Travel Stories

Iberian Road Trip – A Scary Story
by Christophe Rosseel

Diving With Elephants
by sharkeyscuba.com

Diving With Elephants

Amazing Thailand

Park and Ride

Back To Reef-ality

The Amazing Antarctica
by Diane Ross

Antarctica Adventure

The "Fishing Village"
by Kristina
The Vietnamese fishing village is said to be a good option as a break from "temple overload". The Tonle Sap lake, which is one of the largest freshwater lakes in the world, rises and falls with the yearly monsoon tides. During the monsoon season (May to October) the Mekong river rises and actually reverses its flow back into the lake, casusing the lake to more than double in size. The lake provides most of the country's fish as well.
The fishing community has it's houses either on top of boat hulls or in the form of small shacks which sit on stilts. As the tide rises, the entire community packs up their homes and moves to higher ground. If they did not, they would be stranded out in the middle of the lake, or under water. As we got closer, we could see many houses, not much more than sticks and boards, literally being moved on the back of a truck, to places further inland due to the rising of the water. Once out on the water, we would also see boats being tugged inland toward the shallower water.
We arrived at an area set up just for tourists to take boat rides out onto the lake. There had to be at least 50 empty boats waiting for customers. Since Ponheary set up everything in advance, we did not need to haggle with the many people who wanted our business. Phall brought us directly to the boat, which, as it turned out, we had to ourselves. The boat sat at least 16 in wooden chairs set on the deck. Our fare was $15 total, for the two of us (Phall again staying with his car), and the trip took a little over two hours. This is overpriced according to the LP guidebook, but the book is out of date. Plus, if we'd had more people with us, my guess is that the price would have been the same. The trip was well worth the money.
The boat captain pushed us out of his space in the canal, much like a Venetian gondolier. He had a difficult time maneuvering the large boat through the shallow water and the reeds. The further we got, the deeper the water, and the wider the channel became. I don't know why I had expected the "village" to be out on the lake, but in fact, it lined the sides of a small tributary. He motored slowly along and we had an excellent opportunity to take it all in. We were passed a few times by quicker boats, crowded with more people, but I'm not sure how they could enjoy the scenery while going so fast.
Along the way, we saw all the trappings of a regular, land locked village. There was a school, a billiards hall, markets, agriculture and aquaculture, and many homes, all floating atop variously sized boats. Some of the markets reminded me of the produce trucks that ply the streets of Latino neighborhoods in Los Angeles. These were small boats, filled with the basic necessities of life (bottles of fish sauce, produce, plastic baskets, etc.) paddled about from houseboat to houseboat, usually by a solo female proprietor. The farming techniques were quite interesting as well. We could see that some families had planted vegetables on a sort of floating island or in pots on rafts along side their boats. There was also some sort of aquaculture (fish farming) going on in large, cage covered barges.
When we finally reached the mouth of the river, the boat's captain took us out onto the lake and turned off the motor. It was a bit unnerving, since he did not speak English and we weren't sure why we were stopped. Was he going to ask us for more money? Was it a scam? My traveler's paranoia was suddenly in full force. Fortunately, he spoke a bit of French and David was able to determine that this was part of the "tour". To appreciate the vastness of the lake, one had to sit in silence on the calm water.
On our way back in from the lake, the boat made the standard "restaurant/gift shop" stop any good tour makes. Though we weren't really interested, we got out of the boat anyway. At the restaurants on both sides of the river mouth were huge birds, some sort of stork I think, sitting on top of cages with more big birds inside. I'm not sure why they were there, but I think they were fed to keep them there for the benefit of the tourists. Inside the shop I bought a bottle of water and noticed the shop owner had a pet monkey. Forgive me, I do not know what kind of primate it was. Maybe a gibbon? Anyway, I was torn between my horror of someone keeping it as a "pet" (though common here in South East Asia) and wanting to play with it and check it out. He was quite a tiny fellow, not even as big as our cats. I didn't attempt to pick him up (not after what happened to me with the monkey at the Bangkok Zoo back in '98) but I did get a couple of photos.
After our busy morning we stopped in town for lunch at Cafe Kampuccino. While standing outside reading their menu, we met a woman named Kim who said she'd eaten there before and that the food was very good. We invited her to sit with us and like any good travelers, got to hear her life story over lunch. Kim, a Canadian, was in Cambodia with the N.G.O., "Doctors Without Borders". She's stationed in a remote village and was in Siem Reap after spending 10 days traveling in Laos on her own. She was 6 months into a 9 month stay in Cambodia and it seemed like the stress of the job was quite high. Two other doctors that had started with her dropped out after 3 months and she was the only doctor left. Still, she didn't seem to have any regrets. She also confirmed something that Ponheary had told us, that there is no malaria in Siem Reap. Of course, the CDC still recommends the medicine, so, better safe than sorry, we decided to continue taking it, at least until the end of our trip.
In the afternoon we went for a traditional Khmer massage at Angkor Massage. The place is run by the blind and helps to support and give jobs to the blind community in Siem Reap. The cost is $3 per hour per person. We walked in and there were 8 or 10 massage tables set up side by side in a large room. We were asked to change clothes and given pajamas, but I declined as I was already wearing loose clothes. Each of us was assigned a masseuse, who was indeed blind, and asked to lie face down on the table. It was then that the torture began.
Let me begin by saying that I've had many a massage in my time. I've had traditional Thai, Balinese, Swedish, all different types of massage. Never have I had a more painful massage than in Siem Reap. Imagine someone taking their thumb and pressing it into the most tender part of your body, like the inside of your upper arm. This is the type of move that is taught to commandos to incapacitate people. Now, imagine the person taking all their body weight and putting it behind that thumb, again and again. It was one of the most excruciating experiences of my life. All of my "ow!" exclamations did not seem to elicit any respite, just the occasional "sorry" and then more of the same. I'm not really sure why I didn't just get up and leave, but I guess I kept hoping it would get better. David, on the other hand, said his massage was excellent, and only hurt a little. Maybe I'm just too "sensitive". Oddly enough, afterward, I felt strangely good, if only a little bruised.
Next, we visited the artist's school, Les Chantiers Ecoles. Here, we saw how students from rural areas learn the ancient arts of stone and wood carving and painting. And of course, at the end was the obligatory visit to the gift shop. The quality was much better than what was available in the central market, but very expensive. Had I the money, I would have loved to purchase a giant stone buddha or angkor era goddess, but these were in the $300-$500 US range.
After a trip back to the market where we bought several more silk scarves and a couple "Danger:Land Mine!" T-shirts (of questionable taste if you ask me) for gifts, we went to the Red Piano, a popular bar/restaurant where we had an early dinner. Tomorrow we're off to Phnom Penh....

My Impressions Of London
By Daniel Scrivner

I absolutely love London! I love the public transportation, the ideals and the attitudes of the city. I love all the gardens, parks and public areas of the city - something seriously lacking in the United States. And I love the sound and look of the people of London.

You can't help but be amused and envious of their accent - especially as a U.S. citizen. All of my life I feel as if I've heard English drawled and butchered. In the U.S. (especially where I live) I often feel as if I'm listening to people who couldn't put a coherent, intelligent sentence together with a fill in the blank book! But in London, I got to hear English spoken as it really should be. And it's beautiful to hear!

I also love the feeling of diversity in city. There's a great mixture of people and cultures in London. You get that feeling on the Tube, walking around the city and even stopping for coffee. From a tourist's point-of-view, there's so much to see in London. And you really get the feeling while touring the city, that there's people all over the world in London that are just there to explore the city's beauty, art and history. It's a great feeling! One I truly enjoyed.

What I Did In LondonBefore my trip was to officially begin with Contiki, I stayed for three nights in London. This was my time to explore the city on my own - without anything or anyone holding me back or adjusting my itinerary. And I had an incredible time!

I checked in with Contiki as soon as I arrived. And then promptly dropped all my baggage off at the hotel, to begin exploring the city. I checked out the British Museum, Natural History Museum, Tower of London, Big Ben, House of Parliament, Royal Palace, and many, many of the cities parks and lakes. And I really took my time to explore each location - stopping for coffee whenever I wanted, eating wherever I wanted, and even purchasing a few books along the way.

What I Liked MostThe thing I like most about London was not any one single attraction, but the general feeling and experience of the city. London is a great city to explore. I remember at one point, trying to navigate from the Tower Bridge over to the Millenium Bridge. And I thought, "This looks so easy! All I need to do is walk down this side of the Thames, along the water, until I get to the Millenium Bridge."

And that turned out to be much easier said than done. But it gave me a great opportunity to find my own way, and explore that part of the city. Along the way, I came to a pitchfork in my path. I could either continue to take the major roads (which seemed to be leading me further and further from the Thames), or take a side alley which appeared empty, but had several people walking out of it. So I took the alley!

And down the alley I ran into a whole, secluded shopping and dining section. The alley was packed with cool wine and cheese shops, pubs, restaurants, and small clothing shops. It turned out to be the best thing I did all day! I ended up stopping at EAT to grab a milkshake, and then just sitting on the side of the Thames, at the end of the alley, just watching the people and soaking up the experience of the city.

It was an awesome day! And I would definitely like to visit London again in the future, and stay for longer than three days.

Fort Myers & Nalples in South West Florida
by Steve

After all said and done as much as I enjoy the "buzz" of Orlando with it's theme parks and attractions there comes a time when you just want to unwind and chill out. Or maybe it is not your type of thing to mix it up with the mouse.

Then the ideal place is South Florida and Fort Myers or Naples in particular. I love these places they are so far removed from the hustle and bustle of Orlando with an almost "Caribbean" laid back way of life.

Around a 3 hour drive from Orlando brings you to these Gulf Coast treasures. Fort Myers Beach is basically on a peninsula called Estero Island. It has a population of around 6,000 locals. It is quite close to the Airport too. The accommodation here is mainly Condo's but there are hotels too. A large proportion the Condo's can be rented and most of these are privately owned. With a price tag of around $750,000 for one on the beach with an ocean view! They are all well equipped and the ones I have stayed in were fantastic. We had an ocean view with 2 bedrooms and all the things we needed to make us feel at home. Every Condo had a jacuzzi and it was enormous, without any exaggeration you could get 4 people in it easily. I am 6ft 2in and I could lay out flat and neither my head nor my feet would touch the ends.

We had the most fantastic view of the Ocean from the master bedroom windows it was a delight to wake up to in the mornings. You could lay there for a while and watch the joggers exercising in the cooler early morning temperatures or the beachcombers walking along the waters edge looking for that elusive shell.

The communal swimming pool was a delight and a 2 minute stroll gives you access to the uncrowded, white sandy beach. You can walk for miles along this unspoilt coastline. There is a pier if you wish to maybe do a spot of fishing.

There are many places to dine in Fort Myers beach, with most of them around the pier area. One place we went to and found it quite a novelty was the dinner and a movie at the Beach Theater. You choose your movie, order your food and a server brings it to your table where you can watch the movie in comfort. The rooms are quite small so it is has quite a personal feel to it. There area few rows of seats at the front, a counter top that you can sit at and then behind them are the tables.

If you wish to do your own thing, the condo has it's own set of gas barbecues. We did it one night, went to the nearby publix supermarket and got a couple of nice steaks and some shrimp and conjured up a tasty meal.

For shopping you really have to go to Naples which is about a 20-30 minute drive. There is the Coastlands Mall which contains the usual offerings of stores. One thing you will see a lot of are high priced furniture stores that cater for the wealthy residents of Naples, some quite famous ones too such as Judge Judy and Steven Spielburg has a place here too. It is said the Naples has more millionaires per capita than any other city in the US. There are also a lot of seniors here which has earned Naples the nickname "God's waiting room"

There are a lot more hotels here than at Fort Myers. It has a lovely Mediterranean feel to it inherited from it's namesake. It has tall palm tree lined roads and is well worth a visit.

Even if you don't spend your entire vacation (holiday) here just try to get down for a few days and chill out. The condos that we stayed at were Pointe Estero and the sister property next door The Gullwing. We got our 2 bedroom condo for $180 per night. You can contact the property direct or if you are in Orlando before you visit, do what we did and go to a room wholesaler such as "Know before you go" they have 2 locations in Orlando one on Sand lake and I drive and the other non the 192 around the mile 13 marker if I remember rightly.

Enjoy!!

Africa Under Canvas: Camping in Botswana
By Peter Mandel

sun pours from smiles. Somebody’s wave is like a branch back and forth in the wind.
Everyone is kind. Except for, I would guess, some of the lions. I will see. And except for the customs guy at the airport who won’t let up. “Why are you here?” he keeps asking, even when I tell him it’s for a six-day safari.

My trip is run by CC Africa, I say. Camping in tents with a guide from this big tour company. Driving in jeeps to see the animals and to let them see me.

“No, no,” says the guy. “Why are you here?”

Maybe he is asking me, not logistics, but life’s Big Question. We could have tea and a talk. But at last, when I pull out my camera and a brochure picturing a giraffe he nods. I get a stamp. I am allowed to pass by.

Jeep

I meet my , safari group in Maun, a town with no more than three or four stores but with a large and multi-colored herd of friendly goats.

This is my first time in Africa and everything is a surprise. The goats. Our guide, Peter, who is not Botswanian but Swiss. And our safari jeep which isn’t a Land Rover as I had guessed. It’s a Toyota pickup with comfy seating, a canvas canopy, even a fridge, bolted onto the bed.

Botswana is Africa’s big sky country and the dry horizon seems to stretch on and on. Much of the land here is desert, including the famous Kalahari, but we’ll be camping in the Okavango River delta, which lures animals and makes the desert green.

We load up our gear and Peter speeds us out of town along a dusty road. Bouncing around in back, besides me, are Wolfgang, an Austrian from Vienna, and Andreas, a nervous German who has questions about birds, trees, African cigarettes -- everything we see.

Also in the tour group is Louise from Dublin who spots our first impala -- a suede-soft female who hops into the air when she sees us and disappears. And there is Anders, a middle-aged Dane who has the latest in safari khaki, a shiny new bowie knife, and a hunter’s hat.

This is almost too cross-cultural for words. It feels like a set-up of some kind, or like the start of a play.

Canvas

Andreas is whistling as we drive deep into some scrubby woods. He is still whistling as we pull to a stop by a line of canvas tents and a table set with wooden bowls of snacks and glasses for wine.
Nxabega Trails Camp will be our home for the first two nights. This may be the bush, but CC Africa stewards will do nearly everything. They will cook and pour drinks and set up cots for sleeping and clean up afterward.

Any tse-tse flies around here?” says Anders warily, poking his head through the flap of the latrine. He doesn’t look happy, but I am. Our stewards have somehow dragged along and rigged up a porcelain toilet with water to pour in and flush. Luxury.

Showers will rain out of a bag that hangs on a tree branch and in our tents is a selection of “African Grass” brand toiletries. Shampoo, conditioner, and gel. We’ve got it all.

Camp is shaded by a fat baobab tree, and as the light begins to die, we get a lecture on animals. “Lions were here two days ago,” says Peter, “but not a problem. We postponed dinner until they went away. Hyenas, the strongest jaws in nature. They’ll be around looking for scraps as soon as it’s dark.”

We start detecting sounds.

Beep, beep, beep. (Peter tells us this is made by tiny frogs.)

Hoooomph. Hoooomph. Hoooomph. Hooooomph. (Hippos).

BreeEEEEEEeeeeeaaah-AAAMMMMPH. (Elephant!)

A campfire is crackling and Andreas has stopped whistling. “At night,” he asks quietly, “will there be guards around camp? Don’t we put up a fence?”

“Keep your tent zipper closed,” says Peter. “You’ll be fine.”

Night

Once I am tucked into canvas, I do not want to go out. Despite my three full glasses of South African wine. Despite my Botswana-brewed ‘St. Louis’ beer. “A satisfying blend of flavor and refreshment” boasted the can that I had crushed before turning in. Now I wish I had kept it. Or, better yet, that I had a jar.

Though the night is quiet, I think I hear a rustling in the leaves outside. I swing the beam of my flashlight but see nothing except the trunk of a tree.

I hear it again. It is crunching, not rustling.

Someone chewing on something brittle and hard.

Crunching or not, I’ve got to leave the tent. When I unzip the flap and edge outside the chewing stops. I do what I have to do and grab my flashlight again and shoot the beam towards the coals of the fire.

Two dog-like mottled shapes. Four electrified eyes.

I am back in the tent and zipped up before I take a breath. And I lie there making sure my cot is squeakless and that I gingerly exhale. Strongest jaws in nature, I think. Masticating. Swallowing. Probably wanting more.

It is dawn and I am awake with my still-bright flashlight clutched in my hand.

“Yes, hyenas,” says Peter blandly, when I ask. “They eat the chicken bones. The bones from the fire.”

Suddenly there is shouting -- there’s a fanfare in the brush near Wolfgang’s tent. A flappy ear pokes out. Now the wrinkled rear. Elephant. A big one.

Time for our game drive.

Beasts

Each of our days of camping -- at Nxabega, Savute inside Chobe National Park, and Nantanga near the banks of the Chobe River -- we roar off in the Toyota at dawn.
The billboard on an ice cream machine we pass instructs us to “Get Ready to Assault Your Senses!”

We are ready.

Our lenses are out. Our shutters buzz and snap since animals are everywhere. Kicking up dust in herds. Padding along alone in-between twisted shrubs.

No one ever told us that zebras have tiny stripes on their tails, and on their ears, and that their mane has stripes, too. “Yes,” says Andreas, “and I don’t remember seeing this at the zoo.” Buzz, snap. Buzz, snap.

No brochure has warned us that the humpbacked, chalk-gray wildebeest looks like a cave painting popped to life. Buzz, snap.

That crocodiles have a crossword-puzzle pattern stamped on their backs. Buzz, snap.

Or that a leopard blends in slinkily, sneakily, in a forest dappled with dots of sun. Buzz, snap. Buzz, snap.

There is only one major animal, we think, that’s missing. One that we have not seen or buzzed or snapped.

It is the one, says Anders, for which you come to Africa.

Pride
Lion, lion, lion, lion, lion.

I am saying this to myself, as if a chant. As if a prayer.

Lion, lion, lion, lion, lion.

It is our final Botswana day. We push off on a boat trip on the Chobe River and there are baboons, and buffalo, and an elephant rumbling down a hill to drink.

We’ve got it all. The day is white hot. A monkey scampers beside us when we load up the truck and longjumps in. We want him to ride with us to the airstrip. We’ve got it all.

Except for the One.

It is Wolfgang who, in our last half hour, notices the shapes.

Low and lazy.

Swayback shapes that are resting. Now they’re rolling in a field of grass. These are females, we know. And here’s a round-bellied male stretched out asleep beneath a tree.

“Lion,” whispers Louise.

There is a glow behind them that shows us each whisker. That somehow picks out the light in strands of fur.

Andreas lets out his whistle, soft and long.

Why are you here? I say to myself, remembering the man at customs. I want to see him again. I want to answer his question, once and for all.

Why did I come to Botswana? Listen, listen, listen.

Now I know.

Bus trip from Malawi to Tanzania
By Ayana Haaruun

Diary from South Africa : Bus trip from Malawi to Tanzania an unforgettable journey

Editor’s note: Chicago Defender archivist Ayana Haaruun’s fellowship to South Africa is ending. Here’s her next to last report from the mother Land.

On the bus ride from Malawi to Tanzania, I met the kindest Africans yet, saw the most beautiful landscapes imaginable, and survived a bus ride from hell.
Malawi, a small Southern African country, truly lives up to its slogan “the warm heart of Africa.” I spent a night in Blantyre, a beautiful, clean city nestled between tropical trees and rolling green hills.
Malawians seemed more conservative than South Africans. With a high population of both Muslims and Christians, alcohol was forbidden on the hotel premises. In the city, well-mannered, conservatively dressed men and women gave a respectable and distinguished air. And, the Malawian men seemed kinder, and “less forward” than the South African men.
The next morning, I took a clean, comfortable, air-conditioned coach bus to Lilongwe, Malawi’s capital city. Riding down the highway, the city landscape quickly became a rural, agricultural environment. Just outside the city, small one-room brick homes stood on the sides of mountains. There were miles and miles of green fields, and an occasional single, green mountain peak.
In Lilongwe, my problems began, when a taxi driver took me to an area he called “hell’s row.” “This is a where bad people are,” he mumbled, while driving up a narrow, unpaved road. Standing in the middle of a filthy, crowded area filled with rundown shops was the “seedy” bus station office. Reluctant to leave the taxi, I nervously looked around me. I knew that traveling with a large suitcase and a white woman put me in more danger of being robbed. To make matters worse, the bus company operator said the bus we’d planned to take was fully booked, and that we’d have to wait two days for another bus.
After two hours of standing in “hell’s row” pleading for a safe transport, the bus operator offered us two seats on the bus. As I boarded the old, sub-standard coach bus, I watched the sunset. In the distance, I listened to the evening Muslim call to prayer floating from a beautiful mosque down the road.
Soon after departing, however, the bus broke down. We sat idly alongside a dark road for more than three hours. When the bus finally became functional, the unpaved two-lane highway was so bumpy, I became nauseous. There was no toilet on the bus, nor was there a restroom anywhere we stopped. To relieve ourselves, women passengers had to “squat” together behind bushes or in the open fields.
The next morning near the Malawi/Tanzania border, the landscape was absolutely breathtaking. I was hypnotized by the lush green cliffs and valleys, beautiful rivers, tropical plants and clear skies. Along the road were rectangular one-room brick homes with grass or aluminum roofing built on red dirt. There were banana and mango trees everywhere.
In villages, I saw mostly women working in green fields or fetching water from wells and rivers. I saw men sitting in the shade, tending to cows or sheep, or working in small shops. Children sold fruit picked from local trees.
After about 20 hours on the bus, which continued to break down periodically, I was happy to arrive at the Tanzanian border. The customs office was modern and organized—a sign of Tanzania’s stable economy and valued tourism industry.
At the border, the bus filled with even more passengers. By night, people were literally laying in the aisles. Moving through the bus became a real test of agility and coordination. In the dark, I strategically squirmed down the aisle, tip-toeing around bodies and luggage.
At one point, I heard a strange sound, and looked around the bus. As I expected, on the floor, lay a live chicken. Now I really felt like a fellow villager.
The second day of the bus trip was unbearable. Many passengers began smelling badly, and I was hungry and thirsty. To send a hint, I stared down the stinky guy sitting across from me, while applying excessive amounts of deodorant to my underarms. And, because there was no place to stop for a “real meal” I had eaten only cookies and bananas, carefully rationed between me and my colleague.
After about 30 hours, we finally stopped at a rural Tanzanian hotel with a restaurant, where I demolished a tasty plate of fish, rice and greens.
During the next bus breakdown, I stepped outside the bus to be greeted by sparking stars. There were no other lights. Standing alone on the side of a dusty road in east Africa, I thought about all the inconvenience poverty brings.
Then I realized my colleague and I were alone in our constant complaining. While she deliriously mumbled about her swollen ankles and “shooting herself in the head,” people without seats were quiet. Lying on the floor being walked on, sitting on suitcases or milk crates with babies strapped to their bodies, they were patient and without complaint.
Sure, my 40-hour bus journey from Malawi to Tanzania was a challenging feat that I’m happy to have survived. It’s just miniscule in comparison to what many African people endure everyday.