Watching this young lad – whom the guide identified as Enfunzi – so close up did make me question a bit that 98.7 DNA statistic. Not that we don’t scratch…

Although our overall excursion took three hours, a number of very satisfied “wows” punctuated its end. And I was wrong about the tracker – she did indeed know the way back!

And if seeing the chimps in the wild only whetted your appetite for a little more chimp exposure, an hour-long boat ride to the Ngamba Island Chimpanzee Sanctuary near Entebbe just might do the trick. Home to 48 chimps rescued from a multitude of adverse conditions, whether as orphans, victims of illegal activities, or needy of medical attention, these guys roam free on 95% of the 95-acre forest. The other 5% is devoted to feeding the chimps and keeping them safe at night.

Our approach to view their 2 p.m. feeding was vociferously announced by loud guttural screeches, either as a chimp welcoming committee or an entreaty to leave – it was hard to tell. As it turns out, the greeting wasn’t for us at all but for the large alpha male approaching from the opposite direction. I was relieved we had not been the ones to elicit such a thunderous response.

Okay, you’re not seeing them in the wild exactly but you’re seeing a lot more a lot more openly – and they are indeed fun to watch. In between eagerly devouring their lunch of carrots, oranges and pineapples, they scratched themselves and each other, chased each other around, fought over food and generally entertained their human luncheon guests.

Another rowdy fracas erupted when a larger chimp stole food from a smaller companion who loudly called out to his friends for reinforcement – and they rapidly responded forcing the perpetrator to relent and give back the food. Hey, they’re just like people.

As soon as the guys had ingested a sufficient amount of munchables, they headed back to the forest to play, gambol about, climb the branches or rest free of human intrusion. And we got to leave with new respect for our closely aligned cousins with whom we share so much DNA – except, of course, for all that scratching… For more information, visit eldertreks.com which promotes “Exotic Adventures for Travelers 50 and Over.”

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The Wall was not only intended as a defensive structure, protecting the civilized Roman world from the unconquered barbarians in the north, but stood as a testament of Rome’s will and might. It was a propaganda statement, but also served as a census bureau, for the Romans were meticulous record keepers, and wanted to know who was in and who was out. It was the equivalent of a modern-day protection racket, for each person who would pass through the wall was taxed; you were protected, but you would have to pay for it. And tax and trade were among the many things that defined the Roman Empire.

But now, my real education, an oral one, of the history of Hadrian’s Wall would begin by booking a personalized tour with the passionate tour guide extraordinaire, Mr. Peter Carney. My day commenced with Mr. Carney driving us 16 miles from North West England’s city of Carlisle, to a place where locals simply refer to as the Wall. His narration began almost immediately, explaining why Hadrian’s Wall was built, what it did and how it changed the course of human and technological history. But this piece of history does not begin or end with the Wall; it’s as much about the history of the Roman Empire as well as the world we live in today.

The Wall That Bears His Name

Caesar Traianus Hadrianus, Roman emperor from 117 to 138 ACE, was known for his travels throughout the empire, devoting much of his time to civil and military constructions. He was considered to be a benevolent dictator as his interventions generally went unchallenged. And this included building projects, in particular, building projects in which he had designed. Prior to the advent of Hadrian’s Wall, he constructed the Arch of Hadrian in Athens, the Temple of Venus and Roman Arch of Hadrian and rebuilt the Pantheon in Rome. Many of the world’s most famous structures and monuments may lay claim as an homage to others, but were also intended to be an homage unto oneself, where the wealthy have branded their buildings with their own names and logos, even more so today. No lists required.

Hadrian had drawn the design for his Wall without ever having visited the new Roman province of Britannia before. Prior to his arrival, the province had suffered a major rebellion (119 to 121 ACE), comprising some 3,000 soldiers. This might have had something to do about his arrival in Britannia in 122 ACE, but most sources have indicated that it was really more for him to see the early construction of his Wall and then to revise it, and perhaps revise it again.

It was a herculean task to construct the Wall, almost unimaginable in its day, where Roman masons and auxiliary were relentlessly challenged by harsh windswept fields, wide rivers and rolling hills that were not conducive to Hadrian’s initial plans. But Hadrian and his builders, like the Roman Empire itself, could not be stopped, making brilliant use of local geographical features. The well-known Central Sector ran 12 miles along the crags, with the east Wall placed on a long ridge running eastwards to Newcastle, while the west Wall was often located on shorter ridges, allowing views of the north to improve the mobility of the army in the event of Celtic attacks in the frontier.

There is still no conclusive evidence to determine when Hadrian’s Wall was actually completed. An inscription suggests that at least one part of Wall was finalized around 128 ACE, six years after Hadrian left Britannia. He never saw what is believed to be the finished Wall, the Wall that bears his name… but his name and Wall will always remain the same.

Julius Caesar and Britannia

The first direct Roman contact with Britannia began when Julius Caesar undertook two expeditions in 55 and 54 BCE, believing the Britannic people were helping the Gallic resistance in what is today’s France. The first expedition was more of a reconnaissance one than a full invasion, only gaining a foothold on the coast of Kent,a county in South East England, unable to advance further due to storm damage to his ships. Despite what he thought was a failure, it was a political success, with the Roman Senate declaring a 20-day public holiday in honor of Caesar’s achievement of obtaining hostages and pacifying small tribes. The second invasion involved a substantially larger force where Caesar coerced many of the tribes to pay tribute in return for peace. This concluded with the surrender of the warlord, Cassivellaunus, and the installation of the more Roman-friendly king, Mandubracius. Caesar conquered no territory and left no troops behind, but established new trade partners and brought Britannia into Rome’s sphere of influence.

Remember Vindolanda

The Vindolanda site today contains a modern world-class museum using the latest interpretation techniques which convey the mysteries of Roman life at the Wall. The Vindolanda Writing Tablets, thin slivers of wood covered in unique Latin scribble, were found in the oxygen-free deposits, buried beneath the wooden fort’s floor. They are the oldest surviving handwritten documents in Britain.

In 2018 the museum was extended with an underworld gallery, housing collections of 2,000-year-old artifacts, which included everything from a wooden toilet seat to a children’s toy sword.

It could be a cold and lonely life for a Roman soldier stationed at Vindolanda, where heavy rains and chilling winds would often be a daily occurrence. Many of the solders had arrived from the warm climate of the highy populated Italian Peninsula, and for new Roman commanders and their families, it was akin to a blunt slap in the face in comparison to their early life of luxury in the capital city of Rome.

Vindolanda has attracted archaeological attention for more than a century, but many mysteries still surround it. Students and amateur archeologists volunteer their time and money for digs and lodging during the summer, but often never make it in due to the long list applicant

Claudius, the last person considered to be an Emperor

Emperor Tiberius Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus was born August 10 BCE at Lugdunum (modern Lyon, France). He was the first Roman Emperor be born outside of Italy, and was ridiculed throughout his life by speaking a rustic form of Latin. His pedigree came from the Julio-Claudian dynasty; Claudius from his father’s side, Julian from his mother’s side of the family. The mocking Claudius received upon speaking rudimentary Latin was not unusual, for he had been ridiculed most of life. At a young age, due to sickness, he had a limp and slight deafness, and was ostracized by his family and kept hidden from the Roman aristocratic eye. In a sense, this was was good for him, for potential enemies did not see him as a serious threat, thus saving him from the fate of assassinations and purges of earlier powerful Romans. By the time of Claudius’ adolescent years, his physical symptoms seemed to subside, and Rome’s senators and patricians began to notice his intelligence and scholarly interests. Nevertheless, Claudius did he best to remain out of view, pleased that there was no hope for advancement, which was exactly what he did not want.

But the new emperor, Caligula, his relative, did recognize Claudius to be of some use as a historian, and appointed him as his co-consul in 37 ACE to inflate the memory of Caligula’s deceased father, Germanicus. After Caligula’s assassination, despite Claudius hiding as an act of survival, he was declared emperor by the Praetorian Guard, as the last adult male of his family.

As an emperor, Claudius was considered to be fair and and efficient. He constructed new roads, aqueducts and canals across the Roman empire, and restored its finances after the excesses of Caligula’s reign. He issued new reformations; ranging from the mandatory death of a slave owner who kills his own slave, to public flatulation, believing it will lead to a healthful life.

But the manifestations of Claudius’ new physical condition were difficult to ignore: his head shook and his body buckled under weak knees. He slobbered and stammered when under stress, making his speech almost incomprehensible. Historians assume his stress was from the fear of his own assassination. Several coup attempts had already been made during the first year of his realm, and he was aware that it could happen at any moment. And so he did everything in his power not to offend his armies; rewarding the Praetorian Guard with coins and tributes, and resorting to bribery to secure loyalty. One of the major themes of the Roman Empire was expansionism, and Claudius made an important calculated decision: keep the generals busy and hide them from the Roman capital by sending them off to distant lands to conquer. And one of those distant lands was an island off the western coast of Europe which Julius Caesar had named Britannia.

In 43 ACE, Claudius sent the general and politician, Aulus Plautius, with four legions to Britannia, under the guise of an appeal from an ousted tribal ally. Claudius himself traveled to the island after the completion of initial offensives, bringing with him a massive army and reinforcements, which also included elephants, an unknown beast that had a demoralizing effect on the enemy. Claudius knew that no people could ever withstand the might of the Romans with their highly trained centurions, legionaries and auxiliary who would march into battle with precision, as a unit in tortoise shell formations, using advanced technical warfare, so advanced that the Celts had never even seen such a force before. It was akin to a Martian landing for the local tribes, witnessing Roman legionaries jumping from their fleet of vessels into rough waters, and then swimming fully dressed in heavy steel armor, carrying swords and supplies, prepared to battle the second they walked on the shore.

Emperor Claudius, whose dominionship began in 41 ACE, was murdered by poison in year 54, perhaps due to a conspiracy between the senate and the Praetorian Guard, but some assumed it was by his 4th and final wife, Agrippina.

The Final Conquest

The Roman conquest of Britannia finally ended under the command of Gnaeus Julius Agricola in 84 ACE, with the Roman armies’ slaughter of the Caledonians at the Battle of Mons Graupius. Celtic casualties were estimated to be upwards of 10,000 and about 360 on the Roman side. The battle ended the forty-year conquest of Britannia, a conquest that saw approximately 250,000 Celtic people killed. Thus, the new province of Romano-Britannia was officially born with Aulus Plautius as the first governor of the new province.

Things Change

From 43 to ACE 410, in the Roman province of Britannia, all people became Romanized and enjoyed the full rights of Roman citizenship. And Britannia’s former landscape, which had once consisted of broken paths, crumbling stick homes and savage Celtic warriors with only blue tattoos covering their bodies, became endowed with Romano-Britannic culture. Their world transitioned to a network of 1,500 Roman roads, some still used today, leading to well-planned city centers and forums with monumental architecture held together with the Roman invention of concrete. Fountains, bathhouses, arenas for music, plays and poetry flourished throughout the new province. Aqueducts fed new homes with running water for bathing, indoor sewage, and some with heated floors. And through trade, Rome’s new citizens would be introduced to unknown spices, unique tools and mechanics. People who lived in rural areas discovered new forms of agriculture, grains and advanced methods of farming. In times of famine, it was no longer necessary to raid a nearby tribe or neighbor to survive.

The new Romanized people were allowed to live and travel wherever they liked without any form of confliction, as did Roman citizens who settled in Roman Britannia, bringing new ideas and new cultures from the far corners of the empire. And they were all protected by the Wall which Hadrian had built.

Roman Emperor Constantine I: The Edict of Milan

In the year 313 ACE, Roman Emperor Constantine I, along with the Emperor Lininius, who controlled the Balkans, issued the Edict of Milan, a proclamation that promised religious tolerance and freedom to be a Christian to all of citizens of Rome. Constantine kept his word, where he himself converted to Christianity, and became known as the ‘First Christian Emperor,’ though many assumed he didn’t actually understand what it meant. Nevertheless, he is venerated as a saint in Eastern Christianity, and considered responsible for introducing this new religion to mainstream Roman culture, a culture who had once thought Christianity was just another new Jewish cult, this one dedicated to a man named Jesus who had once lived in an obscure part of the Roman world. Now, when new Christianized Roman legionaries arrived at the northen frontier, Christian Crosses were embedded on their shields, and the soldiers were morally shaken upon finding that the barbarity of druids, the high Celtic priests, actually preformed human sacrifices. As Rome transition Britannica to Christianity, as they had done to much of the known world, Constantine transitioned the Christian day of worship to Sunday.

Antonine’s Wall

Antonine’s Wall was a turf wall built on stones, initially intended to be Romano-Britannia’s furthest northern defense fortification and replace Hadrian’s Wall. But it was abandoned eight years after completion, when the Roman legions withdrew to Hadrian’s Wall in 162 ACE. The Caledonians north of the Wall were never fully defeated or occupied. The Roman sentiment was basically: ‘Why even bother with these savages, there’s really nothing up there anyway.’ Today tours are readily available to Antonine’s Wall, a UNESCO World Heritage Site.  

And in the end…

The Romano-Britannic province all seemed to work until it didn’t, when most of the Roman army pulled out to deal with far more important matters, such as to curtail invasions in Germania from the Franks, the Alemanni, the Goths and the Sarmatians, who stood at Rome’s doorsteps. The Western Roman Empire, whose empire had once spread from the damp gray of Britannia to the deserts of Arabia and to the river banks of the Nile, would eventually fall and become another empire, the Holy Roman Empire, with the Frankish king, Charlemagne, as its emperor.

The Romano-Britannic citizens were left with a scattering of Roman military with little real form of real protection from which would soon come from the remaining barbaric Celts in the north, the war-like Vikings of Scandinavia, the conquering pagan Saxons and Angles from Germania, endless tribal wars, a new Germanic language and a new Germanic name for their island: Angland.

John Clayton: The Savior of Hadrian’s Wall

John Clayton (1792-1890) was a lawyer, an antiquarian and the town clerk of Newcastle-upon-Tyne. During Clayton’s youth, his father purchased an 18th-century country mansion in Humshaugh, Northumberland, adjacent to Hadrian’s Wall. The ruins of the 2,000-year-old Roman fort, Cilurnum, ran through its front garden. Clayton enjoyed exploring and digging around the fort to the point of becoming an amateur archeologist. But, he became annoyed upon seeing local people loading the Wall’s stones into wheelbarrows for reusage in constructing their own buildings. This was not unusual for much the world was built from reusage, which included the stones and marble from the Roman Forum that helped build the Rome and Vatican City of today. But for Clayton, when his own stones were taken from his own property, it was something he could not bare.

John Clayton, due to his successful lawyer-ship, had become wealthy and began purchasing large portions of the Wall and forts, and preserved them by placing sods of grass on their top. At the time of his passing, Clayton owned five forts as well as most of the Wall within 20-miles of his residence.  I was informed by Mr. Carney that when we see contemporary maps dotted with English city names that end with: ‘-caster,’ ‘-cester’ and ‘-chester,’ it is an indication that the city was once the site of a Roman military camp or fort. Another example how the Roman world still affect us today.

Perhaps this obituary about John Clayton says it best:

He strove to become the Wall’s possessor. By purchasing these sites, he brought them under his protection. He stopped quarrying near to the Wall, forbade the use of Roman stone for new buildings, and moved buildings away from the archaeology. Today, he’s remembered as ‘The Savior of Hadrian’s Wall.’

Hadrian’s Wall Guided Walks with Peter Carney

Below is not a paid sponsorship for a Peter Carney Hadrian’s Wall Tour. It is an important suggestion to join one of his tours, and your memory will be enhanced, just as mine has, where the memory of my own tour is carried with me each day.

Contact: pe*********@ha***************.com
Website: www.hadrianswall-walk.com

POST SCRIPTUM: A few things that Julius Caesar left to the world

July, the Julian Calendar, Czar / Kaiser/ Cezary in Polish / Cezar in Romanian / César in French and Spanish / Caesarism / HMS Caesar / Caesarsboom (Caesar’s Tree).

For the Caesar Salad, however, it’s best to swing down to Old Mexico and visit Caesar’s Restaurant in Tijuana, and you’ll see its birthplace and how it was created by the Italian immigrant, Mr. Cesare Cardini, ninety-nine years ago.Here’s the history of Caesar Cardini’s Iconic Caesar Salad by T-Boy Food Critic, Audrey Hart.

‘Hail Caesar’ is a phrase that was used in the Roman Empire as a greeting, a way of showing respect to Julius Caesar. But after the phrase traveled to Germany and transition to ‘Heil Hitler,’ it appears to be less popular today.

PPS: Barbarian

You might have noticed that I use the term, ‘Barbarian,’ a number of times in the text. I’m aware that once a new word or names goes out to the world, over time it takes on a new meaning with different people. I studied the etymology of ‘Barbarian’ within the context of the Roman Empire. It means, during the life of the Imperial Western Roman Empire, any person regardless of race, religion and ethnicity was branded a barbarian if they did not adhere to Greco-Roman culture. But, looking at the name within the context of the ancient Athenian world, it means: any person who did not speak Greek, spoke an incomprehensible language which sounded similar to a noise that a sheep makes: ‘bah bah, bar bar, barbarian.

To see the first three installments in the series, visit:

What’s New and Old in London, Part I
What’s New and Old in London, Part 2
What’s New & Old in England’s North

The post All Roads Really do Lead to Rome: Hadrian’s Wall appeared first on Traveling Boy.

A cluster of five mountains like ancient trusting friends encompass Lake Como with tales to tell. They tower to the horizon in a domineering maze of peaks, deep irregular valleys, and crusted sheer-sided facings. Deeply sculptured from wind and rain, and often cloud-covered, they stand like faithful world-worn sentinels. Tagged the Pre-Alps, the mountains cast long shadows across the lake’s glacier-formed deep blue water creating a textured moment of sun and shade. Residents and visitors alike recognize that in only a few places on the planet are water and mountains in such remarkable intimacy and the recognition inspires soft expressions of awe and delight.

The mountains of Lake Como, like so much of Italy, refer to the past, where the Romans once roamed, dusty cathedrals with rusty bells abound, and villages and towns such as Como, Bellagio, and other hamlets are entrenched on the shores of the lake or carved into the mountains with steep staircases. Tunnels were dug through granite and sandstone leading to narrow two-lane roadways originally designed for horse and carriage, all magically sculpted into the base of the mountains with a master chisel. The mountains have been compassionate and patient, but for those searching for a parking space is when a lucky moment can happen.

Lake Como, the third largest lake in Italy and the deepest, a short 40-minute train ride from Milan, resembles a scrawny, long-legged inverted “Y”. Master artists with easels in hand are challenged, writers and poets search for their voice, starry-eyed long- awaited proposals ring true, and where many experience a rejuvenation of spirit in the ever-changing and wistful essence of this extraordinary setting. The magic of Lake Como has exerted its pull for hundreds of years; aristocrats, royalty, and people with wealth were captivated and built fascinating palaces, mansions, and villas overlooking the lake with terraced gardens, sculptures, and fountains, some with enough rooms to house a small army, while others are only accessible by boat.

Carefully maintained Taxi Boat Varenna motorboats operated by skippers with immense skills slice through the water leaving a trail of foam cleverly avoiding the reliable ferry and gleaming white sailboats with sails billowing, while taking passengers on a lake tour or to their hotel. Nevertheless, the mountains dominate: as resident and travel consultant Celia Abernethy said, “At any given time there are more hikers in Lake Como than sailors because the mountains offer some of the best hiking in Italy, laced with trails for all levels of fitness and with views forever.“

Cruising the lake via a motorboat or tour boat, villages and small towns appear at lake’s edge like a colorful mosaic.

Lecco Living

On this day in October, the sun glistens on the ruffled water and large groups of tourists have found their way to Bellagio, dining at sidewalk cafes, waiting for a lake tour, and crowding the Bellagio shopping passageway. Energetic servers bustle about to meet their client’s needs, and numerous languages collide in the lake air. To enhance and retain the magic of Lake Como and gently slip away from the tourist trail, the town of Lecco, a 30-minute drive from Bellagio on the eastern branch of the lake, where Lake Como narrows to form the Adda River, is an unspoiled and authentic homebase unfamiliar to most Lake Como visitors.

A great strolling town with pedestrian walkways and a riverside promenade, Lecco is the perfect place to meet Lake Como residents and browse family-owned boutiques not found in Milan, to take pleasure in two large town squares lined with sidewalk cafes, and to see the remains of a Roman wall that once encircled the city and a striking stone bridge spanning the river dating to 1386. Hiking and cycling paths that could take weeks to fully explore can be arranged with or without a guide, and provide a chance to visit farms producing honey, cheese and produce, and with luck catch a quick glimpse of the elusive Lake Como fox. A few days in Lecco is Lake Como validated.

Lake Como Cooking

Remaining off the beaten path, Mandello del Lario, an alluring port village tucked away between Lecco and Varena on the eastern leg of the lake, is home to Mamma Ciccia Cooking Academy. Mamma Ciccia, ala Silvia Nessi, a tall, attractive blonde, has been offering the popular four-hour classes in English for ten years at her restaurant, and often features Michelin-starred guest chefs. For children ages four to ten, a session called “Cooking is a game” pulls them into the fun and art of cooking. Smiling, she said, “For visitors to really understand Lake Como and Italy’s culture one has to fully explore the cuisine.”

In the hills above Bellagio, the 17-room, family-owned, Hotel II Perlo Panorama, circa 1922, offers one of Lake Como’s most spectacular dining vistas from a terrace that seems to be floating in the clouds. The meal itself is a romantic, five-minute-kiss lunch or dinner with award-winning Executive Chef Redolfi Alessandro who sources organic produce from local farms and perch and whitefish from the lake. For hundreds of international travelers to Lake Como the hotel is a priority and enhances the magic of Lake Como.

When You Go

Contact Travel Consultant, Celia Abernethy for Lake Como and Milano itineraries and travel guidance at ed****@mi*********.com ; Mamma Ciccia’s Cooking Academy, in**@ma*********.it ; www.mammaciccia.it; full day lake tour, Taste & Travel, guide, Elena Pettinicchio; www.tasteandtravelitaly.com; water Taxi & Boat, Hotel II Perlo Panorama, in**@il*****.com.

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It all happened in 2015, because our vacation home at Lake Havasu wasn’t being used enough.  After having had the place for almost fifty years, it was difficult to part with, but the expenses weren’t worth the one or two times a year the house was used.  So I sold it and did well on it financially.  My daughter suggested that instead of adding the income to the family trust, I should enjoy it with the family.  It sounded like a good idea, so I invited kids, grandkids, great grandkids, and shirt-tail relatives, adding up to a party of twenty.  A cruise of the Greek Isles was chosen because of its calm waters, in deference to my son-in-law and anyone else in the group who might suffer from sea sickness.  We would all fly to Venice, Italy, the embarkation location.  With twenty people planning to go on a trip, I was fearful that someone would get ill and need to cancel, but that didn’t happen.  We all made it!  My daughter Jeannette did the planning and worked with a travel agent, so all I had to do was hand over the credit card.

Some of us spent several days in Venice, Italy, a place that is now one of my favorite cities.  I loved traversing the canals via water taxi and found it exciting to enter our hotel from the water.  Of course, there were many places within walking distance, e.g. San Marcos Square and the gelato stand we visited daily.  We picked up souvenirs at Murano, known as the Glass Island, and Burano, the Lace Island.

We boarded the cruise ship on May 2^nd.  Our cabins were all on the same deck. I had booked a suite for myself so we would have what I referred to as “Party Central.”  I love company, so was always happy when my doorbell rang, even when I had planned to nap (I never did get a chance to nap).  The cappuccino maker turned out to be an invitation for visitors.  I know nothing about making cappuccino, or any form of coffee, for that matter, so every time someone dropped in for a cup, I’d summon my grandson to come and satisfy these requests.

Of course, I realized that we wouldn’t all be together all the time.  Everyone went their separate ways during the day, some in small groups and some in large groups.  But each evening, we all got together for dinner, where we had reserved two tables for the entire cruise.  Most evenings we would all go to my suite after dinner for various activities, among them a family trivia game originated by my grandson and his wife.

The first stop on the cruise was the island of Corfu, which I would call “The Kumquat Island,” because everything imaginable is made from kumquats:  liqueur, candy, cake, jellies, and much more.  This beautiful island is a favorite vacation destination.  

The next day we went to Santorini, a beautiful sight to see as the cruise ship approached, with all the snowy white buildings perched atop a hill.  When we went onto the island we were told we could get to the top “By tram or by donkey – same price.”  When one envisions Greece, this is probably the island that comes to mind.  Many movies were shot there, “Zorba the Greek,” “Mamma Mia,” “Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants,” and “Captain Corelli’s Mandolin,” to name a few.  My grandson and his wife rented a boat and invited me to join them. We took the boat to a lovey beach with black volcanic sand. My grandson and his wife cavorted in the clear blue water. I hadn’t worn my bathing suit, so couldn’t join them.  After the boat ride, we rode the gondola to the top of the island and had lunch while looking out over the ocean.

The next island we visited was Mykonos, known for its beautiful beaches and its pristine appearance, and it’s also known for its confusing streets that twist and turn, following no particular pattern. They were created in this fashion to confuse pirates, and tourists are confused as well, including us. All the houses and places of business are white, which is a requirement, the penalty for non-compliance being inaccessibility to the city’s water, sewers, or electricity.  The exception to the rule is that doors, shutters, and trim may be painted in bright colors – blue, green, or red.  With its underwater beauty, this island is also a scuba diver’s paradise.  Some of our party took a ferry to Delos, an island of ancient ruins, off the coast of Mykonos. One of my daughters felt her Greek trip wouldn’t be complete until she had some feta cheese. This goal was accomplished in Mykonos when she had some feta on her salad.

The last port of call was Katakolon, where we visited Olympia and were able to see the original Olympic stadium and walk where Olympic athletes had performed.  We saw the spot where the torch gets lit for all Olympic games. We also visited a farm where there were several crops, primarily olives of many varieties.  We had a typical Greek dinner, after which I was conversing with the captain of our ship and his wife, who happened to be sitting across the table from me, when I heard the strains of a Cretan song that promised the dances I had hoped to see from the moment I arrived in Greece. Sure enough, several of the waiters and waitresses began an authentic Greek dance.  Soon they summoned some of the guests to join them and, before long, there was a line of dancers snaking its way around the room.  Now that I’d finally seen an Anthony Quinn/Zorba the Greek-type dance, my Greek Isles experience was complete and I was ready to leave this beautiful place.

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Debbie Roskamp: T-Boy Photographer and Writer

The Molino Stucky Hilton in Venice

When my PR team booked me a room at a Hilton Hotel, I was surprised. It seemed strange to me, a Hilton in Venice. But that all changed once I stepped into the sublime Molino Stucky Hilton, a repurposed flower mill, nestled on the shores of picturesque Giudecca Island. The hotel was accessible by a short shuttle boat, just a twenty-minute ride to Venice’s spectacular Grand Canal.

My room was one of the elegant Molino suites which evoked the timeless design of the history of Venice, featuring stylish décor embellished with fabrics and Murano glass design details, including the Murano glass chandeliers. The views were enchanting, complete with comfortable king-size Serenity Beds and separate living rooms. The Executive Lounge offered complementary beverages, snacks and meals. The roof top pool featured breathtaking views and proved the perfect way to relax and unwind after exploring the hustle-bustle of Venice.

Audrey Hart: T-Boy Food Writer

The Paul Gauguin – Tahiti

As the Paul Gauguin docked in Tahiti, the first thing I noticed was the intoxicating scent of tropical vegetation. My cabin on the vessel was spacious, but what was waiting for me outside was even better. Indigenous Tahitian cuisine features what’s available from the land and sea. With such a plethora of fresh fruit and fish, it is virtually impossible to starve on the islands. Due to presence of the French (Tahiti is part of French Polynesia) there is a delectable hybrid of French and Polynesian creations. Coconut milk and vanilla – much stronger than the vanilla found in Mexico – are incorporated in many of the dishes. Poisson Cru, tuna cured in lime juice with chopped green onions, cucumbers and tomatoes; and Fife, a chicken stew with spinach-like taro leaves are among my favorites. The taro root (more flavorful than Hawaiian poi) is boiled like potatoes and not pounded. Breadfruit, sweet potatoes, and plantains also offer typical island starch fare. Mangoes, bananas, watermelon, pineapple, papaya, guava, sour sop and pummelo are in abundance. From the lagoons come parrotfish, perch, and mullet; from the open sea the freshest of tuna, bonito, Wahoo, scad and mahi mahi. For an insightful overview of these gastronomic delights, visit the main market in downtown Papeete, the capital of French Polynesia. Bon appétit!

Fyllis Hockman: T-Boy Writer

Mohonk: Sumptuous Old-World Flavor Tastefully Wrapped in Casual Elegance

When the couple, there for their 20th visit, commented that it was the first time they had taken the house tour -– one of the staples of the Mohonk Mountain House experience — I asked what they had been doing all those years. Liz and Dan Gleason from Haddon Heights, NJ replied: “There’s just so much to do all the time, you just can’t fit it all in. Every year, there’s a new surprise. This year, it’s the Smiley family parlor.”

And therein lie two of the greatest pleasures at this glorious old resort in New Paltz, NY –- activities to keep you busy all day (but only if desired) and the connection to the Smiley family, who has owned and operated the resort for over 150 years.

That connection reverberates throughout the property, which has been dragged kicking and screaming into the 21st century. First bought in 1869 by twins Albert and Alfred Smiley, the 10-room tavern that sat on 300 acres of lake and farm area has been expanded to encompass 266 rooms in connected buildings spanning a sixth of a mile, while the property now extends to 1200 acres, all of which is being regularly sanitized in compliance with CDC guidelines.

Which leaves you very unprepared for the grandiose creation greeting you as you drive up. The mammoth building sitting atop a hill more resembles a haunted house than a mountain resort. All jutting angles and balustrades, widows peaks and turrets, circular, angular and pointed wood, stone and rock cliffs result in a hodge-podge of architectural styles for which eclectic is an understatement. It’s an imposing mish-mosh of disparate styles, all tacked one upon the other, without thought to form or aesthetic. You don’t know whether you’ve arrived at a world-class hotel (which it is), Rapunzel’s castle or the Addams Family abode; you do know that it’s wonderful.

A walk through its many halls presents a similar adventure. A labyrinth of hallways, stairways, cubicles and cubby halls features a surprise at every turn: a library, billiard room, activity center. The life-size stuffed Basset Hound and Russell Terrier in front of the gift shop were so real I was sure I heard them bark.

Around every corner, a rocking chair, lounge chair, or settee looking out on yet another beautiful view. Long porches and outdoor alcoves everywhere lined with more rocking chairs, many facing the lake caressed by canoes, rowboats, kayaks and paddle boats beckoning for attention. The whole idea is to get guests to look at, get out in and enjoy the surrounding nature. Or not. Sitting also is good.

Some resorts boast multiple restaurants and swimming pools –- at Mohonk, it’s rocking chairs and gazebos. The connection with nature is all-encompassing. Be prepared: there are so many places -– gazebos, benches, chairs, hidden nooks, alcoves, both indoors and out — enticing you to just sit and read that you should carry a book with you at all times (or, if you’re under 18, your iPod).

Sitting on our balcony –- on yes, yet another rocking chair — overlooking the views was so peaceful we had to force ourselves to get up and start undertaking the myriad of activities awaiting us. As an incentive to get moving, the map of the building lists 59 different destinations –- and those are just indoors!

Just as the current structure is essentially unchanged since 1902, the same goes for the initial mission of the resort, as first espoused by Albert Smiley: it remains dedicated to a renewal of the mind, body and spirit in a beautiful natural setting. That vision still permeates the property, embodying an old-world ambience that adds charm and character that no modern-day hotel complex can come close to matching.
You want to do some hiking, rock-climbing or mountain biking? You’re in the right place. Want to ride a snowmobile, a Jet Ski or watch TV – you’re not. Mohonk is all about tranquility. And simplicity. This is not the kind of place where they bring you umbrella drinks by the pool.

Okay, there actually is a TV located in one of the meeting rooms but a guest survey taken several years ago in which 97% of respondents said they didn’t want them in the rooms probably assures that there won’t be many more making an appearance. And the 15-20 local Smileys still involved in day-to-day operations probably also guarantee that the same ideal will continue. But make no mistake: this is no out-dated, out-of-touch, old-fashioned resort experience; I predict an exciting, activity-laden, fun-filled time to which, like the Gleasons, you’ll want to return to year-after-year.

Now, about those outdoor activities? There’s swimming, inside and out, fitness center and spa, boating, fishing, yoga, guided nature tours, croquet, golf, disc golf, tennis and, in winter, ice skating, snowshoeing and tubing. Eighty-five miles of carriage roads and trails are available for hiking, running, biking, horseback riding and cross-country skiing.

Strolling the grounds is an activity in itself, past fish ponds, a putting green, stables, a Barn Museum chock-full of fascinating antiques and historic memorabilia, and extensive award-winning gardens. Some are laid out in a well-marked precisely structured design, an interesting antidote to the resort’s chaotic architectural structure; other less manicured foliage spill out over more trellised walkways and, yes, more gazebos, leading around, through, between, beneath and beyond an intricate maze — literally — of evergreen trees. Mohonk mellows, meditates and motivates all at the same time. For more information, call 1/800-772-6646 or visit www.mohonk.com.

Ringo Botano

Hotel Montana, Switzerland

Much of Lucerne, Switzerland, was before me from my spacious corner room at the Art Deco Hotel Montana.

Richard Carroll: T-Boy Writer

 Ballyfin, Ireland

The rhythms of time and earth and an enormous surging power of culture were hauntingly striking as we were met at the gates by Head Butler and Coachman Lionel Chadwick and his carriage pulled by two prancing horses, who led the way to BallyFin, a neoclassical, 1826, castle-like hotel in the heart of Ireland, amidst a 614-acre estate. The teeth of autumn gnawed at the weather, as the songs of unseen birds drifted in a gusty wind.

Stepping inside this historic building, guests are greeted by a warm Irish welcome. A vanished era is vividly brought back to life at BallyFin, with an unsurpassed grandeur of serenity steeped in eternal memories. The 20-room hotel with whispered secrets, is enamored by Irish hospitality, which is among the best in the world along with Mexico and Fiji. The hotel with crystal chandeliers, inland timber flooring, glorious paintings, and an ambience without a drop of pretension. BallyFin is also home to Michelin-starred chef Richard Picard-Edwards and his eight-acre walled produce garden, which assists the chef in his culinary creativity, set on a table with crystal and silver. When the capriciousness of time told us it’s time to pack our bags, we wished that instead, we were only arriving.

A hotel on the border of Mexico and Guatemala

Covering the world my entire adult life, as a working journalist, with an editorial focus south of the U.S. border, I was driving the African Queen, a VW camper, on assignment, to Panama, as the sun was slowly fading, because it’s not wise to drive at night in Mexico or Guatemala. I stopped in an unnamed village in Guatemala on the Mexico border, at something that looked like a small hotel with a bent sign with bullet holes advertising Cobro beer, and where three lazy dogs out front, not bothering to bark, were sleeping. I walked in, brushing past another sleeping dog who didn’t bother to move, to a small, sagging counter and an attractive, smiling lady with a gold tooth, and blazing black hair, who greeted me wearing a handful of green jade jewelry. I spoke to her in Spanish, and she replied in Q’anjob’al, one of 22 recognized Maya languages. An elderly man sitting on a faded Equipale chair in a corner, who looked like Zorba the Greek, spoke to me in Spanish, explaining that she didn’t speak Spanish, only Maya, and her name is Alitzel. I asked him if he would ask Alitzel if she had a room available. There were only six rooms, but by pure luck, one was available in the back with a window. Alitzel, translated from Maya to English, “Smiling girl,” wrote the number 114 on a scrap of paper, which, converted from quetzales, is just over fifteen dollars. The room had a sink, a ceiling fan, and a cot-like bed with clean bedding. The commode was just down the hall with a few lizards playing tag on the walls, and one dangling lightbulb. I fell asleep, and in about an hour or so, I was awakened by the wonderful sounds of marimba music. I looked out the window, and among the palm trees on a patio, was a colorful hammock where a gray-headed lady was lounging, and a family of four musicians, shoulder to shoulder, one maybe eleven years old, playing a custom and lengthy marimba, next to a rusted old truck that was used as a chicken coop for free-ranging chickens. The serenade lasted for hours, and it was the best night’s sleep ever. In the morning there was a knock on the door, I opened the door to find on a tray, a pot of the famed Guatemalan coffee, hot rolls, white cheese, a steaming dish with eggs, and some savory Maya specialties decorated with pungent flowers. I offered Alitzel, who was wearing an intricately embroidered traditional Maya huipil, to pay for breakfast, but with a few words in broken Spanish, she said, “It’s part of the 114 quetzales.” She also asked me if I would like to have a dog. I would return to Alitzel’s place again, if I could find it, and hopefully the marimba family would be available.    

Phil Marley

The Westin Hotel in San Francisco, California

With a spacious suite overlooking Union Square, cable cars skited up the hill. My stay would never be complete without an Irish Coffee at the lounge.

Ed Boitano: T-Boy Writer

The towering Star Clipper

The Star Clipper is one of the largest and fastest sailing ships on the sea today. Modeled after the clipper ships of the past, it seamlessly blends the best traditions of that legendary era with state-of-the-art amenities of today. With a maximum of just 170 guests, accommodations are spacious and life aboard is relaxed. Morning begins with the hoisting of the sails to the accompaniment of the title theme from the film Master and Commander. It is a moment which most passengers, who are there as much for the nautical experience as the destinations, never miss. Passengers can climb the mast to one of the Crow’s Nest for panoramic views, or quite literally hang on one of the two Widow’s Nets, a blanket-like braided net that hangs over the side of the vessel. Creature comforts include elegant dining room, Tropical Bar and Piano Bar and swimming pools. Snorkeling, sailing, waterskiing and windsurfing are also available. What I liked best was that you could get to know your traveling companions in a casual atmosphere. I think I even made some life-long friends.

Raoul Pascual: T-Boy writer

No particular hotel

I am not easily impressed. I would say the most plush hotel I’ve been to was in Florida when I accompanied my wife to one of her conferences but I can’t remember the hotel. As for me, one hotel is the same as another as long as it covers the basic — a place to sleep and refresh. In Manila I slept overnight at a travel pod and that was good enough for me. Simple and practical — that’s just fine with me. I don’t go out of town to enjoy a hotel. I go for the location. I’m too much of a cowboy I guess. But if there’s a hotel out there that’s willing to change my mind, I’m open to that too.

Perhaps the most fun I’ve had is the Time Share we went to in Angels Camp, CA because that was the first real adventure we had with the kids. But it wasn’t the place that made it enjoyable but the family I got to enjoy it with.

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Let me ask you what might seem like a funny question. Do you ever think about smells when you’re on vacation? No, I don’t mean any of those truly dreadful smells we’re all familiar with, I’m talking about ones that, when you get even whiff of it someplace, it brings back – instantly – wonderful memories of a unique vacation. I mention this as the other day I saw a photo of Bergen, in Norway, and it reminded me of the marvelous, and thoroughly intoxicating aroma I inhaled, as I entered the home – and now Museum – of the world famous composer Edvard Grieg in that lovely city.

Located right above Bergen – and you can see by the photo with this story what a stunning place Bergen is – Grieg’s home sits atop a picture perfect hillside that looks down on Bergen. As I walked into his home I was transported back in time to not only where he lived and worked, but also to an era when everything was less rushed. As I walked, very slowly, into each room (savoring the maximum benefit of this, well, scent) my nostrils relished the bewitching aroma of pine floors that were, like a fine wine, aged to perfection. Just smelling all this muskiness, made me feel refreshed.

This one-of-a-kind museum is located about 5 miles from Bergen, with the captivating name of TROLDHAUGEN – which I felt was also truly magical, as it means “Hills of the Trolls,” and it was his home for 22 years. The city of Bergen has re-created it, as it was during his lifetime, and it’s the kind of vacation experience that’s so special, you’ll remember it for the rest of your life with fondness and good feelings. In addition to the heady and woodsy aroma that I found so calming, it surprised me to find out how short Grieg was. Somehow I’d pictured him as being tall and aristocratic for some reason. But as you enter his home, you’ll see a small, almost toy looking statue. Asking the guide who and what it was, I was told, “Yes, that’s Mr. Grieg, and he was rather on the short side shall we say.”

The marvelous mementos in his home are equally fascinating, as this is where he composed some his greatest works, including the immortal Peer Gynt Suite. To learn much more about all this, let me recommend two specific ideas. One, that you plan on going to Norway to see his home for yourself – and, of course (!) all the other multitude of intriguing things to see and do in “Natural Norway.” Second, Type in Google, and then type in Edvard Grieg home, Bergen, Norway, and you’ll discover a mass intriguing websites on this Norwegian genius. Before you actually go to any of the websites, please do this. At the top of your screen you’ll see numerous words, starting with YOU. Then SEARCH, then IMAGES. Click on Images and you’ll find a stunning collection of top notch pictures of Grieg’s home – interior and exterior.

As Norway has so many fabulous fjords and magnificent mountains, I’d often pondered what – or how – would be the best way to see this lovely country.

What about by cruise ship?

One of the Hurtigruten cruise ships

Yeah, no kidding, I took one of the superb, modern and in my view luxurious ships’ of Norwegian Coastal Voyages, but now known as Hurtigruten Voyages. Go online and type in Norwegian Coastal Voyages for their, and the Hurtigruten story. I sailed with them from Bergen all the way up to Kirkenes in the north, and we stopped at about 70 or so places – but, I hear you say, that’s too many for me. No, it isn’t, as most of them are only for a few minutes as they drop off – and pick up – cargo, mail and now and again, one or two new passengers.

Yes, it WAS very early in the morning, but I was able to get a photo of exactly what I’ve just shared with you – one (!) passenger disembarks our ship!

And it’s all truly fascinating. But they also stop for all day tourist excursions at places like Tromso, Alesund and Trondheim. If you’ve found out and learned something you never knew before you read THIS story, and if you want to read about more offbeat travel places (and other ideas in travel around the world) be sure YOU stop here to read my frequent Traveling Boy Travel With A Difference features.

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I imagined that a story about my trip to Ibiza would be about the constant party of hedonistic abandon the island’s reputation led me to expect. Instead, while that scenario may still play out occasionally in Ibiza, mostly I saw couples in their late twenties, early thirties – often with children – and some older couples and singles of both sexes, enjoying the beaches, museums and fine cuisine in the many local restaurants.

Ibiza, once the playground of Europe’s indulged youth, has matured into a destination with more sobering pursuits. Certainly, the party reputation lends some cache to the older folks looking for some cred with their offspring, and the clubs are still there, but visitors are finally noticing the historic sites and archaeological digs as they take in the charm and beauty of the island.

Ibiza’s old town, Dalt Vila, is surrounded by the best preserved ancient walls in the Mediterranean. It is a UNESCO World Heritage Site that contains a castle, cathedral, museum, and many private homes – all of which make up the original city of Eivissa. There are restaurants and bars, and tons of funky shops (a remnant of Ibiza’s hippie era) for distractions from the history – if you need them. I enjoyed the architecture and the views from the walls. I love being surrounded by the parapets and ramparts of ancient times; they give an often crazy world some perspective.
view of the castle at Old Town Ibiza.

But the history is not all contained within the walls. Spreading out below one gate is the Cuban barrio, created when those Ibizans who emigrated to Cuba returned and recreated their old neighborhoods below the walls. The distinctive architecture would be familiar to anyone who has visited Cuba.
burial caves at the Necropolis of Puig des Molins.

A short drive from there will take you to the Necropolis of Puig des Molins, another UNESCO World Heritage Site, where the Phoenicians, who settled here before Christ was born, buried their dead. Subsequent conquering civilizations followed suit, so Carthaginian, Roman, Moor and Christian graves can be found here as well. While most of the graves were looted centuries ago, archaeologists still found ceramics and some jewelry in the stone coffins. I was surprised to see glass and metal that were found in some of the earliest ones. The onsite museum has a large display of them and exhibits that explain the different eras expertly.

Another UNESCO World Heritage Site (Spain has more than any other country) is the ruins of the Phoenician settlement in Sa Caleta, atop the red cliffs surrounding the secluded crescent beach and clear blue waters of Ses Salines. Dating from 654 BCE, it is one of the earliest settlements on the island. All that is left to see are the reconstructed foundations of the shelters built here eons ago.

Sharing the same vantage, and for the same reasons, are the remnants of concrete bunkers constructed in the 1930s to protect the island from enemy invasion. Below them, at the water’s edge, the rustic fisherman’s shacks line the shore providing easy access to the sea. Each element is picturesque in its own way, but together, especially at sunset, the sum is greater than its parts, and the beauty in the slanted sunlight is almost surreal.

You could almost say that about the whole island. Everywhere you look you’ll find stunning architecture and scenery – even underwater. In Playa de Figueretas is another UNESCO World Heritage site, the underwater Posidonia Meadows. Billed as the largest living organism in the world, the sea bed is covered with a posidonia plant that stretches for miles. Posidonia is like sea grass and integral to the livelihood of Ibiza. Its presence keeps the water of Ibiza’s famous beaches clear, while providing food and protection to various sea creatures. Because it is a deciduous plant, its leaves are washed ashore where they pile up and protect the beaches from storm erosion. They can be harvested and used for animal bedding, fertilizer on the fields, and in the early days were layered on roofs between clay as insulation. No wonder it is so protected!

While in Ibiza I strolled the cobblestone streets, explored the red cliffs and blue sea-caressed beaches, snorkeled the Posidonia Meadows, visited the museums, and dined in some of the finest restaurants. Oh – and I also went to Pacha, the club, to see what all the fuss was about and dance off the many calories I consumed with all that fine dining. It wasn’t hedonistic, it wasn’t drug-crazed, and it wasn’t a drunken party. It was just another side of the complexity that is Ibiza – the jewel of the Mediterranean.

To learn more about Ibiza check out http://tourism.eivissa.es

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Do you know what a NARROW BOAT is? You might well wonder why I pose such a question – I mean it should be obvious: a boat that’s very slim and trim. Well, you’re almost right. A Narrowboat (notice NO hyphen) epitomizes the often weird and many wonderful ways of tourism in Great Britain.

Brits call them Narrowboats, as it IS one word, and depending on their size and length, they can hold from 2 to 10 people. Research indicates there are over 38,000 Narrowboats in the UK, and they’re a wonderful leisurely way to see the 3,000 (yes, THREE THOUSAND!) miles of handsomely historic waterways that, Britain being Britain, envelops you in over 200 years of (mostly!) fascinating local and national history. To slightly alter a well-known cliché, the sights are a joy for fresh eyes!

Although a large percentage of Narrowboats are permanent homes for many people, there are still lots of places they can be rented, hired, or enjoyed as a special trip. Prices and itineraries online: Type in “Narrowboats in England.” Maximum length is 72 feet (2.13m) and to see WHY they’re called NARROWboats, go online and check out the multitude of nifty photos.

My first sighting of these gaily colored boats was on a trip to Great Britain. I was having “A Ploughman’s Lunch” (usually bread, cheese, and fresh, absolutely deeeeeelicious (!) ham, green salad, hard boiled eggs and an apple …. Plus a superb only in the UK pickled onion… aaaah, I can taste and sense the mouthwatering aroma right now), and it was in one of those classic riverside pubs.

Off to my left there was a long, narrow (!) bridge that spanned a gorgeous, lushly green valley below. What totally stunned me, and made me wonder if what I saw was REAL or a dream, was that the bridge was not (as I expected) for a roadway or railway, but a water canal! Adding to my joy and “visual senses,” was that coming towards us on the bridge waterway, was a slim, trim highly imaginative, full of character, multicolored Narrowboat.

I’ve always loved “chatting up the locals” wherever I go, and near my lunch table was a middle aged couple who looked as if they’d stepped out of a British Tourist office poster advertising Britain and her people. The woman smiled at me, noticing the obvious surprise of seeing what was now very near to us. “Yes,” she said in a marvelous – but a somewhat hard to understand local brogue, “they ARE lovely aren’t they… you can rent them, and some offer you the chance to step off the Narrowboat and stay overnight in one of the many waterside cottages.”

To get an even better “feel” for Narrowboats, check out the Huddersfield Narrow Canal. At 3 miles in length, it is the deepest canal in Britain, and took 16 years to build and, as you’ll see, has some absolutely exquisite local scenery along the canal route.

Talking with some Narrowboat owners, I was intrigued to hear that another joy of Narrowboating, is the number of Locks you’ll go up or down through. The UK has 1,569 locks and 53 tunnels that some canals go through, plus 3,112 canal carrying bridges, and even 370 water canal aqueducts.

For photo buffs, I urge you to check out – and for sure photograph – the BINGLEY FIVE RISE LOCKS on the Leeds and Liverpool Canal at Bingley. If shot with a wide angle lens, it looks as if the five lock gates are part of some Steeple Chase canal adventure. It’s too confusing to describe how they function, as you’ll get a much better idea of WHY they’re so intriguing, by a personal visit. I’d heartily recommend you go in the summer months.

Don’t be narrow minded: experience a trip in a Narrowboat in the UK.

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On a dreary overcast morning, George Clooney was nowhere to be found. His canary-colored mansion on Lake Como was only viewable from the water and we saw just one person on the terrace.

“That’s probably someone on the cleaning staff,” said our tour guide, as we zipped past the mansion in a small tourist skipper, the chilly wind against our scarf-clad faces, all six of us. Due to the cloud cover, the temperature felt barely above freezing.

We were present far outside the tourist season, when Clooney usually arrived. A few other boats lilted on the water, but there wasn’t much activity.

Our gazes remained on the mansion, which together with a tall cypress tree, a mix of laurels and broadleaf evergreens, cast a shimmering zig-zag pastiche of yellow and green reflections on the water, as if our group had sailed straight into an oil painting. With my phone, I snapped a dozen photos.

Clooney purchased the villa more than 20 years earlier. Back then, not many foreign celebrities gallivanted around these parts. He invested a few million to fix up the place and triggered a generation of sightseers. According to gossip from the locals, Clooney was now sick of people sneaking photos from the lake. I couldn’t blame him.

While others in our group swiveled their heads to scan the landscape surrounding Clooney’s home, I instead fixated on the reflections and gave thanks, not just for the sheer privilege of a business trip to Como, but also for shaking off the paparazzi impulse I once had, around 2010, when I saw photographers hounding Clooney’s then-partner while she waltzed out of LAX.

That was a different business trip, a different me.

Yet there on Lake Como, the memory came right back.

After returning from a long trip overseas and landing that day at LAX, I slumped at the back of an inter-terminal bus on a 90-degree afternoon. Hordes of sweaty passengers crammed their way through the doors, all struggling with various sizes of luggage. Everybody seemed miserable.

Out in front, on the road, we saw a woman stride confidently across the sun-baked asphalt, but with something draped over most of her head. A small mob of photographers encircled her as she walked, capturing images in rapid-fire fashion from every direction as she approached the garage. Unfazed, she ignored them all, not giving an inch.

After the woman disappeared, the paparazzi dispersed and a few of them boarded the bus. One sat next to me, spreading across two seats when he only needed one. A camera hung over his shoulder while he flipped through photos on a second camera.

“Who was it?” I asked him.

“George Clooney’s girlfriend,” he said, without looking up.

As the bus lurched its way forward through the mess of traffic, with sounds of shifting transmissions and horns outside, a toxic thought came to me. My travel writing career was circling the drain. I would never make any real money and I was going broke. I could land assignments that took me far away, but I rarely got to write anything interesting or elevate the stories of marginalized people the way I really wanted.

Watching the paparazzi, I thought, maybe I could do this. I could be one of these jerks. Get into the business for a few months, make a quick fortune peddling photos, then bail. Done.

After a few seconds, maybe a few minutes, the idea dissolved. Luckily. But for a brief spell, after witnessing those guys, I actually thought about it. I really did. In a life of bad decisions, that would have been a bad decision.

Now with killer shots of the reflections on Lake Como, I’d happily give away the photo on social media. My journalism career was still adrift, but I’d managed to plug the drain for a few more years. Thankfully, I never turned into one of those paparazzi creeps.

As we zoomed past the villa, the person on the terrace shuffled back into the building. I didn’t care either way if Clooney was around. I had my artsy photo of the water and I felt fantastic.

With the reflections now behind me, I turned around for one last glimpse of Clooney’s mansion. I heard the motor of the boat and nothing else but pure, pristine water rippling in the wind.

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