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.

The post I Took 19 People to the Greek Isles appeared first on Traveling Boy.

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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Prague, the capital of the Czech Republic is a photographer’s delight. We’ve been lucky enough this year to have had two professional guides in the Czech Republic (one in Prague and another in Brno, the second largest city in the country.) Both guides gave the same advice: Don’t come with lists with convictions you have to see certain things. The way to enjoy Czech Republic cities, they say, is to wander aimlessly and see what comes up. And what comes up is we find Prague is a beautiful old city, one of the few major European cities that was not seriously damaged in World War II and one of the few to show no evidence of the Romans.

“There is no Roman influence or presence here,” says our guide Milos Curik. “They found dense forest between Moravia and Bohemia that was too much trouble to penetrate so they didn’t come this way. The land is actually still one third heavily forested.” What we find here are ancient buildings and a lot of history. Milos, with a personal interest in arts and music, gives his top five places to visit as the Kampa Museum and its examples of Central European art under communism; the Museum of Cubism that has celebrated its presence now for a century; the Jewish museum which is really a group of five magnificent synagogues; the Lobkovicz Palace, a museum of Old Masters; and the little houses along Golden Lane in one of which Kafka wrote some of his books. Milos then sneaks in a number 6: the Cloister of St. Agnes. So when asked, Milos himself has lists.

But despite what we now know, we, too, have come with lists, places we want to see and especially photograph. And we want to start now! We have our cameras. We are ready to produce our private postcards from Prague. But we’re not ready for the surprises.

We knew we’d want to see the Astronomical Clock, Prague’s famous 15th century timepiece and we guessed correctly we’d find some tourists hamming it up below. And we were sure we’d discover more than a few references to, arguably, its favorite writer, Kafka. No surprises.

We knew of Prague’s love of music. After all, this is the country of Anton Dvorak and the city where Mozart composed two operas and conducted the first performance of Don Giovanni in Prague’s Estates Theatre. So it’s no surprise to find street musicians celebrated and plaques on the Charles Bridge given a lifetime of polish from the touch of superstitious hands. Milos also takes pains to show us the original Prague cubit, based on a metal measurement of the length of Charles IV’s forearm. The measurement has been on this door on Neruda Street for a long time: Charles lived from 1316 to 1378!

We expected to see evidence of devout Catholicism in Prague’s churches and museums (and St. Nicholas Church surely showed us that in Prague Castle) but we didn’t quite know what to make of the disconcerting statue of the skull under the robe in the Basilica of St. George at a moment when we didn’t have Milos — and none of the placards were in English. Enough to imagine the effect it would have had on minds of the Middle Ages!

We guessed we’d see couples and we did photograph some recently wedded ones. A moment later we follow a tourist with a red shirt (attracted to the color like moths to flame). He stops by chance beside an oddity – what looks like Don Quixote but we’re not in Spain.

Our visit to the John Lennon Wall is intercepted by Segway tourists. Who would have thought a Dean Kamen New Hampshire invention would work so well on the cobblestones of Prague? Or that John Lennon would be so honored in a distant land? Young people in the communist era saw the popular Beatle as an anti-establishment hero and at random chose a wall right beside the French Embassy for their anti-government graffiti. The authorities kept removing the slogans until the Embassy asked they be left alone, surprisingly because somehow one doesn’t expect French institutions to have a sense of humor. The slogans on the wall are ever-changing but words attributed to Lennon are never erased even those that say “Hey! Who’s been writing on my wall?”

It was no surprise to find soldiers marching in a medieval city — and we were sure there would be museums of armor though we were taken aback to find one in so diminutive a Mother Goose-like village as Golden Lane especially near number 22 where Kafka’s sister lived and where he stayed to write some of his books.

Despite having so many churches Prague is a secular city. Why would it not be; its people had suffered for centuries from religious wars? Organized religion has not been kind to this ancient city. Yet we knew we would notice beautiful wood carvings even though we might not find the story behind them. Fortunately our guide Milos spoke fluent English, fortunate because during a third of a century of communist oppression, the school children learned Russian not English and the museums don’t exhibit much in our language. So we expected church wood carvings but not Charlie Chaplin puppets.

We know a variety of T-shirts and baseball caps awaits tourists in every city. No surprise to find then in Prague but, hey! Jewish baseball caps in the Old Jewish Quarter? Why not – after all there was a 1913 song called “Jake! Jake! The Yiddish Ballplayer,” and Hank Greenberg and Sandy Koufax were both Hall of Famers.

So which of our postcards surprised us? We didn’t expect to see such amusing stuff in restaurant windows in Neruda Street or that the street itself would be so beautiful, so mesmerizing. Indeed that Prague itself would be both so fascinating and such fun.

The post Postcards From Prague: Contrasts in our Cameras appeared first on Traveling Boy.

Hong Kong was always a favorite city, one that offered multiple adventures and my first close-up view of a great mix of East and West.

In the last offering in this Traveling Boy group effort, https://travelingboy.com/travel/favorite-airports-of-our-past/, I described one of my earlier landings in the city, via the old Kai Tak Airport, a legend of passenger terror.

But Kai Tak is long gone now, replaced in 1998 by Kong Kong International Airport on Chen Lap Kok Island in Lantau.

The handover of Hong Kong from British colonial rule to Chinese sovereignty, after 156 years of British rule that began after the first Opium War, was completed the prior year.

I had not been to Hong Kong since several years prior to the transfer, a second honeymoon of sorts, with a still relatively new bride.

An opportunity to again darken the door of the Hong Kong Foreign Correspondents’ Club on Hong Kong Island recently presented itself.

It was one of the few bright spots in a cascading travel hell. I left Washington, DC on January 24th, heading to the ASEAN Travel Conference on Cebu Island in the Philippines. The trip, with short layovers, was 25 hours long. That seemed onerous, particularly in today’s Economy Class.

That was nothing.

No short story, but with record winter storms, cancelled flights, plane malfunctions like a wing flap not working, etc., I landed in Cebu, mostly sleepless, on the 29th. That included two frozen days in Boston, fortunately at a hotel, after which another blizzard came in and my flight was again cancelled just as I got to the gate. Not wanting to be snowed in again, which would have deep-sixed my trip, I pleaded with an experienced old hand agent to get me into the air. He put me on the last plane out, at midnight, on Qatar Airways. After two hours of deicing it finally departed, slowly down the snowy runway for what seemed a very long time and then, with ample suspense, lifted off on the way to Doha. After a long sleepless night in Doha’s admittedly striking airport, I flew to Hong Kong. How best to survive a long layover there?

An old buddy, a longtime journalist in Hong Kong, met me at the airport and, as I had reciprocity with Hong Kong’s press club, we enjoyed dinner and drinks there until the club shut down, chatting away with the eclectic crowd that club always attracted, including criminal barristers and people involved in ocean freight, and diminishing journalists.

The last time I was in the club was New Year’s Eve to usher in 1993. Just before midnight, my wife and I had just returned to the club from the Lan Kwai Fong district located a ways down the hill from the club. The New Year’s Eve crowd was huge, shoulder to shoulder in the bars. The crowds gave us a bad feeling and we retreated up the hill to the club for the countdown.

Lucky break for us. Just before midnight the crowd of twenty or so thousand stampeded out of the district’s plentiful bars to cheer in the new year. Many rushed onto a narrow cobblestone street we had just walked up. There were ample spilled drinks mixing with string in a can and foam on a very steep grade. Revelers started sliding down, and panicked. People fell down and were trampled. At the bottom of the mayhem, bodies piled on bodies. Twenty people were crushed to death and scores injured.

Avoid large places, keep to small, the lesson of a Japanese folk tale, The Boy Who Drew Cats, came to mind.

But most memories of Hong Kong were far happier than that tragedy. They included the gone and sorely missed old Hong Kong Hilton, which before sunrise would put guests in a antique Bentley or antique Rolls and drop them halfway up the mountain, letting the joggers get acquainted with the island as they found their way back as the city and harbor below came to life. I’d missed Hong Kong and was thrilled to be back, catching a second wind that travel excitement can bring.

Enjoying the balmy air, we did a long walkabout on Hong Kong island. It was the first chance I had to try out a wide angle lens that arrived just before I left DC. Glad I kept my main camera with me when traveling, as the airlines lost my suitcase for another eight days, damaging it to boot. By the time it caught up to me on the island of Bohol (Philippines) my clothes were carrying me around.

The enclosed snaps are of urban landscapes that caught my eye as we walked to Hong Kong’s Star Ferry, and a couple from the subway as I made my way back to the airport. Throughout my trip in the Philippines the 9mm F2.8 APS-C prime lens by Viltrox prove to be a lot of fun, well worth the 200 beans it cost.

Pictures from Cebu Airport, Philippines

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Long overdue for a return, last fall I was offered a chance to attend Peru’s first eco-travel conference, with side explorations of northeast and northern Peru, including the world’s highest tropical mountain range and ancient ruins far older than Machu Picchu. Those locales proved an embarrassment of riches, well-worth recounting. But I’ll do that down the road. For now I’ll describe my return to the lower elevation of Lima. I had to kill a day awaiting a midnight flight to the States. At the baggage claim, I overheard a couple fellow travelers setting up passage on a boat to islands off the coast of Lima. They aimed to swim with the sea lions that ruled those seas. That sounded terrific. I quickly signed on. 

First though, a mild panic. Stepping outside Jorge Chávez International Airport, I entered a giant snow globe filled with dirty snow. I looked about for a fire spewing ashes. None was seen. I closed one eye. Nothing. Switched. Uh oh. Only one eye could see the drifting ashes. Nothing to be done then.

We proceeded to find the taxis that waited to take us on a fifteen minute ride northwest to the port of Callao. No time to explore the port environs founded by Spain in 1537. Others also founded it, over the prior 10,000 years, focused on fishing its waters. English and Dutch pirates were fond of attacking the settlement, stimulating the construction of high defensive walls. Pirates were nothing compared to the earthquakes and tsunamis that in the mid-1700’s wiped out most of the population. The sea’s ample fishing continued to attract those willing to press their luck.

Leaving our luggage in the office of the water excursion company, Ecocruceros, we walked to a small boat that ferried us out to a larger one, holding a dozen or so eager tourists from a wide swath of the globe, and several crew. The time at sea was predicted to be between three and four hours, bringing the S.S. Minnow to mind.

Along the way to Palamino Islets at which eight to ten thousand sea lions hang, one passes several other islands. These include El Camotal, the Peruvian Atlantis. It’s mostly submerged except during low tide between December and March. Once a vibrant agricultural community growing the sweet potatoes prized in Peru, it sank in 1746 when the earthquake and tsunami reshaped the coastline. Much more visible is San Lorenzo Island, the largest and tallest on Peru’s coast. It houses a naval base that occasionally shells part of the island for target practice. Another island is El Frontón, earlier known as Dead Man’s Island when inhabited by pirates. It became a maximum security penal colony in the 1900’s, including for political prisoners, never in short supply in 20th Century Peru.

El Frontón was shut down after a Shining Path uprising in the 1980’s over prison conditions. An explosive military attack killed hundreds of prisoners. Sea lions and Humbolt penguins now come and go freely. More birds, including boobies, cormorants and pelicans join the penguins on the Cavinzas Islands, a nature reserve. There was some mining of once valuable guano for fertilizer in these islands, but nothing significant compared to the islands much farther south. Plenty of guano is apparent on the cliffs. A bucket and rope indicates someone still snitches some for a local crop.

An impressive escape from El Frontón was managed by Guillermo Portugal Delgado, aka La Gringa, who used a blonde wig to disguise himself as a woman. He killed a sea lion and used it for buoyancy and disguise, and maybe the fat to coat his body, as he swam the 7km to the port. An award-winning film on the noted criminal and escape artist, Alias “La Gringa” (1991) tells the tale, elevating Portugal to folk hero status while using his life to illustrate the turbulent ’80’s in Peru. 

What eventually happened to Portugal? One AI oracle says he was later killed in a shootout with police. Another says he was disillusioned that the criminal world, violent and ruined by drugs, had lost its former codes. Living with his mother, he sought and lived a peaceful life. He even worked as a security guard at the film studio, and at a cevichería seafood restaurant. Other searches yielded variations. There are no reports of his death other than the AI entity claiming the lethal shootout. And there, in a nutshell, is the reliability of AI. 

The waves in Peru’s winter, June to September, are especially rough.  Most passengers accepted the offer of a seasick pill. I spurned it, staying in the strong breeze at the bow, avoiding diesel fumes, and I was fine taking my snaps.

After indulging in the fragrance of eight to ten thousand sea lions and of the bird guano waves splash into the water, on the way back I accepted a pill. Gratefully. I wouldn’t guess at the water quality but one should keep one’s mouth firmly closed. And not miss the chance to shower back at the port at the Ecocruceros facilities. Otherwise one might feel a bit ripe on a long plane ride.

Here’s a good tip. There are wet suits aboard that cover most of one’s limbs. And suits quite short of that. Get the best coverage you can grab. The waters last October were 60 degrees F, via the Humboldt Current and upwelling from the denser deep that speeds one’s body heat away. I was late to the pile of wetsuits, and got less coverage. When I hit the water, the cold took my breath away. But no matter the size suit, those waters will always be…bracing. I heard that in Peru’s summer, December to March, the water is calmer and warmer, warmer being relative.

I’d never imagined seeing so many sea lions, tucked onto the rock formations and quite high on the sides of cliffs, seeming to defy gravity. Higher up and far to the side, penguins have their own private berths, both in caves and burrowed into guano, though many stand outside like sentries. Given the opportunity, sea lions will prey on the penguins, who worry most when getting in and out of the water.

After reckoning with the shock of the cold, I swam off from the boat. In moments I was surrounded by cheeky sea lions who barked their amusement as they robbed me of my comb-over. Their cacophony reminded me of relentless taxi horns early morning in downtown Manhattan. Eager to warm up by swimming fast, I swam a bit too close to the island and had to backpedal hard to keep strong waves from tossing me onto the rocks where masses of sea lions sunbathed a foot away. An alpha male with a huge head suddenly leveled his gaze at me. I quickly looked away. No offense intended, sir.

Many years back when snorkeling in the Galapagos, I caught the local alpha male’s attention by clapping my hands, not seeing a guide on a boat frantically waving for me not to. Suddenly the alpha dove in and beelined to me. He brushed my face as he sped by with his sizable teeth barred. Lesson learned.

You can’t touch the sea lions but they can touch you. Leaning back onto my life preserver I lifted my feet. Curious young sea lions approached and nibbled gently on my toes. Counting them afterwards, I retained my allotted amount.

The whole experience was one of the best encounters with wildlife I’ve had. It was like being fire-hosed by nature.

Even better, I honestly felt the participating sea lions enjoyed us as much as we enjoyed them.

Upon my return to Washington, DC, I quickly contacted the eye surgeon who’d ridden me of cataracts and put in lenses that had me exchanging waves with the man in the moon. His urgent exam revealed a detached retina. He then rushed me to another surgeon who blasted away with a laser for half an hour. The inflamed scar tissue sealed the rip before liquid could enter and bubble up the retina like water under wallpaper. The eye is now well on its way back to normal, the darting imaginary mosquitos in my peripheral diminishing. At least until summer, when DC’s Asian tiger mosquitos will prove authenticity.

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Given the quality of the experience, the costs are quite reasonable. $69 US for adults, $59 for students, $49 for children 12 and under, plus a tax to the environment ministry and a five buck boarding fee. The guides are professional and amiable. Given the length of the cruise and how fast you’ll burn calories in the water, eat before going and maybe bring some candy bars or protein bars. Before departing to the boat, street vendors will pitch transparent waterproof coverings for cell phones that allow the phone cameras to work in water. I don’t use a cell phone, but I saw buyers argue them down to half-price, ($10?) and they appeared to work fine.

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They Were Huge! Even though a photo of the Graf Zeppelin still does not do justice to the airship’s enormous size, one can still get some sort of relevance from this postcard as to how huge they were. It was 776 feet long, and had a volume of an incredible 3,700,000 cubic feet. It could burn either gasoline or something called Blau gas and, if the both were used, it had an even more amazing flight time of 118 hours! During its lifetime (September 1928 to June 1937) it made 590 flights covering more than a million miles, and was the first ever non-stop flight across the Pacific, finally landing at what was then Mines Field (now LAX) in 1929. On one trip that was largely funded by the sales of postage stamps (!!!), they sold and carried on board 52,000 postcards and 50,000 letters! Given its huge size it has always seemed strange to me that passenger capacity was only 20, yet it had room for 40 crew members!

Well, of course you’re right. It did explode, and that explosion has fascinated mankind ever since – especially as to what caused it. This major event in aviation was also the place for one of radio’s all time most memorable moments when the reporter, Herbert Morrison who was there to broadcast its arrival, broke down as he saw it crashing in front of his eyes, and is probably best remembered for his phrase, “Oh the humanity…I can’t go on.” But, yes, I did board the airship, and all those positive words I just noted, were indeed fact. But I was also in one of the most fascinating museums I’ve ever seen.

I was in the southern German town of Friedrichshafen (www.friedrichshafen.de) and I was at the Zeppelin Museum where they have a totally realistic mock up of a large part of the Hindenburg. And it’s absolutely mesmerizing. If Detroit is the Mecca for cars (or maybe was, in the heyday day of the US automobile!), then Friedrichshafen is THE Mecca for airships. Located on the picturesque shores of romantic Lake Constance (or Bodensee as it’s called in Germany), this equally colorful town is awash in Zeppelin and airship memorabilia. There are streets named after Count Zeppelin, and statues and models here, there and seemingly everywhere of Zeppelins, that are large, small and just about everything in between. Gift shops? You bet, and it seems as if every street corner, and just about every 3rd street, has a shop that’s jam packed with everything you can think of to do with airships and Zeppelins.

I was there as part of a US group of travel media and our visit did not, sadly, allow us time to stay very long, but had I been on my own I would have loved to have stayed there for about a week or longer. It’s a great place to vacation and is fascinating, charming, lovely and really interesting in its own right. I don’t know about you, but when I think of Germany, I think of places like Bavaria and big cities like Berlin and Munich. Lakeshore towns like Friedrichshafen do not come to mind – I mean it looks and feels and sounds more like some gorgeous, very romantic Italian resort.

The Zeppelin Museum (www.zeppelin-museum.de) is an incredible 43,000 square foot facility (it was originally the Harbor Railway station) and is home to the largest (natch!) repository of objects, memorabilia and technology of anything and everything connected in any way shape or form to airships. Let me suggest that either before or after you tour this intriguing museum, you take time out to enjoy some snacks in the Museum’s restaurant. Not only do you get a superb view of the scenery, but you look out onto lovely Lake Constance and the Alps, yes the Alps!!! The town is situated in southern Germany near the borders of Switzerland and Austria, and has a population of just 58,000. Since opening on July 2nd, 1996, the museum has seen over 3,600,000 visitors and, as any visitor can tell you, the highlight and major attraction, is the reconstruction of a 108 foot section of the legendary LZ 129, or more commonly known as the Hindenburg.

I was amazed and stunned at how big everything was. I took photos of one of the lounges aboard and one of the bedrooms. The full length Wall Map shows some of the routing of the airship around the world. Another photo of mine shows the intricate interior of the Hindenburg, and the sort of lattice type construction used. This is one amazing museum, and if you never go to any other museum anywhere, I urge to visit this one.

Just as the name Boeing is instantly associated with aircraft, so the name Zeppelin is associated with airships. Inventor, true visionary and a major industrialist, Graf (or Count) Zeppelin was born in 1838 and died in 1917. His interest in this form of transportation began in 1874, and with his driving passion for airships, along with his wealth and personal dedication, he was able to overcome many challenges that other, lesser men, would not have been able to even consider. If you’re wondering if Zeppelins are still in existence, the answer is a resounding YES!!! They are alive and well in this town, and there’s (even) a Zeppelin factory that makes these still amazing airships – check out www.zeppelinflug.de

It was around 7pm on May 6th, 1937 that disaster struck the Hindenburg. Considering the shocking film footage of the crash, it’s amazing that of the 97 people on board, only 35 perished, plus one on the ground. She had a passenger capacity of 70, along with a crew of 61— including 21 trainees. In the blazing inferno that was this tragedy, 13 passengers, 22 crew and one person on the ground, died. The airship was 804 feet in length, had a diameter of 135 feet, and was powered by four 1,200 hp Mercedes Benz engines. Its top speed was a leisurely 84 mph. Put another way, the super liner Titanic was only 78 foot longer than the Hindenburg at 882 feet. The Hindenburg was designed to carry a gas volume of 7,062,000 cubic feet, which meant that when she was filled with hydrogen, it would give her an amazing 242 tons of gross lift — an incredible achievement today, but even more awesome back in the 1930s.

The portion that is open to tourists is so realistic it convinced me that I was actually on board the real airship. As I looked out the giant widows and gazed down at the ground below, it was easy to imagine standing there in 1937 as she came in for a landing — and hearing the ship’s commander announcing its impending arrival at the Lakehurst Naval Air Station. Knowing what actually took place a few minutes later, made the whole “moment” even more eerie. As I said, this is without doubt, one of the most intriguing museums I’ve ever visited in my trips around the world. If your travels to take you to Germany (www.cometogermany.com) I urge you to find time to visit not only Friedrichshafen, but also this amazing museum.

Now then, can I make a reservation for you on your first Hindenburg flight?

Fitting the Image! How often in life do certain people absolutely fit the image of who and what they are? This aristocratic figure looks EXACTLY as I imagined him. What do YOU think? Just as the name William Boeing was the name of the man who started the airplane company, so the name Zeppelin is always associated with this gentleman as being the founder and inventor of giant airships known by his name – Zeppelin. His full name is Ferdinand Adolf August Heinrich Graf (Count) von Zeppelin. “Graf” is a title and, translated means Count. It is not a first or middle name. He was born on July 8th, 1838 and died at the end of WW1, on March 8th, 1917.

Zeppelin Trivia: The name of the British rock group Led Zeppelin, came from his airship, and Zeppelin’s granddaughter, Countess Eva Von Zeppelin once wanted to sue the group for illegal use of that famous name, while the group was performing in Copenhagen, Denmark in February, 1970. The giant and hugely successful Graf Zeppelin airship was also named in his honor.

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