The American Symphony stateroom – a ship’s term – doesn’t accurately describe accommodations more befitting a mid-sized hotel room with more closet and dresser space than in my apartment. Flat-screen TV. Check. Vases of fresh flowers. Check. Private balcony. Check. Sumptuous robe. Check. It was so comfortable we almost hated leaving it. But ah, both food and excursions beckoned.

The gourmet meals were fortunately accessible by the half-portion, because some form of edibles is available round-the-clock. There are more snacks accessible in multiple lounges than in your neighborhood 7-11. Return from an excursion – big basket of candy welcomes you back. Enter your room only to find a delicious pastry on your dresser. Warm cookies show up every day at 10 and 3. And a menu separate from the dining room is available from 6:30 a.m. to 5 in the Sky Lounge. Of course, there is a daily cocktail hour with hors d’oeuvres preceding dinner. Heaven forbid you should go to dinner actually hungry, not that that seemed to hinder anyone… Not exactly a spa vacation. Yes, there is a fitness room but as one crew member said, “It’s the cleanest room on board!”

I’m accustomed to complimentary wine and beer available at meals but here all manner of alcohol is available all day. Being a Fireball drinker, that’s a real boon. And Madison guarded my bottle with loving care, transporting it from lounge to lounge as necessary. And you gotta love a cruise that offers Baileys with your morning coffee! If you’re a teetotaler, this may not be the cruise for you. The “it’s 5 o’clock somewhere rule” does not even begin to apply. Bloody Mary’s abound in the morning and the 3 o’clock lecture features a rum punch.

And with all of this, tipping is discouraged. Several times my husband and I said to each other: “Why in the world would every crew member be so accommodating and gracious when they’re not even getting tipped?” A very unexpected cruise benefit. Plus there’s free laundry…. Oh, and did I mention, airfare is included?

At the introductory meeting, cruise director Christian, describing all the on-board activities and shore excursions available, used the word “enrichment” about five times during the half-hour presentation.

Multiple excursions are offered daily from walking tours of the different cities to visits to a myriad of museums, historic homes, national parks, gardens, multiple plantations, cultural outings, brew and view tours, local river explorations and outdoor adventures. Onboard there are daily lectures, interactive games galore, guest speakers, music and multiple places to just get away from it all in which to drink, read, isolate, socialize or just ponder life.

Every night there is entertainment from ’50s and ’60s sing-alongs (alas, that may indicate the age of the majority of clientele…), blues band, C&W combos, comedians, and more.

Sample game? Two Truths and a Lie. Guests fill out a form listing two truths about themselves and a falsehood. The rest of the guests vote on which is the lie. Some of the interesting offerings: Former Rose Bowl Queen; Exotic Dancer in College; Met Buzz Aldrin and Alan Shepherd; Married 2 ½ times; Had a starring role in 16 adult films; Lives in Brooklyn (okay, not ALL the answers evoked interest….). And of course, much of the fun lay in discovering just what was true and what was not. Not always predicable!

You can be as social or anti- as you like. There’s the option at every meal to dine alone or with others but everyone was friendly and welcoming, interesting and well-traveled. And, of course, you can do as much or as little as you like. The al fresco upper deck is a delightful place to read or just watch the river world pass by. And if you’re anything of a Civil War buff, this trip resembles heaven – every town involves a Civil War Museum of some type, Civil War history, military encampments, Civil War forts – and once back on the boat? An assortment of lectures on Civil War history. But other options prevail with more wide appeal.

For me, this was the most appealing: The Great River Outdoor Adventure. Driving the ATV around the Double C Ranch seemed innocuous enough at first (a far cry from the Antebellum homes and Civil War museums in which I’d spent most of my time). We initially saw a herd of cows and calves cavorting the countryside, forming a very close welcoming committee – literally as we were able pet them from the vehicle. I tried to imagine what kind of treat you’d give to a 1000-pound bull to get him to French Kiss an ATV driver.

Next stop: an archery range. After a quick lesson, we got to test our skill. I felt a tremendous sense of accomplishment as I killed that bear – three hits out of three. We also stopped to pet Fred, a very imposing 1700-pound Brahma bull. He’s friendly, we were told, although the woman who got a tad more than nudged in the crotch was none too happy. Then onto fly fishing and tomahawk throwing. Not my forte. I wanted to go back to the archery range.

Initial summary of the ATV adventure: I couldn’t read the notes I took. Then I couldn’t even take any. Then Mackenzie instructed us all to put the ATV into 4WD – and we started flying over treacherous terrain, through deep mud puddles, up and down steep ravines. At this point just surviving the ride was the goal – but what an exhilarating experience! Now maybe tomahawks, bows and arrows and ATVs were products of the Civil War, but I doubt it!

Another non-Civil War getaway? The Cajun Swamp Pride Tour. Instructions ahead of time? If your hat or phone falls into water, don’t retrieve it. No one needed to be reminded twice as the waters were strewn with alligators. And why not? The captain feeds them marshmallows from the boat. Why marshmallows? Don’t ask.

We also stopped to view a herd of wild pigs on the shore – as well as an array of adorable raccoons, rewarded for showing up when called with some corn meal. Alligators obligingly ate their marshmallows alongside. It was almost more zoo-like than wild life encounters until the captain opened a gate leading to a perch attached to the boat – and from there fed the alligators chicken for which he encouraged them to jump up out of the water to retrieve, which they willingly did…. Also menacingly. I couldn’t help but wonder if anyone else on board knew how to steer the boat….

For more information, visit Lower Mississippi Cruise.

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The Holland America ms Veendam

My connection with Holland America began in 1947 when my Dutch mother-in-law took a passage across the pond from Amsterdam to Ellis Island on the Holland America line. She recalled how enthralled she was by the comfort aboard the vessel and the tantalizing meals at the dinner table. Now, 63 years later, I found that her accolades still lived up to those expectations, and, shall we say, a bit more. The creature comforts were endless with five restaurants; venues dedicated to classical violin and piano performances, dance music, Flamenco dancing and flautist recitals at the Showroom At Sea theater; state-of-the-art fitness center, yoga and Pilates classes; two outdoor pools and seven Jacuzzis; shopping area and casino. My favorite was the Crow’s Nest Lounge, situated at the front top of the vessel. As a beer connoisseur,  I should note that the lounge featured an end to my own personal quest for the Holy Grail: finally encountering the original Budweiser Budvar, first brewed in Bohemia circa 1245. Budweiser Budvar is a pale lager brewed with ice age lake water, Moravian barley and Saaz hops. By EU’s standards,  Anheuser-Busch’s Bud is not considered a beer, but a malt liquor with rice as one of its ingredients.

I was in an unsurpassed comfort zone of luxury.  Most importantly, the cruise was relaxing and mellow, with a sophisticated clientele, as opposed to a riotous in-your-face ‘fun cruise’ crowd. The ms Veendam chimes in at 719 ft. in length and 101 ft. wide with a passenger capacity of  1627 guests — but it still felt spacious. The service was outstanding, with a guest-to staff ratio of 3 to 1. I could have stayed on the vessel forever, but I was excited for more explorations of the ports-of-call to come.

But First, More on Monaco

As late as 1869 the main export of the struggling Principality of Monaco was citrus. Despite its climate and location, which towers over the Mediterranean Sea, with France bordering on the other three sides, it was difficult to reach as a result of bad roads. This changed with the marriage of the enterprising French stage actress, Marie Caroline Gibert de Lametz, to Florestan I, Prince of Monaco. The Beaux Arts-style Casino de Monte-Carlo was established, and income tax was eliminated. Monaco was soon promoted as a resort for wealthy tourists and a tax haven for businesses. Curious enough, its citizens — Monégasques — are prohibited from gambling at the casino. I suspect the city fathers knew, like all casino owners, that the player always loses, despite Joseph Jagger’s  “breaking the bank at Monte Carlo,” due to finding imperfections in the balance of the roulette wheel, which only gained the casino even greater publicity.

The Ballad of Grace and Rainier

In 1956, the glamour campaign continued when Prince Rainier III married Hollywood Royalty and Philadelphia socialite in the name of 26-year-old Grace Kelly.  Her brief acting career and striking refined beauty had already made her an international household name. She had appeared in John Ford’s Mogambo;  The Country Girl, for which her deglamorized performance earned her an Academy Award for Best Actress in the otherwise dismal film;  High Noon;  and three Alfred Hitchcock masterpieces, Dial M for Murder, Rear Window and To Catch a Thief. Prince Rainier, always desperate for money, met with billionaire shipping tycoon, Aristotle Onassis,  who suggested the prince find a Hollywood beauty to marry. Aristotle believed the added media publicity would attract more investment opportunities and make the principality a greater alluring destination for tourists. Rainier jumped at the idea. His first choice was Marilyn Monroe, who laughed at the thought, but did jokingly say, “Give me two-days alone with him and of course he’ll want to marry me.” A meeting was arranged with Kelly while she was in the Riviera filming the last stages of To Catch a Thief. Apparently it  wasn’t love at first sight for Kelly, but the prince was relentless, initiating a long correspondence by mail, which eventually led to their marriage. Rainier insisted upon a two-million dowry for the union to proceed, made Kelly take a fertility test, give up acting and banned the screening of all her movies in Monaco. The marriage was described as the wedding of the century. Following a long honeymoon cruise, Her Serene Highness Princess Grace devoted her life to raising three-children, and then founding the World Association of Friends of Children, based on her vision that every child, whatever their social, religious or cultural origins are, would have the capacity to live in dignity and security;  and the Princess Grace Foundation, to support local artists and craftsmen. In 1982, tragedy struck when Princess Grace was driving a Range Rover down a steep road and suffered a minor stroke. She lost control of the vehicle which violently plunged 120 feet off a cliff.

Princess Grace passed away the next night. Her death was a shock to the entire world, and her funeral, like that of Princess Diana, was watched by millions of people around the globe. With the death of Rainier in 2005, Prince Albert II assured the succession of the now 700-year-old House of Grimaldi.

Monaco is walkable, but visitors face strenuous hills and steep stairs. I opted for the all-day hop-on, hop-off bus tour which follows a loop, stopping at points of interest every fifteen minutes. Highlights included Monaco-Ville, also known as “the rock,” which is a picturesque medieval village with century-old villas; and the Oceanographic Museum and Aquarium, directed by Jacques Cousteau for 17-years, and considered the definitive authority on the Mediterranean’s tropical marine ecosystem. Monaco showcases a number of stunning gardens and the Jardin Exotique (Exotic Gardens) was my favorite. Several thousand rare plants are on display as well as breathtaking views of the harbor and grandiose yachts courtesy of Saudi princes and Russian oligarchs. Also your map should include the ornate Opéra de Monte-Carlo, designed by architect Charles Garnier, known for Palais Garnier Opera House in Paris; and the white marbled-Byzantine-style Cathédrale de Monaco where Rainier and Princess Grace are buried side-by-side.

Sitting at a sidewalk café by the Casino de Monte-Carlo with Bugattis,  Lamborghinis and Rolls Royces parked in front,  I spoke to a young German man. He was there to walk the length of the two-mile lap of the Monaco Formula 1 Grand Prix, Monaco’s event of the year. At the length of 161.734 miles with 78 laps, the race features white knuckle hairpin turns, taken at 160 mph through the Monaco’s densely populated neighborhoods. Due to the tight and twisty nature of the harrowing circuit, the skill of the driver is more important than the power of the car. I wished my German friend luck as I relaxed over an Aperol Spritz cocktail, observing the ostentatious culture of this tiny nation, the second smallest in the world.

Despite the opulent, unsurpassed luxury, Monaco must be doing something right for it tops the list as the nation with the highest life expectancy in the world at an average of 89.5 years. Maybe it has something to do with walking those steep hills. Stand warned, though; the streets are chock-full of wide-eyed curious tourists, in which I was now one.

Stay tuned for Part II, where I address Livorno – gateway to Lucca and Pisa, Malago and Gibraltar. BTW, never get into a tug-of-war over a camera or food item with Gibraltar’s Barbary monkeys; those cute little creatures always win.

For further information, logon to www.HollandAmerica.com

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Following weeks of expectation, Disney Cruise Line’s newest ship, the Wish, has finally arrived in Port Canaveral, Florida. Nearby, about two dozen local residents watched from the quay of Jetty Park. Several leatherback sea turtles and dolphins were seen romping in the cove as the ship approached. With Florida’s Patrick Space Force Base in the background, the ship was welcomed by Disney characters at a private ceremony shortly before daybreak on Monday.

When the Disney Wish sets sail on its official maiden voyage this July 14th, the ship will offer new experiences soaked in Disney storytelling including immersive dining experiences themed to Frozen and Marvel, and an upscale lounge set in the Star Wars galaxy. Each sailing’s itinerary will offer planned activities for children and young teens, including a completely reimagined Oceaneer Club that will have an entrance directly connected to the Grand Hall. A Marvel Superhero Academy pledges to train young recruits alongside some of their beloved superheroes.

The Wish is the first of three new Disney ships to be constructed at Germany’s Meyer Werft shipyard through 2025. The vessels will be powered by liquefied natural gas. The trio will be slightly bigger than the Disney Dream and Disney Fantasy, each weighing in at nearly 144,000 gross tons.

The Florida charity Give Kids the World recently revealed its eight winners for the maiden five-night voyage as part of a promotion offered with Disney. The Orlando nonprofit resort hosts families with children living with life-threatening health conditions. They will stay in the two-story Wish Tower Suite inspired by the Disney animated film Moana. After completing its maiden voyage, the Disney Wish will book three- and four-night itineraries from Port Canaveral to Nassau in the Bahamas and Disney’s private island, Castaway Cay.

Disney World employees assembled at the private reception at Port Canaveral to welcome the new ship to port. The ship’s official maiden voyage is slated for July 14 and will commence with a water salute.

“It is truly an emotional moment. Something special, not only for Walt Disney Cruise Line, but for the thousands that help make this all possible,” said Walt Disney ambassador Raevon Redding.

Walt Disney World ambassador Ali Manion predicts that young guests will appreciate the outdoor water coaster.

“The Wish has the AquaMouse, which is the first ever Disney attraction at sea. It will fully immerse you with lots of fun in the middle of a Mickey Mouse cartoon,” Manion explained.

Port Canaveral Director and CEO Captain John Murray attended the gathering.
“We have anticipated this homecoming of the Disney Wish for some time and know that our entire Port community is excited to have her sailing from our Port,” said Murray. “We are proud of the longstanding partnership we have with Disney Cruise Line, and the arrival of the Disney Wish adds to the growing number of impressive cruise ships providing high quality guest experiences from our Port.”

Port Canaveral hosts nearly five million revenue cruise passengers through its terminals and six million tons of cargo annually, including bulk, break-bulk, project, and containerized. The Port is tactically situated to service all Florida markets, as well as the Southeastern United States. In addition to cruise facilities and diverse cargo operations, Port Canaveral is home to an array of varied recreational vendors. For more information, visit www.PortCanaveral.com.

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With its jagged mountain peaks that jolt vertically from the sea, stunning waterways, cascading waterfalls, tiny fishing villages and mountain farmhouses, the fjords of Norway would be my pick for the most visually striking place on the planet. I’m not exactly going out on a limb when I say this. Two of Norway’s most famous fjords, the Geirangerfjord and Nærøyfjord, have already joined the Great Wall of China, Egypt’s great pyramids of Giza, and the Grand Canyon as a UNESCO World Heritage Site. And National Geographic Traveler Magazine also rated Norway’s fjords as the top travel destination in the world in their first “Index of Destination Stewardship” – an elite list of the least spoiled, great places on earth.

Carved by the Hands of God

Gallivanting north on Norway’s western coast, the fjords were carved out in a succession of ice ages. When glaciers retreated approximately 12,000 years ago, plants soon appeared, animals thrived and humans eventually made their way into this spectacular, but remote, heaven on earth. Small fishing villages were established along with tiny sod roofed farmhouses which quietly dotted the landscape, some situated on mountains so steep that they required a ladder to ascend the terrain. Once tax collectors realized there were people living in this isolated region, they made an annual trek to the farms, only to find that many of the ladders had mysteriously disappeared. When the first tourists arrived – primarily the European aristocracy – who came to fish in this untouched paradise of crystal-clear waters, they were guaranteed all the fish they could carry. Word spread, and the fjords became the sportsperson’s paradise. Soon the rest of the world had heard about them.

HURTIGRUTEN:
“The World’s Most Beautiful Voyage.”

In 1891 Norwegian Coastal Voyage (now Hurtigruten) established a daily, year-round boat service along the western coast of Norway, with Bergen at the southern terminus and the Russian border at the north. With 34 ports of call, the coastal trek became a lifeline along the west coast of Norway, carrying cargo to isolated villages and farming communities. Tourism quickly became an important component of the voyages, giving people the opportunity to experience the fjord-filled coastline, Midnight Sun and the Northern Lights.

Travelers soon came in the thousands, making Norwegian Coastal Voyage one of Europe’s biggest attractions. On my four-day journey, I found that more than 60 percent of the tourists on the voyage were Norwegian. It was wonderful to travel with locals and see the county through their eyes, and the fact that it was a real working cargo vessel made the experience even more authentic. The vessel serves as an interesting hybrid of a working ship and tour boat, with all the comforts of spacious cabins, lounges and dining rooms overflowing with Scandinavian breakfast buffets, and regional Nordic meals for lunch and dinner. Dare I say I ate and learned with every bite. The journey also includes land tours by bus, which meet back with the vessel at future ports.

To understand the fjords is to understand the Norwegian character, whose national identity has been formed by its passionate bond with nature. When a Norwegian goes on vacation – an average of six-weeks a year – the destination of choice is usually the Norwegian countryside. Later, while sitting on the deck of my vessel under a Midnight Sun that refused to set, I asked a gentlemanly 70-something Norwegian passenger about his family’s vacation. He replied that his multi-generational family of fifteen congregates at their cabin further north for four-weeks, sans electricity and running water. He smiled when I inquired how they managed to fill the time. Fill the time! Why… we go hiking and fishing… and have grand family meals by a roaring bonfire… what can be better than that! The more I thought about it, the more I wished I too could disconnect in a similar setting in the countryside. Our conversation ended with a skål (toast) of aquavit – a potato-based snaps, considered Norway and the rest of Scandinavia’s national alcoholic beverage – in celebration of our good fortune on the voyage.

Bergen –  Gateway to the Fjords

Bergen is the second-largest city in Norway, founded in 1070 by King Olav Kyrre. Initially a small trading village, it was named Bjørgvin, ‘the green meadow among the mountains.’

At end of the 13th century Bergen’s status as a village of trade exploded when it became part of the Hanseatic League, a restrictive guild made-up of almost exclusively Germans. Bergen enjoyed protective rights to mediate trade between Northern Norway, receiving fish products and sending back oats in return. During the Hanseatic League’s peak of power, the guild had a monopoly over trade in the North and Baltic seas. Though “designed” for mutual commercial interests, such as protection against piracy and non-guild members, the German traders were endowed with almost unsurpassed treatment with duty-free trade and diplomatic privileges, complete with their own armies for mutual defense and aid.

Bergen’s Norwegian locals, though, were considered second-class citizens by the Hanseatic Germans, and were reduced to menial laborers, maids and servants, modest shopkeepers and backbreaking longshoremen. Some of the city’s female population became “comfort women” for the amusement of the German traders.

Bergen served as Norway’s capital in the 13th century, until it was overtaken by Christiania (now known as Oslo). But the city today still continues as Norway’s busiest port, a remarkable destination for tourism, and with moniker, “gateway to the majestic fjords.”

And this is where your Hurtigrutenfjord experience will begin; but before you hop aboard the boat, it is essential that you spend at least two days in this World Heritage City. Bergen boasts endless tourist attractions, and the Bergen Tourist Card is an important component to your tour of this historic harbor town. The price allows you free or reduced-price admittance to the Bergen Art Museum, Fantoft Stave Church, harbor boat tour, Bergen Castle, and St Mary’s Church.

Time will allow a wandering through the harbor fish market and down the wooden streets of the former Hanseatic warehouse district. A fish buffet should be on everyone’s list for a sampling of Bergen’s world-famous fish soup, gravlaks (cured Atlantic salmon), fish cakes and hearty breads, all washed down with the city’s Hansa beer.

A Bergen Must: Edvard Grieg’s Troldhaugen

Despite his diminutive 5 ft frame, Norwegian composer Edvard Hagerup Grieg was a towering rock star long before the expression existed. Born into a successful Bergen merchant family in 1843, his life dramatically changed when violin virtuoso Ole Bull recognized his talent and introduced him to the treasures of Norwegian folk music. Grieg studied the masters abroad but dreamed of reprieves to his beloved Norwegian countryside – a pattern which continued after he became a world-renowned composer.

Grieg and his wife built a home on Lake Nordås on the edge of Bergen, which he called his best opus so far. Christened Troldhaugen, the Victorian villa became a centerpiece for Bergen’s artistic community and visiting dignitaries. But Grieg also required periods of peace and quiet to work and built a composer’s hut by the lake. Grieg died in 1907 of chronic exhaustion. But today his legacy lives on at Troldhaugen – nothing less than a living museum which consists of the Edvard Grieg Museum, the Villa, the Composer’s Hut, Recital Hall and Edvard Grieg´s tomb. My highpoint was a concert at the hall, which is discreetly built partially underground with a sod roof. The floor-to-ceiling windows behind the stage overlooks the composer’s hut where Grieg would work, superstitiously sitting on a stack of sheet music by Beethoven so that he could reach the piano. At the end of each day, he would leave a note: If anyone should break in here, please leave the musical scores, since they have no value to anyone except Edvard Grieg.

DESTINATIONS ON YOUR VOYAGE

Trondheim – City of the Viking King

Trondheim is Norway’s third largest city and once served as the country’s first capital. Two millenniums ago, Viking King Olav Tryggvason sailed up the Trondheimsfjorden in his five longships and gave birth to the inlet’s name, and, most importantly, led the conversion of the Viking Norse to Christianity. The centerpiece of Trondheim’s greatest tourist attraction is St. Olav Catholic Church, built on the site of his own grave. Numerous kings of the middle-ages have found their final resting place in Trondheim, and the city continues to gain popularity as one of Europe’s most important medieval pilgrimage centers.

With time permitting make a stop at the Trøndelag Folk Museum, an open-air museum dating back to 1909. The museum showcases the various building traditions, with 80 vintage structures on display, ranging from wooden huts to city mansions, including the reconstructed Haltdalen Stave Church.

LOFOTEN ISLANDS – And Lutefisk

Located within the Arctic Circle, no words can do justice to the Lofoten Islands’ breathtaking archipelago, a life-reaffirming array of mountainous villages and white sand, often connected by ornate bridges. With Its inlets of little villages, sheltered by mountain peaks pirouetting out of the sea, you’ll witness why fishing has long been the very foundation of life in the islands.

While on the deck of a Hurtigruten vessel, overlooking a Lofoten fishing village, I overheard an American passenger ask a Lofoten local what those things were hanging on stilts. The Norwegian replied that it was air-dried cod for making Lutefisk. The American exclaimed, And the birds don’t eat it? The Norwegian man shrugged, No, for some reason they don’t seem to like it.  

Everyone of Scandinavian heritage knows of Lutefisk (pronounced lou-tah-fisk), but, outside the Norse world and its emigrants, few have actually eaten it. Lutefisk is a traditional Nordic food of dried cod or stockfish, prepared in lye. It is soaked in cold water for five to six days (changed daily). It is then soaked in an unchanged solution of cold water and lye for an additional two days. When this treatment is finished, a final treatment of yet another four to six days of soaking in cold water (also changed daily) is needed. Eventually, the Lutefisk is ready to be baked in the oven for 40-50 minutes. Today the dish is cherished by people of Norwegian ancestry throughout the globe as an essential Christmas season dish. And never forget about lefse, a large thin potato pancake served buttered and folded, which is even better with a slice of geitos, a processed brown goat cheese. But, for the contemporary Norwegian, Lutefisk is regarded as a common everyday dish from the past, and no longer appropriate for the Christmas Eve (Julaften) table – and now pinnekjøtt (lamb ribs) is the most popular Julaften dish in northwestern Norway, while ribbe (roast pork belly) leads the pack in the east.

Tromsø – Paris of the Arctic

Tromsø is the largest Nordic city north of the Arctic Circle, home to the world’s most northern university and cathedral, brewery, botanical garden and planetarium. Less than a century ago, visitors were surprised to find cultural and intellectual activity in a city so far to the north. Of all the destinations on my journey I found the residents of this city of 53,622 to be the most open and friendly in all of Norway. Look closely and you will see locations used in the original film, Insomnia, by Erik Skjoldbjærg (1997), far superior to the Hollywood remake. And you might notice post-WW II homes, built after Hitler attempted to burn the entire city down in fear that an Allied D-Day invasion might commence in the Norwegian north.

The Sámi –  Scandinavia’s Aborigines

My knowledge of the Sámi People was limited and underfed, with only a vague recollection that they were nomadic reindeer (caribou in North America) herders based somewhere in northern Norway. This changed upon spending four-hours in the Tromsø Museum, which houses more than 2,000 Sámi artifacts, and offers a direct insight into their unique culture and way of life.

The Sámi have been living in the Northern Arctic and sub-arctic Nordic regions (and Russia) since prehistoric times, long before the name “Viking” existed. Though Norway is considered one of the world’s most tolerant societies, this was initially not the case in the treatment of the Sámi – then referred to in the derogatory as “Lapps” – who faced soul-crunching discrimination, forced Norwegian cultural assimilation and found their traditional religion was condemned as witchcraft. Yet, due to forward-thinking Norwegians, the 2011 U.N. Racial Discrimination Committee and Sámi activists themselves, their treatment has dramatically improved where they can now maintain and develop their own language (60 words for snow), culture and way of life. The have their own style of dress, separate national identity, their own radio stations and are represented in the Norwegian parliament.

Many Sámi have become urbanites, generally living in the town of Karasjok, considered the Sámi capital. While others continue with the nomadic lifestyle of moving horizontally across the northern vertical borders of Norway, Sweden and Finland in search of new grazing ground for their herds of reindeer. I came out from the other side of the Tromsø Museum with a keen appreciation of the Sámi peoples’ unique culture and remarkable way of life.

My guide informed me that you can also camp in a traditional lavvu (tent) in the Sápmi Culture Park in Karasjok and interact with the gentle Sámi. He also noted that you’ll walk away with a better understanding of the Sámi’s deep relationship with the reindeer; the animal which plays the ultimate role in their way of life, providing milk, transportation, fur and food. Apparently, it’s not uncommon hear a traditional Sámi joik (song) at the park, which have passed from one generation to the next.

While you’re in the fjord’s, no doubt you’ll discover a few Stave Churches. Take your time and explore them. My personal pick is the church of Urnes (stavkirke), which stands in a natural setting in the Sognefjord. The church proved to be an outstanding example of traditional Scandinavian wooden architecture, a fusion of Viking art and Romanesque spatial structures.

A Bit More on Stave Churches

When Viking King Olav Tryggvason (now Olaf the Holy I) Christianized Norway in the year 1000, he established this new religion by the use of force — but also with Norse mythology as its foundation. Catholic missionaries transitioned the meaning of the pagan winter solstice of Yule as a Christian holiday to celebrate the birth of Jesus. Medieval Norwegians, now tamed Vikings, took their refined boat-building skills and constructed pine wooden churches with little more than an ax and wooden nails. The new Norwegian churches were called Stave Churches, supported by stout pine poles — or “staves” — and slathered with a protective coat of black tar. Pine wood was cheap and plentiful, and the Norseman soon stood solemnly in the Stave Churches’ dark rooms, with benches only for the aged and physically handicapped. With masses in Latin, that few could understand, it was critical to show former Viking pagans a similar value system; a fight between good and evil, illustrated with sculpted dragons and snakes standing for evil, which the Vikings used on their longships to fight evil with evil, dragon against dragon.

And it worked, with a rough estimate of 1,000 to 2,000 Stave Churches built between 1130 and 1350 throughout the Scandinavian world, which also included Russia.

But then, just when the Norwegian populace were barely Christianized, along came the 1517 Protestant Reformation. Catholic Stave Churches were met with groups of strict Protestant missionaries carrying burning torches. Some were pulled down, others transformed into Protestant parishes, ridding them of their sacred Catholic symbols, riches and mythologizes. It should be noted, though, that some Stave Churches crumbled due to rotting of pine poles built on soggy ground. But anything that reeked of Catholicism was destroyed, including the Roman Catholic Church’s celebration of the Mass of Christ. Keep in the mind that Christmas was not even a federal holiday in the U.S. until 1870, with President Ulysses S. Grant’s attempt to unite the North and South in the post-Civil War years.

Today, there are only 21 Stave Churches in existence throughout Norway. The few that remain are less of an elaborate construction, due to their former placement in the fjords and other remote outlying areas – areas that required too much time and travel to be destroyed.

On a personal note, color me as a man with a profound appreciation of Stave Churches; for my opinions are biased as my mother’s family name is Stave.

EPILOUGE

Norway’s quest for independence began in 1814, with the signing of a new constitution, but was forced into a union with Sweden as the dominant nation that lasted until the early 1990s. Prior to that, Denmark had held the reins on Norway for over 400 years. It was not until May 17, 1905, when Norway secured full independence, known as Constitution Day or Independence Day. The new Norway forged ahead, creating a liberal democracy and its own national identity devoid of an any interference from other nations and with a preference not to join the European Union. (a second Independence Day, though, was celebrated on May 8, 1945, when Norway was liberated after five years of occupation by Nazi forces.) Genuine Norwegianness was illustrated in folklore and fairytales (with happy endings), Norse mythology and Viking sagas, a written national language and the use of pine wood, and even voting for Norway’s first king. And, above all, Norway’s artists were embraced with the music of Grieg and Ole Bull; the plays of dramatist Henrik Ibsen (the world’s most popular playwriter after Shakespeare); the novels of Knud Knudsen; and the Expressionist paintings of Edvard Munch. Like the Republic of Ireland, Norway is nation who loves its artists.

In 2018, Norway was the world’s 14th biggest producer of oil and eighth biggest producer of natural gas, according to data from the US Energy Information Administration. The black gold is also the reason Norway’s 5.4 million inhabitants today have the world’s biggest sovereign wealth fund, worth $1.36 trillion (1.13 trillion euros). Despite the nation’s affluence, the Norwegian character is one of modesty, where the nation’s oil revenue is poured back into the economy allowing a higher standard of living for all citizens.

Yet, keen to present itself as a role model with its efforts to fight deforestation in the tropics and a world leader in electric car sales, the Scandinavian country aims to reduce its greenhouse gas emissions by 55 percent by 2030, and to almost nothing by 2050.

But it is regularly criticized for the CO2 emissions generated abroad by the oil it exports.

While Norway cites the need for a “green transition,” it still relies heavily on oil and gas revenues for its public finances, trade balance (accounting for 42 percent of exports of goods), employment (more than 200,000 jobs are either directly or indirectly linked to the sector) and, most importantly, to keep rural Norway populated.  Norway is nothing less than the world’s greatest planned nation. 

HOW TO GET THERE

Scandinavian Airlines

Hurtigruten.us

VisitNorway.com/us

The post Norway’s Fjords: God’s Gift to the World appeared first on Traveling Archive.

The T-Boy Society of Film & Music’s latest poll is devoted to something that we all have experienced: Travel Nightmares. Our first entry by the most esteemed Richard Carroll puts the theme in the proper context. It’s really all about ourselves and should serve as Travel Lessons Learned.

Richard Carroll — T-Boy writer:

Follow the Rules, Particularly When It’s In Your Own Book

I wrote a book “Traveling Mexico by RV” for Chronicle Books, San Francisco, and on a driving trip to Central America, seemly I cast aside everything I had written and simply ignored many of the rules and tips in the book creating a travel nightmare to remember.

With two surfboards on the luggage rack of a Volkswagen Camper, called the African Queen, we were on our way back to Southern California from Panama when arriving at a huge flow of water blocking the roadway near the Guatemala/Mexico border. I thought that I could easily drive through the water though my wife and son Carson urged me to pull over. We quickly found the Queen floating down a fast moving river sideways water rushing through the floorboards. Carson shouted, “Dad, should I pull down a surfboard?” I said, “That’s not funny Carson!”  We finally became lodged on a sandbar, and all the while the chuckling Mexicans thought it was the most humorous sight ever. I could hear them, “Look what the crazy gringos are doing!”

They did help with much effort on a hot humid day to push the Queen off the sandbar, all the while staring at me with great glee, while pushing the Queen a short distance to their small village along a dirt road stopping squarely in front of a house of prostitution. The ladies came out and offered us a mattress in one of the rooms with a fan. We declined. Each morning the smiling senoritas would sit on a wall snacking and offering us hot tortillas, Carson, 17, said, “Those ladies are really pretty and so nice.” I said, “Never mind Carson

For three days we sat in front of the house along with the senoritas who were busy half the night, the Queen refusing to start. Each morning the villagers on their way to the fields would stop by and work on the Volkswagen pushing it up and down the dirt road to no avail. One morning, an older man with a large mustache who we called the Maestro, very elegantly punched a large hole in the muffler with a screwdriver thinking if the water drained out the Volkswagen might start. He stood up, bowed, and sauntered away. Throughout those three days we were invited to funerals and weddings, received baskets of fresh fruit, were friends of the senoritas, and finally on the third morning with four hefty Mexicans pushing the Volkswagen it kicked over. The wounded Queen putted out of the village on three cylinders, the villagers cheering, Carson waving goodbye to the smiling senoritas.

About a half-hour later on a lonely stretch of road we ran out of gas. For some two hours cars zoomed past us in bunches looking the other way. It was dead quiet and under a blazing hot sun and low-flying large-winged birds, suddenly a huge tanker truck pulled up behind us. The driver minus a shirt, wearing a headband, cigarette dangling, and looking like Zorba the Greek understood even before I explained that our gas tank was empty. With a dented coffee can in one hand that he was using for an ash tray he climbed to the top of the tanker and scooped out some petrol created a funnel from a piece of paper and we had gas. He never spoke, refused money, and drove away. It was like a strange vision, a happening from the heavens.

We made it home though quickly got lost in the maze of Mexico City traffic until two motorcycle cops led us to the correct highway. Then driving hundreds of miles without rear view mirrors that were stolen in Guatemala via the quickest hands in the country was a dangerous challenge. Later Carson whispered to me, “Are you going to tell anyone about the six Honduran guerrillas we picked up carrying machine guns and pistols who kept asking you in strange Spanish, ‘Do you like your president?’ I remember we dropped them off just before Tegucigalpa and they faded into the bush with six bottles of our cold water.”

It was for sure a travel nightmare but only one of numerous others driving the Queen south of the border.

Fyllis Hockman — T-Boy writer:

The Most Difficult Trek We Had Ever Experienced.

The eight of us huddled together, warned repeatedly to stay close and keep quiet. A soft cough escaped from one of our party and the guide looked immediately askance. Coughing and sneezing were very much frowned upon. If you’re scraped by a stinging nettle, don’t even think about screaming — a usually fitting response. Sharing 98.4 percent of our DNA, the elusive mountain gorillas — whom we were seeking at the time — are very susceptible to human-borne illnesses and more gorillas die from such infectious diseases than from any other cause. We were carriers and they had to be protected from us. And this was before the pandemic!

Still, eight humans a day are allowed to visit these gentle giants, as they are known, for no longer than an hour, as we did during a recent visit to Uganda as part of an ElderTreks tour.

This is not exactly a drive-by photo op. With a vigorous (to say the least) trek of 1-7 hours, depending upon where the gorillas are that day, you have to REALLY want to see them. But even with visitation restricted to an hour, it is usually well worth the effort. But more on that later.

There are about 880 mountain gorillas in the world with almost half  located in Bwindi Impenetrable Forest, a World Heritage Site clearly worthy of its name, in southwestern Uganda, an 18% increase over the last census due to increased conservation efforts, education and veterinary care. This is very good news.

The prelude to the hike is itself intimidating. Treks range from 1-7 hours according to the promotional material, with a maximum increase in elevation of 500 meters. Wear good hiking boots, don gloves for the nettles, a walking stick is mandatory, bring lots of water, don’t get closer than 25 feet — and remember these are wild animals.

Anticipation mixed closely with apprehension as every person on our tour, whether expressed aloud or not, felt “I hope I can make.” The tale I’m about to tell about my travel-writing husband Vic and myself is not the norm. The tale for the other eight members of our ElderTreks tour, from whom we were separated because of the limit of eight people to a gorilla trekking group, is the opposite extreme — also not the norm.

Boy, were we ever wrong. The trek was somewhat strenuous from the beginning, with steep climbs and slippery descents, traversing narrow ravines, but we were holding our own, feeling pretty good about ourselves. Until we entered the forest. And there was no semblance of a trail at all. The guides were trail-blazing with the help of machetes deep into the clearly “impenetrable” woods, the rocks, roots and brambles beneath our feet not even visible because of the thick underbrush. With walking stick in one hand and the porter’s in the other, I tried valiantly to move forward though at times the porter was literally dragging me up the precipitous slopes or keeping me from sliding down sheer declines, twigs and vines attacking from both sides of the non-trail, entangling my feet and arms to further impede progress in either direction. At times, I thought either my arm would be pulled off by the porter or my legs by the vines.

All the while, I couldn’t help but feel guilty for thinking to myself how little at that point I cared about the gorillas and how much I was worried about surviving the grueling trip back. I was seriously considering becoming a modern day Dian Fossey and staying with the gorillas, assuming we ever reached them, just to avoid the return trip.

I wish we could say the trip was worth it but by the time we finally dragged ourselves — or more appropriately — were dragged by the porters to the designated area where the gorillas had been, they had left. This is just not what you want to hear after what most of us on the trek agreed was the most difficult thing we had ever experienced.

Ed Boitano — T-Boy editor:

Investigate Tour Operator Before Booking

Our little ferry graced the salt marshes of Hilton Head Island. Surrounded by a world of sea grass in South Carolina’s Low Country, we were on our way to the island of Daufuskie in search of Gullah history and culture.   The ferry ride served as our introduction to our tour vendor — which I’ll refer to as XYZ.  Little did I know that this very ferry ride would be the highpoint of our tour.

First, a little about the Gullah

Research told me that slave traders brought Africans from Sierra Leone to the chain of Sea Islands for their expertise in planting, harvesting and processing rice. During the 1700s, American colonists in the Southeastern U.S. realized that rice would grow well in the moist, semitropical country bordering their coastline. But the American white plantation slave owners had no experience in the cultivation of rice, so they purchased slaves with a preference for Africans from the “Rice Coast” or “Windward Coast” — the traditional rice-growing region of West Africa. The enslaved people became known as the Gullah (Gul-luh), perhaps derived from Gola, a tribe found near the border of Liberia and Sierra Leone. Daufuskie itself: translated to “pointed feather,” a name attributed to island’s earliest inhabitants, the tribes of Muskogean stock.

I read that when the U.S. Civil War commenced, white owners hurriedly abandoned their plantations and fled to the mainland, while some Gullah were actually unaware of the war and their eventual freedom from slavery. Due to this isolation, the Gullah were able to preserve more of their African cultural heritage than any other group of Black Americans. They spoke a unique Creole language and maintained a life similar to that of Sierra Leone. I was anxious to meet a Gullah person and hear their unique language in conversation, and, who knows, maybe even a bit of folklore.

As we exited the ferry we were met at the dock with a hostile sign: “No food Allowed,” and then were escorted by a XYZ employee to a row of golf carts by a general store. His scripted remarks included ‘”If you want any food you better get it here, this store is the only place on the island you can get it” (later we found an independent grocery in the island’s center) and “this is our BEST golf cart on the island… I know ‘cause I just rode it!”

We were happy to leave the man; and with map in-hand of historic Gullah sites, we excitedly navigated our golf cart down the dusty dirt road in search of these remarkable people. Sort of, that is, due to our cart running at half speed compared to the other golf carts. We returned it to the less-than-embarrassed man, who offered no explanation, and were given another, which broke down in ten minutes. This time, a more qualified man said we should have never have been assigned the first two carts and gave us another that actually worked.

So, we were now officially off on our expedition in search of the Gullah. The map turned out be fairly accurate leading us to the First Union African Baptist Church, listed as a historical landmark; followed by Maryfield School (circa 1930), the primary school for the Gullah children.  This is the school where author Pat Conroy taught in the late 1960s, later documenting his experience in the novel, The Water is Wide. Transportation only began in 1950, so the children must have had a long walk in the woods. The small Billie Burn Historical Museum was next on our agenda; with Ms. Burn considered the first true Daufuskie historian, having documented life on the island’s past in her book, An Island Named Daufuskie. The early afternoon closed after quick looks at the Mary Field Cemetery, the largest Gullah cemetery on the island, and empty ageing homes. All very interesting, but, no Gullah. Later, at the other independent store, I asked the manager, is there any place where can I actually meet one of these fascinating people. His thoughtful reply was true and educational; in fact, we learned more from him than we did with any XYZ employee. It went something like this: The Gullah have long been gone. You missed them by a couple generations. Occasionally an older person will return to the island to see their ancestral home. But… wait a sec… someone told me that right now there’s one Gullah descendent doing just that right now.

But where, I asked?

I was given complicated directions, before realizing that racing over to the woman’s private home would clearly be an invasion of her privacy. Our quest clearly needed to be tempered.

As we returned to the petite ferry it was obvious that we had been misled and even lied to by XYZ. Nevertheless, we were happy to see and learn all we did. But, were still annoyed that we had been taken advantage of, and wondered why such a company could even exist. It suddenly occurred to me that South Carolina is one of the least regulated states in the U.S., a state where the establishment of forming workers’ unions was once illegal. Curiously, the Sea Islands were the first place in the South where slaves were freed. It made no sense to my Yankee mindset.

Though it might feel otherwise, this short piece was not written as a slight or act of vengeance against any XYZ owner or employee — if fact, I never mentioned a single name — but the experience did serve as a life lesson; never book a tour with a vendor until you’ve thoroughly, independently, researched them and the specific tour. If not, there is a chance you might be disappointed. I noticed online that a tourist had commented that the island was one big tourist trap. Well, I thought, it depends on a person’s interests and perspective, but found most tourists were there for rest, relaxation and a lot of drinking. In conversation with others on the ferry ride back, it became clear not one of them had even a hint about the existence, let alone the culture, of these historic people, the people simply known as the Gullah.

Susan Breslow — T-Boy writer:

Africa: Don’t Tip the Canoe

It frightened me to go to Africa; so faraway, so different, so wild. Yet I was even more curious than I was anxious — to a point.

Tony, my outdoors-loving companion, and I were brought by motorboat to Water Wilderness, a flotilla of ramshackle houseboats on Lake Kariba in Zimbabwe. We were deposited at the main lodge, which was basically a large raft with a roof. There a guide met us. He was a tall man wearing khaki shorts that showed off bronzed legs covered with blonde hairs. A leather bandolier filled with large bullets crisscrossed his torso. He told us about the area’s wildlife and talked about the conundrum he would face if an endangered rhino charged and he had to decide in a split second whether to shoot him to save himself.

Tony, tired of only seeing animals from the vantage of a Land Rover, expressed a desire to hike. The guide motioned to the canoes tethered to the raft. “Take one, and pick a houseboat,” he said. “Try not to tip over,” he added. “There are hippos in the water and crocodiles by the shore. In the morning I’ll take you on a hike.”

I hardly slept, my dreams full of toothy crocodiles straddling hippos to slither onto our houseboat. The next morning the guide called for us in a rowboat, and this time he had a long gun slung over his shoulder in addition to the bandoliers. Terror consumed me. What if the boat tipped over and we were breakfast for hippos? What if I was breakfast for a tse-tse fly? What if after we docked on the far shore an animal charged? What if I couldn’t keep up with the hikers? What if there were deadly snakes in the tall grass? I made it into the rowboat — and burst into tears.

“Do you want to go back to the houseboat?” the guide asked kindly. I nodded. He docked the boat on the far shore, and Tony jumped out. He handled him the rifle, then turned the boat back toward my haven. Tears drying, I was embarrassed. “Don’t be,” said my bronzed hero. “If they put me in the middle of Grand Central Station, I’d have the same reaction.”

A potential nightmare averted, I spent the rest of the day on the deck of my houseboat, watching Cape buffalo meandering on the hills beyond. Even they knew not to go in the water.

Stephen Brewer — T-Boy editor:

All’s Well That Ends Well

A flame shot across my hotel room when I switched on the air conditioner. Then the draperies caught on fire. I smothered the blaze and called the front desk. I’m not sure what the man who answered the phone thought I was telling him, but he arrived with an ice bucket. He sniffed the acrid smoke, pointed to the blackened remains of the air conditioner, and declared the room a catástrofe. That much I understood.

The trip was sure getting off to a rocky start. The plan was to pick up a car in Barcelona and drive across the Pyrenees to a rental house in Languedoc, in southwestern France. Looking back after all these years I remember snowcapped mountains, sun-drenched vineyards, villages of golden stone, and cassoulet… but I jump ahead of myself.

The next morning, in the windowless garret that the clerk said was his very last room, I was awakened by a disturbing revelation. I had left the prepaid voucher for my rental car in the bedside table of the other room. The same fellow was on duty behind the desk, and he let out a dramatic sigh of distress upon seeing me. I asked him to let me into my old room. “Ocupada,” he grumbled. Occupied? How had he explained the charred walls to the new guests? As it turned out, they probably hadn’t noticed. In answer to my knock a naked man flung open the door. He had a wine bottle in one hand and said “cheers, mate” in an Australian accent. A woman, barely covered by a sheet, gave me a friendly wave from the bed. I explained my mission and grabbed the precious voucher. I thanked them and the man asked me the time. “Just after nine,” I said, and he asked if I meant evening or morning.

With a spring in my step I walked down the Ramblas toward the car agency. Even this early in the day the cafes were full of chattering patrons. Parakeets chirped away from cages that hung from tree branches. I turned into the small street where the agency was located. The windows were dark, and the place was locked up tight. It would remain so for the next three days, according to a sign in the window, for the feast of some saint with whom I was unfamiliar, though he certainly seemed to have the miraculous power to ruin my vacation. In those pre-computer days, you couldn’t just cancel a reservation and make another one online. I was stranded until I could retrieve the car. On the bright side, nothing was stopping me from moving to the nicer-looking hotel across the street. I didn’t realize the two establishments were under the same management until I came back from dinner that evening. The same clerk was behind the desk. He glared at me. I gave him my steeliest stare. “Try not to burn this place down, too” he growled in broken English, then added under his breath “tonto Americano” (American fool).

I got out of Barcelona without further incident, but I wish I could report that the rest of the trip was smooth sailing. I had just climbed out of the car to stretch my legs at the top of the Col du Portalet, one of the highest and most spectacular of the passes across the Pyrenees, when I heard the low rumbling for the first time. Thunder, I thought, but the sky was cloudless and a startling blue. Ah, farm machinery, no doubt, but nothing grew up here above the tree line. Or wait, maybe it was one of those quaint horns I’d read about, that shepherds use to communicate with one another across the heights? Or perhaps the grunts of a chamois? Then I realized that the noise was coming from my car.

The garagiste in Pau buried his head under the hood, exclaimed several “Mon Dieus,” and emerged to inform me the car was a catastrophe (that word again). The solution was simple: replace the engine. I declined.

By the time I had settled into my village the car would start only intermittently. My very nice neighbor Dieter, a summertime resident from Heidelberg, showed me how to pop start the car. I soon became quite adept at the technique, shifting in and out of second gear as I glided down an incline through the vineyards until the engine turned over. In the coming weeks I also learned the term for flat tire, pneu coupe, and I had two occasions to use the phrase. Then there was the water that kept pooling on the kitchen floor. I could not locate a leak, nor could I find Jean-Claude, the gardien who was supposed to look after the property. He was in Lyons on business, or so the snippy woman who answered his phone told me. Then he was in Nimes, visiting a sick aunt, then in Toulouse, at a fair. The peripatetic Jean-Claude never did make an appearance in my kitchen. I purchased a mop with a fancy wring mechanism. Mopping and pop-starting became parts of my daily routine. I mapped out excursions with consideration for how much mopping I would have to do when I returned. I parked only on downgrades.

On my way back to Barcelona I stopped for a few nights in Cadaques, a stunningly white seaside village at the top of the Costa Brava. My terrace overlooked a blue swath of the Mediterranean, framed by heavenly scented pines. The Languedoc reds I’d brought with me were delicious. My mopping days were behind me. Soon I could turn the problematic car over to the agency. According to my calculations, I could get all the way back to Barcelona on just one pop start. As Shakespeare said “all’s well that ends well,” and the more wine I drank, the more reassuring I found it to think that in travel as in life, the good things are what remain with us.

Ringo Boitano — T-Boy writer:

A Nightmare Train Experience With A Happy Ending

My photographer and I had just finished a stunning seven-day tour of Switzerland’s Lucerne and the Lake Geneva region.

Our final night was at a Zürich hotel, walking distance to the train station, which would depart to the Zürich airport, only one stop away. My photographer was booked on an early before dawn flight, leaving me with an extra hour of sleep and two over-packed suitcases and a backpack. No problem for me, I smirked. But the next early morning after she had departed, I found it still too early in the morning and my baggage heavy and awkward to carry. Nevertheless, it was the cross I had to carry, and slowly and methodically made it to the trainstation, drenched in sweat and gasping for breath. Fortunately, on my turtle-like walk there was not a soul in sight, sparing me the embarrassment of the macho Yank, barely able to stand up.

At the train station there were many Swiss kids and a few older, still partying from the night before. In front of me were a line of railroad trains. Of course, the world knows that Switzerland has a dense network of railways with more than 2600 stations and stops, which are as efficient as an Olympic game clock

As I surveyed the trains, I was unable to find one with the magical words, Zürich Airport. The railway representatives were a little too far away for me to bother to ask, so I stupidly thought, well, Zürich Airport is one stop away and any train going in that direction will make a stop. I climbed aboard the nearest train and took a comfortable seat. As the train ride commenced, I noticed we were covering a lot of kilometers, more than I had thought for a quick ride to the airport. A railway ticket collector appeared and carefully punched everyone’s ticket. When it came to mine, he took pause. In perfect English he asked, “Where do you think you are going?” “Zürich Airport,” I replied. The gentleman shook his head, “There is no stop at the airport. This is a direct ride to Lugano.”  Before I could reply, he took my ticket and left me with the words, wait here.  My five-minute wait felt like I was trapped in a Hitchcock film before the man returned  and informed me that the train will make an emergency stop at a platform where another train will be waiting to transport me to the airport. What! How can this be on the world’s most efficient railway system, a railway system that was so efficient as an Olympic game clock. Wouldn’t this interfere with their carefully orchestrate time table? But it was true. The train actually stopped, and I struggled over to the desolate, opposite platform with my load, where the train to Zürich Airport and its conductor was actually waiting for me. The conductor words were polite, but commanding. “Wait here! Do Not Go Anywhere! We will tell you when to get off to the airport.” And that’s what exactly happened; 15 minutes later I was standing in the check-in line at the Zürich Airport. Is there a morale or even travel tip from this? No, not really; just don’t be a clueless American and always take the time to ask questions. You’ll find many people are happy to help, particularly in Switzerland.

Richard Carroll — T-Boy writer:

Press Trip Travel Nightmares

On a media trip to Indonesia there was writer with a drinking problem who by evening time was slurring his words and unable to communicate. It was a Travel Nightmare when sitting at the dining table and it was his turn to speak to the hosts. A media cruise to South America a writer hit on a gorgeous lady sitting at a bar. He didn’t realize that she was on her honeymoon and quickly her husband appeared and there were blows. At the next port of call he was kicked off the cruise and left on the dock with his luggage. Later he sent the public relations lady roses and she returned them. Both of these were extremely embarrassing and awkward. I could write a long short story about Travel Nightmares, as could most active travel writers.

A press trip to Switzerland an editor from Sunset Magazine was always late. The Swiss PR leader instructed us that we would meet at a certain place in the heart of the village at 4 p.m. and please don’t be late. The van can only be in this area for a few minutes and it’s a huge ticket if we overstay. We were all back on the van minutes before 4 p.m. except for the Sunset Magazine editor. We looked down the sidewalk and there he was sauntering along looking in windows, as a policeman appeared at the window of the van. The PR guy lost his temper and shouted, “I’m not a damn baby sitter for travel writers and I’m tired waiting for an airhead!” He slammed the door of the van and we left him in the village. Our next stop was miles further in another Swiss mountain village where we would spend the night. Hours later about halfway through a marvelous dinner here comes Sunset Magazine straggling in through the door. The PR leader stood up and said, “Here’s the key to your room,” then sat down at the festive table. It was another awkward Travel Nightmare. He did go straight to his room and was never late again. Throughout the remainder of the trip the PR leader ignored him.

There was a media trip when two Los Angeles women were invited and the New York PR lady didn’t realize they despised each other, it was a week-long Travel Nightmare. In Puerto Vallarta on a press trip a female was sent home because she was complaining morning, noon and night. The PR lady said to her in front of the group, “We spent a great deal of money on this trip and you’re ruining it. We have booked a flight for you at 6 p.m. and possibly we can work together in the future?”

On a press trip to New York City with some excellent writers, one writer was allowed to bring along his new girlfriend. The second day he arrived at breakfast with a black eye, his glasses shattered and a huge bump on his forehead. It looked as if she had whacked him with both hands. She arrived at breakfast without a mark sitting at the table far from him. They sent her back to Los Angeles that afternoon and helped the writer to find a new set of glasses.

A trip to Asia a writer disappeared on the first night and didn’t reappear till it was time to depart. The PR firm banned him forever and spread the word to other PR firms. This writer has faded from the world of travel.

On a cruise to Hong Kong a writer from NYC attempted to commit suicide. Somehow, he stowed away on the ship and we spent the entire cruise searching for him. Finally, the staff entered his cabin for the 10th time. He was on his bed staring at the ceiling and not speaking. He told us that he was depressed and only kidding about suicide. That seemed to be the end of this writing career, and the last time I checked he’s still alive and healthy living in Chicago.

A cycling trip to Austria the PR firm was adamant that we need to be in good shape, not top physical shape but able to cycle a six mile segment to a waiting bus. It was a hot day and after 20 minutes or so a lady from Philadelphia was lagging far behind. I stopped and talked to her. She was not in good shape, sweating profusely, and refusing to go any further. The PR cycle leader walked her back to the starting village and then had to find transportation at great expense for a one hour trip over a mountain to connect with the media group. Everyone was worried about her and it sent the focused travel edge flying. She said, “I didn’t think it would be this hard.” She remained on the bus for the remainder of the cycling sessions. The European PR firm was not happy, and one of the leaders said to me privately, “Do you Americans know how to read?”

Hemingway wrote, “If you want to stay married to your wife or sweetheart never travel with her.” We have witnessed a number of couples who have had travel stress breakdowns with shouting matches, leaving overloaded luggage in hotels and parking lots and wishing they had never left home.

Weave Cleveland — Travel Guys cinematographer

Circumstances Beyond Your Control

The Greek mob, set up by the Russians, roofied, robbed, a smashed sliding glass door at a Best Western gashing my leg right open, a maid in terror watching me bleed sitting at the edge of a bathtub with the water running as I do my own surgery, me tearing my own clothes into strips to use as tourniquet’s, a restaurant owner punching me because I didn’t choose his restaurant, British Airways leaving my luggage in the rain leaving me without anything for two and four days respectively, more than one piece of luggage, think colours running into other clothes, blues into whites, etc. … and explaining why your suitcase now weighs 80 lbs. instead of 40, Heathrow Board of Health refusing me first aid and telling me to go to a hospital in London when all I wanted was to please get back home — and that’s just Europe.

Tom Weber — T-Boy writer:

Behind Enemy Lines

In a previous life, the one that provided me with a bi-monthly paycheck, I traveled a lot. The job afforded me countless suitcases full of opportunities while in the service of my government. That’s how I managed to get the lion’s share of entry-exit stamps and visas in my well-worn passports.

Colleagues were envious, but not jealous, that I was able to “change the air” and leave the office environment on a pretty regular basis for long stretches of time.

Whenever I’d pack up and head for foreign shores, I’d always tell my officemates, tongue-in-cheek, that I was going “behind enemy lines.” Truth be told, my pronouncement really wasn’t that far off.

The different languages, cultures, customs, traditions, politics, cuisine, scenery, just everyday life in general, in most of the places that I’ve visited, were odd and foreign to me at first, but after numerous return visits to some, I became more relaxed, more comfortable, and more at ease with my temporary abodes abroad.

As the old saying goes, “When in Rome, do as the Romans do.”

I learned early on that whenever I traveled outside my comfort zone, the best way to approach it was by doing my utmost to adapt to the new culture for as long as I was in “their” fair city, village or hamlet. Sample and soak in as much of your hosts’ way of life as you can. And whatever you do, do not go around comparing your way of life back home with theirs. Just leave your personal baggage behind. Don’t let it clutter or fog up the new-found moment or experience. In other words, don’t rain on your own parade.

Being “behind enemy lines” can be, and should be, a lot of fun. Don’t blame misplaced luggage, flight delays, bad weather, etc. on the place you’re visiting. These are simply the bumps and bruises of the foreign travel experience.

In the end, it all works out and makes for interesting stories to share with your office mates when you return home. Remember, they’re envious that you got to go. So, embellish a bit.

I’m probably preaching to the choir with most of you fellow, well-seasoned “road warriors,” but it’s always good to remind ourselves that when we step off the plane, train or boat, that “we’re not in Kansas anymore.”

From the Panama Canal to the Great Wall of China, from the bush of South Africa to a mud hut in the Haute Guinea, I’ve done my fair share of being placed, and placing myself, “behind enemy lines” and always made it back safe and sound. And, most importantly, I returned home more enlightened and fulfilled than I was before I left.

James Boitano — T-Boy writer

A Travel Nightmare All In Your Head

When it involves your family, a Travel Nightmare can be all in your head.

Some years ago, my parents and siblings and I all took a Carnival Cruise to the Western Caribbean out of Tampa. It was a lovely week-long visit of the Cayman Islands, the Yucatan and Belize.

The cruise ended Sunday morning with a flight home at noon and the eventual return to work on Monday. Typically, Sunday morning was sad to see the trip over, but then it turned stressful. Very stressful. Due to unexpected fog, the ship couldn’t dock for hours until after its scheduled arrival. Our noon flight was now much too early. We spent so many anxious hours, first stressing about when we could get off the ship and how we’d catch our flight, and then rushing to the airport. When they finally let us off the ship, we had only about an hour till our flight. We scrambled for all our might to make it to the airport, only to arrive 15 minutes too late to catch our flight home to Seattle. I can still remember how stressed out we were over this ‘nightmare’. My mother even abandoned a suitcase when we couldn’t find it at the base of the ship when we disembarked.

But why in the world did we work ourselves up into such a frenzy? For in the end, we got a flight home the next morning and had a lovely last day together as a family around the pool of a cheap motel somewhere in town. It turned out to be a blessing to have an extra day together as a family to extend our vacation. The nightmare was all in our heads.

Brom Wikstrom — T-Boy writer and mouth painter:

Impossible to Anticipate Conditions 

Any travel nightmare I’ve had revolves around the impossible to anticipate conditions that also make for some of the most satisfying aspects of travel. In Lugano, Switzerland, we spent an afternoon, seated in a bike repair shop, while ingenious workers improvised a fix to my wheelchair, shortening spokes they had to accommodate my broken wheels. Their pride at correcting my dilemma was a joy to behold and we were sent on our way with smiles.

On another occasion, in Arches National Park, we had been struggling up a steep trail that had been declared wheelchair accessible but wasn’t very. Just at the point where we had to decide whether to just stop and enjoy what we’d done or return to a simpler trail below, a burly guy named Bruce came along to offer an assist. In no time, we had not only ascended to the top of the trail, but he stuck with us for the entire loop trail. By the end of the day, we’d acquired a good friend.

Tammy Skinner — T-Boy writer

A Hellenic Promise

There are many nuances to being a woman — most of them fabulous but some of them not so much. One of them being the seemingly invisible magnetic sign when traveling that seems to scream VULNERABLE VICTIM. Luckily, I have radar which senses movement of possible predators and over the years of traveling have developed an intricate system to ward them off. I was 21 traveling to Brindisi, Italy by train coming from Paris. My traveling companion (also female) and I were excited to travel to Greece for the first time and our plan was to get to Brindisi and stay up all night then take the early morning ferry to Patras. We befriended a kind young man on the train who was American and, on his way, to visit relatives. Out of concern and respect, he decided he would stay with us once we got to Brindisi in order to protect us from any of the street kids. All was well until we made some “new friends” who followed us around and offered to keep us company as well. Our American friend played dumb pretending he didn’t speak their language and, in the meantime, overheard their plot to kidnap my companion and I by taking us in a boat and pretending to take us 3 but then leaving our “American” friend behind.

Since I knew of this plan ahead of time and had some theater experience under my belt, I decided to act quick. It was around 5am when they took us to the dock (not far from where we would have been actually leaving for Patras only 2 hours later) …my companion and I locked eyes as we approached the boat and off in the distance I saw a group of people who were gathering to already start their wait for the arrival of the ferry. I grabbed her by the hand careful to not show fear to our kidnappers nor draw attention to them in any way that would make them angry and I turned to her and shouted “Look!! It’s Gary and Dennis!! They met us here like they said they would. Hi guys!!!!!” Grabbing her, we ran as fast as we could towards that group all the while shouting our greetings. We were lucky. We got away. That ferry ride to Greece was hotter than hot. We were sweaty, the air was humid and life had never felt sweeter. My memories of Greece are filled with wonder as I recall the beautiful beaches of Santorini, the ruins in Athens, the mouth-watering gyros in Patras and the late nights we spent dancing in Corfu. Life is sweet and is to be savored. Yet the Greek philosopher, Socrates, summed it all when he said “Nature has given us two ears, two eyes, and but one tongue-to the end that we should hear and see more than we speak.” The lesson of my travel nightmare was no doubt doubled as well; to be always aware of your surroundings (remaining vigilant and hyper attuned) and appreciating the beauty in the environment and people you encounter along the way.

Bill Cartmel Maroldo — Television personality and broadcaster:

Be Prepared for the Worst

For the most part, travel is a double-edge sword. I love being in a new place and exploring the highlights – whether it be a village, city, or country. But for me, every vacation has its travel nightmare and it usually comes at both ends of the flight. I guess it would be cliché to say “I hate flying,” and so instead I will say I despise it.

From the park and ride (think of coming back and clearing off your car after a snowstorm); to arriving at the airport (they tell you to come early, but then you sit for a couple of hours next to someone talking loudly on their cell phone); to checking in (trying to relearn the “time saving” kiosks with instructions that change with each trip, and worrying your suitcase is 51 lbs.); to finding your gate (which just changed and is now at the other end of the airport); to boarding (feeling like I’m in line for a Rolling Stones concert); to finding your seat (which someone else is already sitting in, and the overhead storage is already full); to take off (the pilot telling us we’re backed up behind a few dozen other planes, but it won’t be long); to landing (for the moment it almost feels like it’s over, but it’s not); to disembarking (uh oh, my connection is taking off in a few minutes and they still haven’t opened the door); to retrieving the luggage (ok, I realize someone has to have the suitcase which gets loaded last onto the belt). Oh boy! Now I can look forward to finding the car rental and explaining why I don’t need insurance, and then figuring out how to get on the right highway since my GPS won’t work in the parking garage. But at last the vacation has begun, the hyperventilating has subsided, and I remember why it’s all worth it.

Raoul Pascual — Webmaster, illustrator and T-Boy writer:

The Crooks of Philippine Airlines

I will never recommend Philippine Airlines (PAL).

It is the flagship airlines of the Philippines. There are 3 other local competitors that fly people within the country, but it is the only international airline that flies straight from Manila to the rest of the world. Other international flights have a stop-over. Essentially, PAL is a subtle monopoly. This is my experience with the branch in Cagayan (Southern Philippines).

The air crew is great, but the ground crew is like a car salesman. They know they have you under their command, so they gauge your desperation and dangle ridiculous prices that seem to be plucked from thin air. It takes them forever to analyze the history of your itinerary … I mean how difficult is it to read an online document? On the official website, you can’t inquire via telephone … no contact information for an actual human being and their local/branch Philippine travel agents cannot help you. They are merely travel agents who book you and get their commission, but they cannot adjust your itinerary. The travel agent said they cannot even call the airline directly. How ridiculously antiquated is that? Any deviation from your original schedule needs to be addressed face-to-face (not even by phone) with an agent from the official ticketing office (usually on the local airport itself} which can be hours away from you.

I went to the Iligan, Southern Philippines, to visit my Dad. While I was there, he contracted pneumonia and I had to delay my return flight back to the Manila to care for him. I decided Sunday evening to change my Monday flight to Thursday. I was not prepared for the nightmare that was about to happen.

Monday

Because my Monday flight was set at 6:30 AM, I was forced to drive 1.5 hours to the PAL local ticketing/satellite office in the airport office at 4:00am. When I got there, a man named Frank was late to arrive at his office. He was supposed to open at 4:30 but he got there a little past 5 .a.m. I was the only one waiting but when he opened a rich lady stepped in front of me and she got catered to first. The two chatted and giggled for over half an hour. It appears she and Frank were old friends. When it was finally my turn, Frank took forever to realize that my US travel agent had already cancelled my flight the night before. Then he gave me a list of all official hospital documents I needed to gather in order to justify my change of departure to qualify for free re-booking. He said he could not decide on our exception, so I needed to drive even further the next day (with the documents) to the main city (another hour away) to the PAL office downtown. Before I left, I told Frank to book me in the next flight that was leaving on Thursday.

Tuesday

I spent a half a day chasing after the hospital documents because I had to line up and pay fees to obtain it.

Wednesday

I drove all the way to the downtown main PAL ticketing office. When I stepped in at 9 a.m., Mr. Granada, a massively overweight agent, told us the exception only applied if I were hospitalized, i.e., all those hospital documents were worthless. I needed to pay the full price; $300 more, “but if you want to complain, only my manager could decide on your case.” He told me his manager would be in at 3 p.m.

We returned at 3pm but by that time, a crowd had already gathered so I waited in line for an hour. Mr. Granada then rambled on about a penalty for my “no show” and I explained that my travel agent had already cancelled it. He pretended not to see that in my records. His face frowned realizing I had outwitted him from paying a penalty fee. Then he came up with a new scam. He said I should have made a reservation. I told him I told bald headed Frank to do that for me. He said there was no record of the reservation. He claimed the Thursday flight was fully booked but he would be able to squeeze me in for $1,200 more.

Mr. Granada was testing to see how desperate I was to get out of the country. I called his bluff and told him I could wait. When he realized I was not in a hurry he went to the back room and conferred some more “with his manager” (if there really was a manager). By that time, he returned, I had already checked for alternate airlines. The cheapest fare was about $500 at EVA Air. Granada came back and said the cheapest one he could get me for the flight leaving on Thursday was just a few dollars off the competitor. It was either pay a little more with another airline (and deal with the hassle of transferring flights) or buy the ticket he was offering. I had to bite the bullet and take up his offer.

Thursday (Escape Day)

It was only when the plane left the ground that I could relax. I looked around the plane and there were several empty seats … I realized Mr. Granada had lied about the plane being fully booked. It appears the scoundrel still won in the end.

Epilogue

Philippine Airlines (PAL) has a local moniker: PAL stands for Palaging Always Late. “Palaging” means “Always” so in English it means “Always, Always Late.”

I have written them to ask for an explanation and they have not responded.

Their booking system is outdated. They slide prices according to your desperation. You’d be a fool to change your itinerary once you are trapped in the country.

Steve Rosenfield — Photographer and T-Boy writer:

Story of Lost Luggage

One Friday in December, my wife Elaine and I boarded a flight from Los Angeles non-stop to London Heathrow for the purpose of attending our daughter Amanda’s engagement party in London. The engagement party was to take place in Loughton, Essex, just north of London, beginning on Sunday at 3:30 PM. The engagement party was being hosted by our future in-laws, Gary and Suki, and was specifically scheduled during the Christmas holiday so that my wife and I could attend. There were over 200 guests expected to attend the engagement party.

Our American Airlines flight was scheduled to arrive in London Heathrow at 1:30 PM on Saturday where our in-laws had arranged for a car service to pick us up and bring us to Loughton.

As the flight approached Heathrow, the plane could not land due to poor weather conditions. After circling over Manchester, England for an hour, we were advised by the flight crew that Heathrow was closed, and the flight was being diverted to Brussels. We landed in Brussels at about 4:30 PM local time and sat on the plane for about 2 hours when we were told that busses would soon be arriving to transport all passengers to the terminal from where we would be bused to the Holiday Inn for the night. The flight crew also advised passengers that luggage could not be off-loaded because there were no ground crew personnel available to do the work. We were eventually bused to the hotel where we spent the night and were told to return to the terminal Sunday morning to hopefully re-board the plane around 11:00 AM and make the short flight back to London Heathrow.

My wife and I arrived back at the American Airlines terminal in Brussels at about 9:00 AM Sunday morning and stood in line with many other diverted passengers to find out about the continuing flight to Heathrow. Unfortunately, Heathrow was still closed, and the airline was handing out hotel room vouchers for Sunday night. We were told that the luggage was still on the plane which was still on the tarmac in Brussels.

The local time was now about 10:00 AM in Brussels – 9:00 AM in London. My wife and I had to make a decision – abandon any hope of attending our daughter’s engagement party (which was not a good option) or finding another way to get to London by 3:30 PM that afternoon.

When inquiring about our luggage (three suitcases) if we were to get to London by other means, we were told by the AA agent in Brussels that the luggage would end up at its final destination (Heathrow) and that we could then have the luggage delivered to our local address in the London area.

After listening to other travelers, who were in a similar predicament, trying to get onto other flights to Birmingham or Manchester, England, or trying to get tickets for the EuroStar train from Brussels to London (which they were told was sold out), we opted to look into renting a car and driving to Paris, and from there boarding the train to London. I spoke with an agent at the Hertz car rental desk in the airport who told me that I did not need to drive to Paris, but instead could drive to Calais, a couple of hour drive, and catch the EuroStar from there to London. In the interim, my wife rented a mobile phone in the airport so that we could stay in communication with our daughter and future in-laws as we made our way back to London.

The drive to Calais took about 2 hours in the snow getting us to the train station by about 1:30 PM local time. We found the train station in Calais and went to the ticket window with the intent of purchasing two tickets for the EuroStar from Calais to London but were told that the next passenger train was not scheduled to leave until 6:00 PM that evening. Obviously, if we had waited until 6:00 PM for the train, the engagement party would have ended by the time we arrived in London. The ticket agent suggested that we take the next car-train which was scheduled to leave about 3:00 PM local time, arriving in Dover, England about 35 minutes later. With the UK being one hour behind France, we would arrive in Dover about 2:45 PM local time which would hopefully give us enough time to get to our daughter’s engagement party before it ended at 6:30 PM.

The train was late, and we finally arrived in Dover at about after 3:30 PM making our way to Loughton, Essex, arriving at the engagement party about 5:30 PM, and were fortunate to at least having been able to spend about an hour meeting our future son-in-law, his parents and family, and all of the other guests.

The next day, I returned the rental car to a local Hertz office and began calling American Airlines to check up on our luggage which we assumed was still in Brussels since we were told that Heathrow was still closed. Getting through to American Airlines on Monday was impossible and Tuesday was not better. We called our daughter back in Los Angeles who contacted American Airlines in Dallas and put us on a conference call with the delayed baggage department personnel. We filed our delayed/missing baggage report and were told that we would receive a call (to our local London number) once the bags were found. We were also told that the airlines would reimburse my wife and me up to $300 US for both to buy replacement toiletries and clothing.

My wife and I did go shopping for basic toiletries and clothing but ended up borrowing clothes and cold weather gear from our soon to be in-laws. We were hoping that our bags would arrive and the need to purchase much of what we were missing would not be necessary.

We continued to check the AA website for updates and tried calling a few times, but nothing changed. Then, on Thursday, December 23rd, we talked to an AA agent who told us that one of our bags (the smallest one) was found and that we could arrange for delivery as soon as we filled out the customs forms and sent them in. The forms were emailed to us, filled out and returned that evening. We received confirmation that the custom forms were received and that the bag was scheduled for delivery hopefully within two days due to the backup. The bag never arrived, nor did we hear any news from American Airlines for the remainder of our stay in London.

Our scheduled departure from London to Los Angeles was on Sunday, December 26th at 11:10 AM. My wife and I arrived at Heathrow at about 8:00 AM with the intent of going to AA baggage and trying to find any of our luggage. We were escorted to the pen where all of the missing/ delayed bags were being stored and, with the assistance of the AA personnel there, searched all of the bags without finding our luggage. When we asked about the one bag that American had told us was found and was to be delivered to our London location, no one could tell us what happened to that bag despite someone from the baggage department having physically seen and touched that bag several days earlier.

Three weeks after arriving back home in Los Angeles, our luggage was finally delivered although my wife’s new Ugg boots were missing and presumably stolen from her bag.

Roger Fallihee — T-Boy writer:

Rocket Salad in London

After a wonderful and exhausting day of London sightseeing, that culminated with a stunning viewing of Lichtenstein: A Retrospective, at the Tate Modern, Dot and I ducked into an inviting Italian Bistro for a pre-theatre dinner. Little did we know that our decision to share a Rocket Salad would wipe out our itinerary for the next forty-eight hours.

At around 1:00 am I woke up with the unmistakable feeling of impending gastronomic doom, the kind that lets you know that you had better be in a bathroom within ten seconds or else. I will exclude all the unnecessary details here except to say that the attack was both frightening and ferocious.

I climbed back into bed and my loving and sympathetic wife and I retraced our meals of the day, hoping that our sleuthing would produce an obvious culinary culprit. The Rocket Salad was the only food that we shared. Dot suddenly leaped out of bed and bolted toward the bathroom door. Mystery solved.

For the next several hours our hotel room took on the look and feel of a traditional English farce, with us crossing paths in and out of the bathroom, desperately hoping that one of us would be finished before the other needed the room. I started to worry that our inability to sip even a tiny amount of water could force us into an ER and IVs, courtesy, of course, of the National Health Service.

Around 9:00 am I decided to make my way down to the dining room before they ended the breakfast food service to get some toast or rolls or fruit or anything that might be able to be successfully consumed. I made it half-way to the elevator when nature forced me to head back to our room… quickly.

I reached out to the front desk at the Park City Grand Plaza Hotel in Kensington and as I explained our predicament to Ashley she said, “Can I pop up to your room?” A few minutes later Ashley arrived with a notepad. “Let’s make a list and I’ll run to the market.”  We asked for ginger ale, Premium Saltines, oranges and anything else that she thought might be appealing. Ashley came back an hour later with two bags of snacks, beverages, candles and matches (thoughtful and welcome) and a few magazines.

Throughout that day and the next, Ashley and her coworkers called regularly to check on us. They made additional trips to the market and offered to take either of us to the ER if needed. By the following morning we were feeling mostly human again, but not completely out of the woods, so we decided to hunker down for another day.

The next morning, we woke up and it was as if nothing had ever happened. We felt great. We took the tube over to the Churchill War Rooms for a fascinating tour of the tiny rooms that PM Churchill, General Eisenhower and others used to plot the demise of Adolph Hitler.

As we wandered the streets near the Parliament we realized that we were actually hungry. I asked Dot what she was in the mood for. She dryly replied, “Mmmm, how about a nice Rocket Salad for two?”

T.E.  Mattox — T-Boy writer:

I’m not going anywhere near those places!

Although, I did buy a Swiss watch in Zürich.

The post Travel Nightmares: Travel Lessons Learned appeared first on Traveling Archive.

The water stirred and bubbled. Making her arrival in the channel was the new Carnival Mardi Gras. The crowd laughed as several wild dolphins seemingly escorted the vessel for her grand introduction.

Port Canaveral-based Carnival Freedom and Carnival Liberty joined Mardi Gras as she made her way into the terminal, creating a memorable debut befitting the occasion. The pandemic delayed her arrival for 15 months. Like King Arthur’s Lady of the Lake, it was only a matter of time until she’d rise again for her proper place in the harbor.

Safely bedecking the park on nesting platforms, young osprey looked on. This moment was bigger than a gargantuan boat. Grown adults wept throughout the parking lot.

Catching my breath, this was the sign I’d been anticipating for more than a year. America is back.

Unveiling Terminal 3

Carnival President Christine Duffy, United States Coast Guard officials, and Canaveral Port Authority CEO Captain John Murray, along with 300 travel advisors and dignitaries, participated in a breakfast reception highlighting the excitement for Mardi Gras’ arrival and its impact on the state.

The gathering was hosted in Port Canaveral’s new Terminal 3, which was built specifically for the vessel. The cruise facility is the first in the Americas powered by Liquified Natural Gas.

“Mardi Gras has been five years in the making and today’s arrival is a historic milestone for our company not to mention a truly emotional moment for everyone here at Carnival Cruise Line,” said Duffy.  “This ship offers so many innovations and ways for our guests to choose fun that we are certain that she will quickly become a guest favorite.”

The company will now begin the process of ramping up the ship’s crew of 1,750 to greet its passengers who can experience the first roller coaster at sea. Other onboard offerings are a nautical version of the TV show Family Feud, and more than two dozen restaurants with venues from Guy Fieri, Emeril Lagasse, Rudi Sodiman and the line’s “Chief Fun Officer” Shaquille O’Neal. The ship offers entertainment venues throughout 19 decks and six themed zones, as well as a wide range of outdoor attractions, such as the longest ropes course and largest water park in the fleet.

Green New Deal

Peter Cranis, Executive Director at Space Coast Office of Tourism, believes that the return of several ships to the area will revitalize the local economy. He noted that facilities powered by alternative energy are a good fit for Brevard County, which is home to numerous large ecotourism sites such as Canaveral National Seashore.

“The arrival of Carnival’s Mardi Gras last week felt like a turning point, and the excitement surrounding it shows people are ready to get back to sea,” Cranis said. “This will be the first Liquified Natural Gas-powered cruise ship in North America, and we can’t think of a better place for it to call home.”

Mardi Gras will sail year-round from Port Canaveral, offering seven-day itineraries to the eastern and western Caribbean. For additional information, visit Carnival Cruise Line.

The post Florida’s Back appeared first on Traveling Archive.

The T-Boy Society of Film & Music’s latest poll is dedicated to Sky’s the Limit,  where members select trips and destination/s in which money is of no concern. Like last month’s World’s Friendliest Destinations we’ve decided to continue with another uplifting theme due to the events of today. You’ll find members’ selections to be deeply personal and great fun, where we tap into their minds and go on an emotional journey and see what constitutes their wildest dreams.

Richard Carroll — T-Boy Writer:

Sky’s the Limit; Destinations where money is no object 

If I came upon a satchel of gleaming South Africa diamonds and with deep pockets where the sky’s the limit and money is no object, I would quickly book a private jet and invite family and close friends on a 21-day plus world excursion to Buenos Aires and a night of tango at Bar Sur with dinner at the Four Seasons; a few nights at remote Las Alamandas on the West Coast of Mexico; a visit to the Maya site of Tikal in Guatemala led by Maya guide Jose Antonio Gonzalez; dinner and lunch in Mexico City at Pujol, Mercaderes and Les Moustaches, serenaded by guitar and harp; a private Bordeaux winery tasting tour to Yquem, Margaux, Petrus, Lafitte Latour, and Haut Brion; overnights at Turtle Island, Fiji; dinner with Executive Chef Massino Defrancesca, Kimpton’s Seafire Resort, Cayman Islands; overnights at the historic 18th century Castadiva, Lake Como; three nights at The Ritz London,  and along the travel trail sharing with anyone in need.

Chloe Erskine — Educator:

Outer Space

Ed Boitano — T-Boy editor:

Golden Eagle Trans-Siberian Railway – Russia

Much of my youth was colored by images of the Trans-Siberian Railway. All I really had was a little note card in a pack of other cards which illustrated the world’s most monumental engineering feats. At the length of 5,772 miles, traversing though eight times zones, my Sky’s the Limit  selection would be to experience Siberia via the Trans-Siberian Railway. Siberia constitutes 77% of Russia’s total land mass with the nation itself blanketing 11 percent of the world’s landscape. Reading about taiga forests; rugged mountains ranges; untamed rivers; ancient log infested  lakes; and little villages, first settled by Old Believers, preservationists of “pre-Nikonian” practices of the Russian Church, would no doubt be a stunning foray into a new world of images and history. After careful research, I discovered Golden Eagle, a luxury private train, considered the top of the line in deluxe first-class railway travel. My journey would commence in Moscow (or St. Petersburg) to the Pacific in Vladivostok. Perhaps  I’d bring half a-dozen friends who have a keen appreciation of caviar and vodka.  After all, isn’t this the Sky’s the Limit: Where Money Is No Object? Golden Eagle’s luxury service is provided by a provodnitsa, a female attendant in a military-style uniform, who keeps things running smoothly in a unique Russian way. Za Zdarovje!

Deb Roskamp — T-Boy photographer & writer:

Cruising.  Seeing the world. Two pleasures that bring me some of my greatest delights

Combine. Include a generous helping of the some of the most remote locales that I have fantasized visiting, but because of their location, make it highly improbable that I will. Sprinkle into the itinerary a few places that I’ve already been to, loved, but most likely will not return to.  Subtract COVID-19 and any pandemic to follow.  Find a pot of gold (4 kg worth).

My “Sky’s the Limit:” around the World in 167 days aboard Silversea’s Silver Cloud, departing January 25th, 2022 from Ushuaia, Argentina.  Includes Antarctica, Shetland Islands, multiple stops along Chile, Robinson Crusoe Island, Easter Island, Pitcairn Island, multiple stops in the Marquesas, Tahiti, Cook, Samoa, Fiji, Vanuatu, Solomon, and Papua New Guinea islands.  On to Australia, Indonesia, Singapore, Sri Lanka, India, Oman, Egypt, Greece, Albania, Tunisia, Sicily, Algeria, Spain, Portugal, France, England, Ireland, Scotland, Iceland, ending in Norway.  Aaah… bliss!

Fyllis Hockman — T-Boy writer:

Lodge at Tikana — Southland, New Zealand

So there I was lying in this massive tub overflowing with all kinds of goodies ‘cause I couldn’t decide between the rosewater bubble bath, the ginseng and orange blossom aromatic bath soak, the green tea and lime leaf water infusion disc or the green tomato and seaweed body scrub. I was so stressed out by the decision, it was a good thing there was the lemon-scented calming oil to finish off with. Not your usual hotel amenities! Which is an apt introduction to the Lodge at Tikana in Southland, New Zealand. Tikana, by the way, means style in the Maori language.

Did I mention that while I was soaking, I was also making eye contact with a family of deer peering in the wide bath-tub-level window next to me? This luxurious two-story retreat, the only guest accommodations on the property, is part of a working farm which breeds the afore-mentioned deer as well as thoroughbred horses. But let’s get back to the important things. How many lodgings have YOU stayed in that came with its own wine cellar???

Okay, you had a wine cellar, you say. Well, what about your own latte-making machine in the kitchen? Imagine curling up on the couch in your living room with freshly made cappuccino? We’re not talking International Coffees here. Of course, you probably wouldn’t also have a little fawn outside your window.

The décor is combination art house and rustic elegance — steel and stone flow together between raw timber-framed floor-to-ceiling windows to create an environment that entices the eye and embraces the soul. A heady escape from civilization but with surround-sound entertainment and internet hook-up.

Picture this. While sipping cappuccino mid-day, I nibbled on cheese and crackers from the fridge; with the Chardonnay, I opted for olives and deli. Keep in mind, this is no hotel mini-bar where you’re charged extra for every indulgence. And indulgences abound.

Owners Dave and Donna — he, a vet; she, a horse trainer — who also know a thing or two about treating humans, take pampering to a whole new level. Their gourmet meals are 4-star Michelin for both food and presentation.

I was so relaxed after my bath I dined in the fluffy, multi-colored robe they provided — though my evening wear didn’t do justice to the beautifully attired table. A candelabra of multi-layered candles oozed ambience, and the silver meal-covers warmed our hearts as well as our food.

Chef Donna discussed our preferences for every course ahead of time — did we want the lamb or the venison tonight? Basted in garlic or encrusted in dukah? I have no clue what that is but it tasted yummy. And would you believe sticky date pudding with toffee sauce?

I inadvertently picked an award-winning wine from the extensive collection to accompany the meal. It was beginner’s luck but I didn’t feel the need to disavow the hosts of my sophisticated taste.

Such all-inclusive sumptuousness comes at a price, of course — a hefty one — but this is Sky’s the Limit: were money is of no concern— and I’ll be ready for my return to Southland, New Zealand.

Tom Weber — T-Boy writer:

Ashford Castle: Elegantly Wrapped in Irish Charm

Of the 522 medieval castles that dot the Republic of Ireland’s landscape, one stands “keep and ramparts” above all others: Ashford Castle, the oldest fortress in the country, a true treasure of the Emerald Isle and a real “sky’s the limit” destination.

Several years ago, I arrived at this iconic landmark under a fine mist and was led across a stone bridge straddling the River Cong in Co. Mayo by a piper in full regalia. “Céad míle fáilte! (One-hundred-thousand welcomes),” announced the general manager as I walked up the entry stairs, flanked by a pair of Irish Wolfhound statues — four-legged guests are always welcome — and stepped onto the bespoke carpeting and entered into a world of regal elegance.

Winner of the 2020 World SPA Award as Ireland’s best hotel spa, Ashford Castle, a five-star country estate, is set amid 350 acres of well-manicured greenery, gardens and rustic paths and trails that overlook the Lough Corrib, the country’s second largest lake. With a heritage dating all the way back to 1228, the castle turned the page on its history in 2013 when it was purchased by Red Carnation Hotels and immediately underwent a top-to-bottom, multi-million dollar renovation and refurbishment that was unveiled to much fanfare in 2015.

I’m handed a green leather key card to a lovely, renovated deluxe view room on the top floor of the castle. As I swiped the card over the security pad and pushed back the door, my jaw dropped in OMG fashion. My suite, like the other 82 guest rooms, is richly appointed as the meticulous attention to detail is found in the unique works of art, carefully sourced antique furniture with sumptuous fabrics and custom-designed carpet, king-sized bed, feature lighting, exquisite toweling and VOYA seaweed-based organic bath and beauty products.

Cullen’s at the Cottage, a summer-only bistro restaurant occupying a traditional thatched-roof cottage, serves up international and local dishes inspired by Beatrice Tollman, owner of Ashford Castle, in a casual atmosphere accented by friendly Irish hospitality. Greeted warmly by the manager, she and her young and eager wait staff went above and beyond the call of duty to ensure my dining experience at the Cottage was memorable. And, it was.

A nightcap was in order, so I retired to The Prince of Wales Cocktail Bar where the on-duty mixologist prepped a Jameson, neat. Seated at a glass-covered table showcasing a few antique flintlock pistols, I sipped slowly wondering all the while if these weapons were ever used in a duel at 15 paces.

Sleep arrives quickly as I tuck myself into the inviting bed — turned down by evening maid service — with luxurious 400-thread-count Egyptian cotton monogrammed bed linen, and highlighted by a complimentary box of Lily O’Brien’s chocolates resting atop one of the pillows. Night night!

When it’s not raining on your parade, and that’s a real possibility when visiting the Emerald Isle, there are plenty of outdoor activities to keep you busy around the castle in between breakfast, lunch and dinner. Tee it up at the parkland golf course; play singles or doubles on two all-weather tennis courts; go fishing; grab a kayak and paddle around the lake; mount a horse and hit the woodland trails, or take a carriage ride with the entire family; hire a bike and cycle the castle’s vast estate; take aim at clay pigeons and bullseyes with skeet and archery; play billiards; screen The Quiet Man and other box-office hits in the velvet-seated cinema; relax in the spa; or, do what I did: experience the ancient sport of falconry.

Ireland’s School of Falconry is the oldest established falconry school in the country. Here, castle guests can book a once-in-a-lifetime “hawk walk” and fly their very own Harris’s hawk in the nearby woodlands. Following its “handler” from tree to tree, your hawk periodically swoops down into your gloved fist, grabs a “snack,” then flies off again. You know it’s somewhere nearby from the sound of the tiny bells attached to its talons.

I was told that a “history” cruise around Lough Corrib, sailing daily, weather permitting, from Ashford Castle’s private pier, is a terrific way to explore the camera-ready surroundings of some of the lake’s 365 isles, one for each day of the year, and take in the panoramic views of the Connemara Mountains in the distance. I board the M.V. Isle of Innisfree, an original tender (lifeboat) from the Cunard Line, and we shove off. The knowledgeable captain/historian steers the boat and narrates the scene at the same time as we cruise across the lake. Meanwhile, an 80-year-old musician entertains guests topside on the “squeezebox” with a selection of Irish tunes, like Danny Boy and Rakes of Mallow. In between the history lesson and the ditties, a member of the crew ensures that glasses are kept full with wine or Jameson, or both, to ward off the cold wind hitting us straight on. Brrrr.

In 1906, the Prince of Wales was a guest of the Guinness family, owners of Ashford Castle at the time. The prince went on to become England’s King George V. In honor of his visit, the Guinness family built a special dining room which still bears his name. Dressed in coat and tie, I’m ushered into the graceful setting that is the George V Dining Room and prepare to dine like royalty. From acclaimed Chef Philippe Farineau’s kitchen, a bounty of food magazine-worthy dishes are plated before me from Ireland’s lands, seas and farms, all paired with stellar wines from Bouchard Finlayson Winery of South Africa.

With my 48-hour, fairy tale-like stay coming to an end, I add my name to the guest book to ensure that I’m part of the Ashford lore. I thoroughly enjoyed the elegance of Ashford Castle, but found its Irish charm simply irresistible.

Richard Frisbie — T-Boy writer:

A cruise around the globe

I don’t have that lifestyle, or even that imagination. My last vacation was in the 1980s — a week in southern California followed by a weekend at Amelia Island resort. Since then it’s just been an overnight to Maine to visit family once or twice a year, or my press trips which are certainly no vacation. “Sky’s the limit” travel is beyond my ken, not to mention my wallet.

That being said, after years of writing hundreds of cruise port excursions annually for the largest reseller of same, I would love to do a world cruise in the best stateroom/suite/penthouse on board, with a butler and an unlimited budget. That way I could socially distance, (which is more my nature than it is pandemic-related) and see the best of the best everywhere in the world using top guides in all ports, with enough time to eat local specialties, drink local wines, while touring museums, historic city centers, and beautiful countrysides.

Ringo Boitano — T-Boy writer:

Tuscany Calling – Italy

A private villa with a swimming pool, surrounded by vineyards in Tuscany. Included in the package would be a SUV rental car and a chef, who specializes in Cucina Toscana as well as Italy’s other 19 regions. Cooking lessons by request. The theme would be to relax, take day trips or longer, and host friends from around the globe.

Phil Marley — Poet:

Summer: Norway’s Fjords

To spend six summer months in a large remote, vacation cabin, with electricity or not. Hiking, fishing, boating, touring nearby waterside villages. Evenings spent around a grand table with family and friends, dining on mammoth communal meals. And the laughing and joking in eternal peace.

Winter: Québec City

Yes, it’s cold, but with a warm jacket, gloves and a pair of solid boots, you don’t even notice. The season is filled with the spirit of hygge, the Danish expression of coziness, evoking  a warm feeling inside. Reflections of lights and historic buildings bounce off the snow. Restaurants welcome you with blazing fires. And, if the chance you become bored, there is Québec winter festival,  Carnaval de Québec.

Skip Kaltenheuser — T-Boy writer:

Kashmir – Pakistan & India

Some places I’d like to go to are off-limits, at least to my sensibility, because of internal political strife or potential international conflict. And in this case, the tensions are between nuclear powers, Pakistan, India and China. I hope they find a way to work it out and the whole region becomes travel friendly, I’ve heard its beauty is awesome. When it opens, no doubt someone will put together some over-the-top digs and pleasures, in the style to which I’d like to become accustomed but probably won’t. But if it does open, I hope it’s also backpacker/hiker friendly, sans landmine anxieties.

Brent Campbell — Musician and composer:

• Trans-Siberian Railway, Russia — Moscow to Vladivostok.
• Former Soviet Republics — A driving trip through Eastern Europe, maybe start by taking overseas delivery of a new Audi in Germany.
• Remote South Pacific Islands — Samoa, Fiji, Tonga, Cook Islands.

Raoul Pascual — T-Boy webmaster:

With Sky’s the Limit, I wouldn’t necessarily go where it is expensive, but to where I probably could not ever imagine I could go.

• Go underwater in a yellow submarine tour.
• Go to the moon and see the earth.
• Go to the Brazilian rain forest and swing on ropes like Tarzan.
• Go to the most expensive cruise just to see what makes it so expensive.
• Go to Japan and soak up the culture of the big city and the tiny villages.
• Go to Singapore and Dubai to see how the filthy rich waste their money.
• Go to the Great Wall of China and enjoy the 360 degree view. I don’t think pictures can really capture this.
• Same goes with the Pyramids.
• Go to Alaska and marvel at the expanse of the icebergs. Eat fresh fish and crab.
• Go to Iceland and have a sauna massage.
• But in all this, I would want my wife and my kids to be with me because I’ve traveled alone before and it wasn’t fun without anyone beside me. I want to be in wonder with them.

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Photographs by Dennis Cox, text by Clark Norton

At a time when travel has come to a complete standstill, award-winning photographer Dennis Cox releases the perfect antidote for cruise-starved readers – a luscious, photography-laden look at all aspects of the worldwide cruise phenomena that defined the last decades. This retrospective of river, canal, sea, and ocean cruising – from small boat to large ship – presents the colorful history of our fascination with vacationing on the water. Whether you see this as a eulogy to the cruise industry or as a temporary diversion until you can again walk the decks of your favorite ships, “Cruising the World – From Gondolas to Megaships” is just what the (travel) doctor ordered.

For years I wrote the port excursion tours for one of the largest resellers of cruises, so I know the tourist attractions in and around most port cities. I also know how many people can descend those gangplanks in each port. Often it was many times the number of people the infrastructure was designed to service. That leads to a conflict between residents and tourists that major destinations like Venice and Barcelona have been waging for years.

Combine that with the norovirus contagions of previous years and the current COVID-19 shipboard spread that had passengers and crew quarantined on board for weeks and months at a time, and you have a genuine fear of cruising building in the tourism sector. What’s a cruise industry to do?

Cruising is a $45 billion industry that helps support local economies. When COVID-19 locked down the cruise industry, popular destinations that depended heavily on visitor spending, sales taxes, and port fees, struggled to survive. The same destinations that once decried the thousands of day-trippers ruining their quality of life realized that it was the tourists bringing the money that helped to keep their local economy alive.

Citing stepped-up cleaning and sterilizing procedures in place, with self-service buffets and snacks closed, cruise lines have to hope tourists will return. But if one miss-step leaves tourists trapped onboard, dying in their floating petri dish, the cruise industry as we know it will likely sink.

With a few cruise lines now planning to restart itineraries in July, 2020, and others no later than 2021, local governments, businesses catering to tourism, even street vendors, have to wonder if the newly clean, uncongested, and quiet streets (and in the case of Venice – canals) they enjoyed when the tourists stayed home are worth giving up for the revenues generated. Perhaps a new balance – one that juggles a trashed destination’s engorged coffers with a citizen’s right to peacefully exist in their neighborhoods – could be realized.

This book “Cruising the World – From Gondolas to Megaships” doesn’t address that dilemma directly, but it does, just by its very existence, offer a pleasant alternative to cruising. That in itself can be a partial solution. It can also be the fix needed by committed cruisers that can’t wait until next year for the full menu of cruise options beautifully illustrated on these 208 glossy pages. So this book is perfect for those who wish to travel vicariously, those who wish to explore all the cruise options available to them, and those just jonesing for their next cruise.

From Dennis Cox’s preface: “A cruise can last for minutes or months. It can be shared with thousands of other people or with just a few. It can be luxurious or bare bones. It can carry you to sunny beaches or to great cities, tiny villages, and exotic landscapes. The choice is yours.”

Whatever your choice, as soon as you see “Cruising the World – From Gondolas to Megaships” you’ll want to pick it up and lose yourself in the splashy, colorful, and exotic cruise options and destinations.

This book has it all! Full and half-page color photos of everything from mega-ships with all the amenities for thousands of people, to duck boats and gondolas – along with descriptions of the places they’ll take you – fill these pages, wrapped by coherent and entertainingly descriptive text from award-winning cruise writer Clark Norton.

“Since 1970, the cruise industry has swelled from more than half a million passengers a year to more than 30 million annually – triple the growth rate of world tourism as a whole.” according to Clark Norton in the induction. “And to meet the demand, ships have gotten progressively bigger. Eleven cruise lines feature ships that can carry at least 2,200 passengers . . . and the five largest ocean-going vessels can now accommodate nearly 7000 passengers, resembling virtual floating resorts on the sea.” He goes on to compare them to the many luxurious small ships that can dock at lesser-known ports, even plying the scenic rivers and lakes of the world.

After his captivating introduction and a few dozen pages of historic overview, the book is arranged by region. It can be read cover-to-cover, or dipped into at random, always promising an engaging look at the industry and destinations you enjoy. If your interest is in a specific region, or type of cruise, the table of contents pinpoints it for your immediate pleasure. You don’t have to slog through Southeast Asia cruises if your interest is European River cruises – and vice versa. Just let your fingers do the walking to exactly what you are looking for. But don’t be surprised when the next eye-popping picture pulls you into a whole new section of the book – one you may find yourself enjoying even more!

Cruising the World – From Gondolas to Megaships: ISBN 978-0-578-45960-8 – 208 page, 9.5” x 12” full-color hardcover coffee table book features 535 photos depicting 37 varieties of cruise vessels representing 77 countries on all seven continents. $40 – can be ordered here: Photo Explorer Productions

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The voyage began with Wind Star Cruises, aboard the company’s sleek, 342-passenger Wind Surf. Featuring motorized sailing yachts that are about a third the size of today’s average cruise ships, Windstar offers a unique, intimate traveling experience. The cruise traveled to the islands of Iles des Saintes, Nevis, St. Barthelemy, St. Martin, St. John and St. Thomas.

Iles des Saintes, my favorite island in the French Antilles, was discovered by Christopher Columbus in 1493. This charming little hideaway is painted with colorful fishing boats bobbing offshore and tanned, french-speaking residents traversing narrow, semi-paved streets with scooters, bicyclers and bare feet. The island canvas is completed with the tiny shopping village of Bourg, sandwiched between white sandy beaches, with turquoise waters, and verdant green hills, speckled with red-roofed dwellings.

While in Iles des Saintes, I hiked to the ruins of Fort Napoleon, an 1867 garrison built by the island’s inhabitants to defend against attacking Carib and English armies. I then found Pont Piere Beach, where I went snorkeling in a secluded cove and relaxed on a deserted beach, while the Wind Surf danced on the horizon and wild goats and fisherman strolled past.

Back on board the Wind Surf I explored the 617-foot-long ship. With seven triangular sails spread across five masts, and more than half an acre of fabric flying 221 feet above the ship deck, the Wind Surf is a classic sailing vessel. Designed and built in Le Havre, France by the Chantiers de L’Atlantique shipyard, the boat joined the Windstar fleet in 1998. In 2011 – 2012, and most recently in 2019, she underwent major renovations.

The ship’s sails are computer-operated and can propel her if the wind is right. If it is man-made power the captain needs, then four diesel-electric engines are at the ready.

Because of her size, the Wind Surf, like all Windstar ships, can drop anchor in exotic ports too small for the big guys. And because these vessels carry a fraction of the passenger load, embarking and disembarking takes minutes instead of hours.

After exploring the Wind Surf, I relaxed on deck with a glass of wine and watched the sun fall into the Caribbean Sea. In the morning, the lush green mountains of Nevis engulfed my cabin windows. Rushing ashore, I found a beautiful cone-shaped island with colorful buildings, friendly locals, uniformed school children, and wondering goats and chickens. I gathered my water and sun screen and joined an expedition into the island’s stunning rainforest in search of vervet monkeys, wild donkeys and Zebra butterflies.

The trek took us through a thick canopy of vegetation that wound past wild coffee and cherries, mango trees and bamboo, and a host of exotic medicinal plants. In a while, we dipped beneath the branches of a towering breadfruit tree and emerged from the jungles of Nevis. Here I peered down the mountain to see the glistening profile of Wind Surf, anchored in a horseshoe bay.

From Nevis the Wind Surf sailed to St. Barthelemy, where we anchored off the tiny French island around noon. Because of the ship’s diminutive size we parked close enough to see a hilltop sprinkled with luxurious retreats. While here, I joined a van tour of the island.

Also known as St. Barts, St. Barthelemy is a Caribbean haven for the rich and famous — or those lucky enough to have been born there. The island is highlighted by narrow hillside streets, with secluded coves; sandy beaches; and luxurious resorts, hanging above emerald lagoons. There is also duty-free shopping; chic sidewalk cafes; mopeds and tiny cars; and a continuous air show, in which planes skim the main highway to land on a mountaintop airstrip the size of a football field.

Back aboard the Wind Surf, the chef prepared a Caribbean buffet in the lounge. Highlighted a whole roasted pig, fresh crab and shrimp, and numerous coconut and curry dishes, the exotic feast brought everyone out of their cabins. Dinner was followed by a variety show, staring the ship’s crew.

In the morning we sailed into St. Martin, the smallest landmass in the world shared by two countries. The Dutch own sixteen miles and the French own 21. On the French side, I saw salt ponds and the largest lagoon in the Caribbean. On the Dutch side, I found gambling and great bargains on duty free alcohol.

Our last island stop was St. John, where I hiked over a mountain and ended up at Honeymoon Beach, a beautifully secluded paradise. While cooling in the clear, bath-like water, I was invited aboard a nearby sailboat and given cold beer.

For more info on a Windstar Cruise to the Caribbean or other exotic destinations, visit Windstar Cruises.

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The four-day event utilizes four stages to host 120 events associated with the 60 music acts and their crews. Setting a course for metal-venture on The Independence of the Seas is an ethnically and generationally diverse audience of more than 3,000 hailing from 73 countries.

I chat with Detroit metal enthusiast and IT System Administrator Nick Haag. A four-time guest, he is among the ranks of white-collar professionals who count themselves among the devotees of this entertainment genre.

“Sys-Admins are all metalheads,” Haag says, laughing.

Haag notes that heavy metal, along with its black leather, has a “cheeky” sense of humor. This becomes apparent at an indoor lounge when Nekrogoblikon, a hard-driving Los Angeles ensemble, takes the stage. The band’s ominous mascot, a 5’5 man dressed in a green goblin costume, is met by jubilant cheers from the multinational crowd. Really.

“There is a time in every man’s life when he must choose,” the crowd is firmly instructed over the amplifiers. “Between human. And goblin.”

Decisions, decisions.

Plunging Through Purgatory

On a clear February day, the beaches of Labadee, Haiti are easily viewable from the festival. Its hammocks beckon me, but I take comfort in the knowledge that the palm trees can wait—the afternoon will provide lounging opportunities. Nearby, I’m following the cool waves of the German “thrash metal” band Sodom on an underwater excursion: “Snorkeling with Sodom.” Cheeky humor indeed.

After exploring the warm brines with Sodom, I nose-dive into guitarist Yorck Segatz’s thoughts.

“Any initial doubts about the cruise not being ‘metal enough’ were unfounded,” Segatz said. “It is surreal to enjoy the beautiful landscape and the traditional dances of Labadee together with a horde of metal fans dressed in band shirts.”

I never expected the words “beautiful” and “traditional” mentioned favorably by a member of a German metal band. Especially one named Sodom. Surreal it is.

“What a great experience seeing the beautiful beach and nature of this island,” Frank Gosdzik exclaims. “Yorck and I got to snorkel with people from all countries! It was so beautiful to see the coral reef with all the sea life. I was the last one who came back to the boat. I could have snorkeled much longer.”

Beautiful, guys? There’s that b-word word again. Waxing lyrical about nature? Doesn’t that go against the nature of metal?

I remind myself of the delightfully ironic nature of this art form, and conclude Sodom is as metal as they wannabe in Labadee. It’s this Yankee Girl who needs to cleanse herself of her stoicism.

Following the tour and the ship’s evening departure from Haiti, drummer Stefan “Husky” Hüskens does offer a decidedly metallic yet pleasant evaluation.

“It was too warm for a normal mid-European metalhead,” Husky diplomatically explains. “I was back onboard after one hour, but the island was nice with many attractions.”

A Metal Frame of Mind

Formerly disregarded as an artistic also-ran, heavy metal and its associated subgenres and mashups, such as “Viking metal” and “Celtic metal,” have slowly gained reverence since the 1970s. The 70000 Tons of Metal cruise is home to a vibrant music community. The experimental, old-school and hard-driving cultures here are flourishing, as evidenced by big stage concerts rocking the decks as well as well as a surfeit of intimate performances in the lounges and theaters. The ship shakes into daybreak in order to accommodate the 120 shows in its four days.

German businessman Wolfgang Rott is the scene’s biggest evangelist. In 2008, the helmed the first voyage and the cruise has subsequently received a plethora positive reviews in metal-oriented outlets. An amiable headbanger, he has only a moment to speak with me before he’s off to watch the band Napalm Death.

“So many events on our ship this time,” Rott declares. “Karaoke, Super Bowl party, band meet-and-greets.”

Among Rott’s many onboard tasks are interacting with the crowds and ensuring that ship employees understand the philosophy. New security guards who might otherwise be alarmed by the audience phenomena of deliberate shoving known as “moshing” are debriefed on the general harmlessness of it. Indeed, such activity on the ship ironically concludes with the jostlers hugging it out. A sociable African American passenger, with buckets of hair and known only as “Antoinne,” bouncily ambushes the faces of his fellow moshers with assorted rubber toys. He’s adored throughout the boat.

“We have a varied music scene with many acts such as Accept and Vicious Rumors,” Rott explains. “Fans and performers of all styles go to shows together.”

It all begs the question: What’s in the artistic water at 70000 Tons of Metal? Haag believes the nautical venue provides a superior platform for the heavy hurling.

“I won’t go to a multi-day land festival,” Nick Haag says. “The bands get short sets and you end up tenting in a pool of someone’s sick. I like the cruise because all the bands get full sets, they all play through the same sound system, so they are all equal. If I get tired, I can go back to my cabin.”

I could do without the “someone’s sick” visual, but it’s an effective one as I watch group Napalm Death. Sick name, in the vein that sick is used by Millennials to describe excitement.

Platform It, and They Will Come

Canadian ultrasound technician Marcus Smith concurs with Nick Haag regarding the comicality of the event.

“I remember the first time I heard about this cruise and I just laughed because it’s so absurd,” Smith said. “That’s part of the beauty of it, because metal is a little ludicrous. I love getting to see a fellow fan walking his stuffed plush dog around on a leash, and everyone loves Antoinne swinging his pointlessly large toys around in the mosh-pit. It’s all ridiculous and I think it’s good for the soul. Deep down, it takes wit to be a metal fan. No matter how dark and intense you are, if you don’t realize it is a bit silly, I think you just burn out on it. The thought of 60 metal bands, some of them the most extreme of the extreme on a cruise ship full of metalheads? This is one of the greatest jokes I’ve ever seen. It is an authentic cruise, with metal bands putting on metal shows.”

Smith echoes the sentiments of other passengers that anyone who is a fan of live music should take the journey. If you are dating or married to a metal fan but you are not one yet, he reasons, you will learn about your partner’s passion and it might start making more sense to you.

“To anyone thinking about trying out the metal cruise even if just for a taste of something that’s foreign and different, just do it,” Smith continues. “You’ll find yourselves more welcome than you’d expect. The fans bring the theme. If the ship tried to create the theme, it would come off as counterfeit. You can do that with an Elvis cruise because you’re just selling to people who aren’t much on the purist side. With a metal cruise, the wisest thing is to merely offer a stage. Provide a platform, the people will bring the theme.”

It’s Up to You, Yorck

The cruise winds down with a ship-wide viewing of the Super Bowl, followed by a hilarious karaoke session performed by headbangers. A couple of male European “gothic metal” band members sentimentally croon the 1980s Foreigner ballad, “Waiting for a Girl Like You,” while several longhaired men sidesplittingly waltz together. Antoinne emerges with a soft figurine, playfully throttling them all.

Perhaps the United Nations could learn a lesson in diplomacy from the 70000 Tons passengers. Antoinne could use a rubber gavel to mediate any deliberations over the merits of bluegrass metal.

I linger over lagers with Stefan Accola, a realtor from the ever-neutral Switzerland. He believes the Caribbean balminess contributes to the onboard congeniality.

“This vacation is Switzerland with warmth and sea,” Accola explains. “Nobody quarrels here. We’re not caught up in whether death metal is better than polka metal. Or Italy versus Spain. The musicians and fans enjoy the sun together and respect everyone’s music. Then we go back contented to Tokyo, Barcelona, New York, Rio or Tel Aviv.”

Sodom’s Yorck Segatz concurs.

“What an enjoyable experience to mingle with the fans throughout the cruise, during one of the many shows of other bands or just hanging out, enjoying a beer or two,” Segatz elucidated. “Multinationalism doesn’t matter, it’s one united family.”

“When people are on 70000 Tons, they are given the opportunity to experience metal on a level that makes them feel part of something special,” Smith said. “Metal is so raw that people can relate to on a personal level. The energy of this ship gives everyone the feeling that anyone can do something special and we’re all invited—no one is left out.”

The roster of performers at the floating festival changes annually. The 2020 voyage, “Round X”— befitting the event’s 10th year and a nod to GenX metal culture — will run January 7-11. To set your course on this metal-venture, visit 70000tons.com.

Copyright 2019, Sarah Wyatt

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