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WIN ATRIP FOR 2 TO TREK THE INCA TRAIL IN SOUTH AMERICA!

“TRAVEL IS THE FRIVOLOUS PART OF SERIOUS LIVES, AND THE SERIOUS PART OF FRIVOLOUS ONES.”ANNE SOPHIE SWETCHINE |AUSTRALIA |BOLIVIA |CHINA |CUBA |NORW

AY |PERU |PHILIPPINES |SOUTHERN AFRICA |THAILAND |UNITEDSTATES |UNITED ARAB EM

IRATES

15 ISSN 1449-3543

FROM INTREPID TRAVEL

ALASKA: HELL OF A SKITASMANIA: AN UNDERWATER ODYSSEYUNITED ARAB EMIRATES: 24 HOURS IN THE REAL DUBAI+

PERUALMIGHTY AMAZON

PHILIPPINESISLAND INTERLOPER

SOUTHERN AFRICAFLYING HIGH

CHINAGREAT WALL OF SOUND

NORWAYPOLAR BEARS ON ICE

WORLDWIDE 2007/8ISSUE #15 $6.95

TRAVEL CULTURE>GST INCLUDED

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#52 get lost! ISSUE #15 get in the know! Polar bears are nearly invisible under infrared photography – only their breath and muzzles can be seen.

CHASING WHITE THE

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get in the know! Polar bears, insulated by a thick undercoat, overheat at temperatures over 10ºC. ISSUE #15 get lost! #53

MONSTERUP IN THE EUROPEAN HIGH ARCTIC LIES A

snowy wasteland where in the long darkwinters the sun never makes it above the

horizon. It is a land prowled by the polar bear, oneof the most fearsome predators to walk the earth,and if you set foot out of the main settlement youwill have to be escorted by armed guards.

The archipelago of Svalbard lies off the coast of Norway, and the best way to explore it is on acruise. Now the word ‘cruise’ normally strikes fearinto my heart and conjures up images of greatmega-liners ferrying hundreds, if not thousands, ofpeople around some of the more unspoilt regionsof the world. ‘Cruise’ also brings up images ofbingo, of cheesy cabaret shows and hordes ofoctogenarian Americans with external plumbing.

This adventure could not be further from this.The ship only berths around a hundred people, so it never feels crowded. Officially it is an expeditionvessel, which means that it carries a fleet ofinflatable Zodiac boats for landings and excursions.It is also certified as an ice breaker, which means

it can travel through the ice flow. There are manyships in the region that have to turn tail at the firstsight of ice – making polar bear sightings far lesslikely. As it is an expedition vessel she also has afull complement of naturalists and explorers. Theygive lectures, pilot the Zodiacs and lead theonshore landings. They are also the ones whocarry the guns to defend you from any roving polar bears who might turn up, so it is worthkeeping on their good side.

Our first sighting of a polar bear is less thanauspicious: cruising through broken pack ice at a slow speed, we spot a lone male asleep on an iceflow, with his head lying on a large pile of snow like a pillow. He doesn’t stir as we chug closer, thenwhen it seems impossible that he hasn’t heard ushe looks over his shoulder and does a classicdouble take. His head drops back down sleepily, thenshoots back up in surprise as his brain registers theshock of seeing a large red ship steaming towardshim. He jumps up and flees across the ice, jumps in

svalbard

If you think that Europe is dull and that you have to head to Africa, Asia or South America for adventuroustravel or unspoilt landscapes then think again.

text: steve davey

images: steve davey


#54 get lost! ISSUE #15 get in the know! A 2004 study found that polar bears, on average, weighed 12 percent less than in the 1970s.

the sea, swims thirty seconds to the next ice flow,hauls himself up, runs across it and jumps into thesea again. He barely looks back at the ship as hedisappears across the broken pack ice.

That night in the bar the feeling is somewhatdeflated. Sure we have seen our first polar bear,but the fabled ‘white monster’ didn’t seem quiteso big or scary!

Our next polar bear sighting is far more exciting.Everyone is called up on deck by the captain from the bridge, as he spots a mother and two cubs out on the ice. They are still some way off, but

moving towards the ship steadily. Unlike the firstbear, they don’t seem bothered by the ship – in

fact, they are walking straight towardsus sniffing out of curiosity.

The captain cuts the engines of the ship and we drift forwards slowly

towards a large ice flow. The three bearsare on the other side of the ice flowwalking towards us. They seem slightlyunsettled, but more through curiositythan fear. They are calling to each other– a strange and hauntingly querulous

bellow that none of the expertnaturalists have heard before.

Walruses are strangebeasts: large andexcessively fat they haul out on the ice flows in garrulous, and somewhat stinky groups. Fights break out withimmediate aggression before quicklydissipating.

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They are as excited as the rest of us.The ship bumps softly sideways into the ice flow

and stops. The bears are still approaching. One ofthe youngsters keeps standing on its back legs toget a better view. It couldn’t look more cute if it tried.Its mother looks massive. She stands on a largelump of ice and snow not more than twenty feetfrom the ship and looks at us inquisitively. Sheseems to decide that we are no threat to them. Thisclose it is possible to make out the massive frontpaws and the vicious claws that she uses to stunseals before moving in for the kill. The bears are withus for almost half an hour before they start to moveaway, still bellowing to each other.

The next day we are even luckier, and spot amother with three young cubs on the ice. This istremendously rare, and as the cubs are so smallthey are much less sure of themselves and followtheir mother away from the ship. They are still prettyclose though and look remarkably cute, although I am informed that even at this age they would stillprobably attack a human if they had the chance. Themother would certainly attack without a second’shesitation to protect her young. The bears head fromice flow to ice flow, swimming in between. As theyget back on to each ice flow, the mother rolls on her

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ISSUE #15 get lost! #55get in the know! The largest polar bear on record weighed 580kg.

svalbard

back to push the water from her fur to preserve her body temperature. The cubs follow suit. It is saddening to realise that the chances of all of these three cubs surviving is virtually nil. Asthe mother and cubs swim off one of the cubs is actually hitching a ride on her back, half out of the water and looking around smugly. I get the distinct feeling that this will definitely beone of the cubs who do make it.

Svalbard consists of a number of islands. Most of them are uninhabited but there are a couple of settlements on the main island, Spitsbergen,including the enigmatic town of Longyearbyen. The west side of Svalbard is influenced by the GulfStream and so does not experience as much ice –especially in the summertime. Off the east side ofSpitsbergen lie the islands of Barentsoya, Edgeoyaand Nordauslandet across the Hinlopen Strait. This area is shielded from the Gulf Stream and so far has more ice and therefore many more polarbears who hunt out on the pack ice.

This is an expedition, not a tour, which means thatthere is no fixed schedule and the boat is effectivelyfree to go wherever it wants. Captain Heslop fits the bill for an expedition captain perfectly. Not only is he an adventurous and dedicated captain with

an apparent flair for piloting a path through the ice, but his captain’s briefings are more like stand-upcomedy routines. This can be useful, as there arelong hours of steaming through pack ice with little or nothing (but endless ice) to see. This is accentuated by the fact that the sun neverslips below the horizon during the short Arcticsummer, and during the midnight sun daysliterally do drag on for ever.

Luckily the ship’s bar is open until the last persongoes to bed, which with 24 hours of sunrise canbe quite early in the morning. Fortunately the bardoesn’t run on Norwegian prices, which areamongst the most expensive in Europe.

It is difficult to know when to stop drinking whenit never gets dark. Most nights when he has finisheddriving the ship or doing ‘captain things’, CaptainHeslop comes down to the bar for a nightcap and to socialise with us dark-starved drunks. He tries a number of times to explain to me exactly whatthe captain does, as well as the differencebetween a ship and a boat, but I never quitemanage to grasp it – certainly not after a night in the bar.

One of the most amazing things about themidnight sun is that it is always possible to go up

on deck and just look at the scenery, and I often find myself up there at three or four in the morning. I never tire of this – especially on the east side ofSvalbard where there is a lot more ice. Another factorkeeping me on deck is the fact that I am in one ofthe cheaper, lower cabins. The sea level is just a fewinches below the level of the porthole, and in roughwater often washes right over it. Needless to say the window doesn’t open and I prefer to be abovedeck in the fresh air. As we made the crossing from the mainland of Norway to Svalbard past the atmospherically misty Bear Island (of AlistairMacLean fame) the seas were so rough that myporthole seemed to be under the water most of the time. I don’t normally get seasick, but thecombination of a rather ambitious breakfast andparticularly rough seas was just too much for me.

For three days after this we try to make our waynorth in an attempt to circumnavigate thearchipelago, and this results in some of our bestwildlife sightings. The polar bear isn’t the only largemammal. We come across a number of walrusesand even have whale sightings. Walruses arestrange beasts: large and excessively fat, they haul out on the ice flows in garrulous andsomewhat stinky groups. Fights break out with

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#58 get lost! ISSUE #15 get in the know! While Ernest Hemingway wrote For Whom the Bell Tolls in Havana, he regularly frequented La Bodeguita del Medio, the bar known as the home of the mojito.

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get in the know! Although Cuban cigars are perceived as being the world’s best, some experts believe cigars from Honduras and Nicaragua rival them. ISSUE #15 get lost! #59

OUR PLANE IS STRAIGHT OUT OF THE 1950S.Sitting in a bar in Cancún InternationalAirport, we gaze over at the classic

creation that is Cubana Flight 111 and wonder ifflying Mexicana would have been a better option.Stubbornly stalled on the tarmac for the pastseven hours, the plane is being worked on byone man with what appears to be a screwdriver.

As our aircraft finally roars into life and takes off down the runway, smoke starts filling thecabin. When I realise it’s not coming from the litcigar of the passenger in front of me, I start topanic. We take off anyway. Whatever the problemwas, it has apparently not been fixed. Thankful forthe calm that comes from an afternoon of drinking, I relax into the carpeted seats, release the tightgrip on my boyfriend’s arm and watch as the cloudsof smoke finally begin to disappear somewhereover the Caribbean Sea between Mexico’s YucatánPeninsula and Fidel Castro’s Cuba.

Cuba is a country of contrasts. The first andthird worlds coexist in seeming contradiction andcrumbling houses harbour some of the world’smost educated individuals. Since Fidel and hismen gained full control of the country in 1959,the United States has placed strict embargoeson the nation, stifling its economic growth anddevelopment. As a result, Cuba is stuck in a glorioustime warp, largely unchanged since the revolution.Cities are teeming with vintage cars, dilapidatedarchitectural triumphs, colonial hotels andbillboards shouting revolutionary slogans. But it is the Cubans themselves who are the mostfascinating. Proud, educated, friendly and generous,their stories and experiences living under Castro’sregime are what make our journey through thisincredible country.

Flight 111 makes it back to earth, although thesuspicious smoke returns when the plane preparesto land. Still shaking from the flight we hail a 1950s

After Gabrielle Nancarrow’s life flashed before her eyes on a rickety aircraft,she contemplates what the lives of locals in a post-Castro Cuba might be like.

text: gabrielle nancarrow

images: gabrielle nancarrow

cuba


#60 get lost! ISSUE #15 get in the know! Maria la Gorda (Fat Maria) Beach was named after a large Venezuelan woman who was abducted by pirates and abandoned in Cuba, where she became a prostitute.

Chevrolet taxi for the ride into Havana from JoséMartí International Airport. Driving into the city,the realities of Cuba under Castro are stark. Thebuildings all look like they are about to collapse(hundreds do so each year), the streets are dirtyand stray dogs are ubiquitous; but the city is stillbeautiful. You forgive Havana for the dilapidationand the pollution as it becomes obvious that thecity has much more to offer than it first seems.

We arrive at our first casa particular (homestay)in the early evening and are herded in by a tribe ofwelcoming strangers who have taken a break fromdancing in their kitchen. Casas, as they are known,are private homes owned by families who rentout their guest rooms to tourists for an additionalsource of income. It’s a great way to travel andallows for a privileged look into the private livesof Cubans.

It is on our second day in Havana when wediscover that good food, like an ATM, is hard tofind, and the variety of cuisine is very limited.Restaurants are optimistic, handing out lengthymenus when all they have available is fried chicken,beans and rice. We begin to feel cheated that ina country as unique as Cuba, and in a city asculturally rich as Havana, the only thing available is fried chicken. Enlightenment strikes in theafternoon. Strolling out of the Museo Nacional deBellas Artes and contemplating more fried chicken,we notice a long line of locals outside what looks tobe a private home. Our introduction to the culturalphenomenon of ‘peso pizza’ saves us, and we liveon it for the next two weeks.

Peso pizza is just one of the things you canbuy off the street in Cuba using the Cuban peso.The country operates two types of currency, onesupposedly for the locals, the Cuban peso, and theother for tourists, the Convertible Peso (CUC), whichis equivalent to the US dollar and used in all ‘official’stores. Government workers generally get paid inboth pesos and convertible pesos but with salariesaveraging US$20 a month, they can only reallyafford to shop from street vendors. This disparitybetween locals and tourists is confronting, areminder of the global disparity between the haves and the have-nots that you notice mostwhen travelling.

As we head back to our casa, flying through thenarrow streets on a three-wheeled Cocotaxi, therhythmic beats of traditional songs vibrate fromhomes. The music washes down the narrowstreets, carrying dancing families and friends whoseem genuinely happy – if not ecstatic – with their

We are herded in by a tribe of welcomingstrangers who have taken a break from dancing in their kitchen.

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get in the know! “Che” is used in Argentina the way “man” or “mate” is in English. It also refers to someone from Argentina, which is how Argentinean-born Ernesto Guevara got his nickname. ISSUE #15 get lost! #61

...we never once hear a bad word spoken about Castro.His ever-present force creates a mystifying, almost BigBrother-like world in Cuba that is at once fascinating and disturbing.

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“Pequeño” I stumble, apologetically. “Français?” he asks. Now that’s a little better. “Oui, je parlefrançais,” I answer. It’s not every day that you meet a fluent French-speaking Cuban, butPompii is full of surprises. “Ah bien! Bon...” And so he begins, nattering away in his secondlanguage like we are standing on the steps ofMontmartre. But Pompii has not even been outsideTrinidad, let alone Cuba, and his impeccable Frenchwas learnt for free down at the local library.

It is a relief to finally converse with a local andunderstand every word. Each night, as he lays outour dinner in the courtyard, Pompii tells us aboutlife in Cuba. He explains that while he is contentwith his life, he is getting more anxious by the dayabout what might happen when Fidel is gone. Hethinks Trinidad is a beautiful city but would like toexplore both his country and the world, althoughhe is worried about the consequences that mightaccompany this freedom.

lot in life. After all, Cuba delivers what many othercountries strive for: access to free education,healthcare and housing for all. Anyone who knowsjust a little about the country’s past and present,however, would know that not everyone shares thishappiness. Nonetheless, we never once hear a badword spoken about Castro. His ever-present forcecreates a mystifying, almost Big Brother-like worldin Cuba that is at once fascinating and disturbing.

Ana is the first person we meet in Trinidad, ourfirst stop after Havana. A large women wearing toomuch black for the 35-degree day, she greets usat the door of her home with a tight, sweaty bearhug followed by a shake of the head. “Estamoscompleto!” she sings. So sorry that her home isfull, Ana walks us across the cobblestoned streetsto a friend’s casa, about one kilometre away. ForUS$20 a night, the place is perfect. Welcoming usinto his home, Pompii, a small, hyperactive man in his mid-forties, asks if we speak Spanish.

Trinidad, a UNESCO World Heritage site since1988, is located in the province of Sancti Spíritus in central Cuba and is a perfect city in which towander. The streets are lined with brightlycoloured homes, their open shutters revealingbeautiful antique furniture inside. From PalacioCantero near the town square, you can climb thebell tower for a panoramic view over Trinidad toPlaya Ancon (Ancon Beach) in the south. The nextday we decide to hire two of Pompii’s pre-1950sbicycles and ride the 16 kilometres to the beach,which takes about an hour (longer if the bike hasbrakes – ours don’t). The reward is a stunningstretch of white sand and clear, warm Caribbeanwater. Playa Ancon has a few small resorts dottedalong the coastline but is refreshingly devoid of the large developments seen on other Caribbeanislands. Back in town, Trinidad also boasts a vibrant nightlife and we spend our nights drinking long after the power has gone off

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IT WOULD SEEM THAT “TO BE TOUCHED” CANmean to be emotionally moved, to be mildlycrazy or even to be asked for a loan. As a

successful man of business, people ask me forhandouts all the time but the other possiblemeanings don’t really apply to me. My wife hasgrown physically distant and I’m too prim to gocrazy. In fact, I rarely feel much at all. That wasuntil recently, when a visit to a spa changedeverything. Touched, I have been, in all senses of the word.

On a recent stopover in Bangkok I was sufferingfrom what some business travellers call “jet lag”.Aspirin didn’t seem to help so I asked my hotel’sconcierge if she could recommend something.Delighted, she escorted me to the in-house spa,something I’d seen a lot of in my recent travelsbut always presumed a bit frivolous. Still, I hadnothing to lose. Or so I thought.

At first I was bewildered by the array oftreatments available. Did I want a caviar facial or a chocolate rub? No, I told her, I had alreadyeaten on the plane, but she giggled and assuredme that all this food would be massaged into myskin. As I have a great fear of all things messy, I declined, but wondered if I might receive a moreroutine massage for my aching legs and lowerback. This proved possible and I was ushered into a dim room. Plinky-plinky music played in the background and I was left to disrobe.

Suddenly the reality of the situation hit me –some total stranger was going to place their pawson my exposed skin. It could be a big, hulkingman or a lecherous old crone. I decided to cancelthe session but before I could, a lovely younglady – let’s call her “Mia” – entered the room,bowed slightly and smiled. Returning the gesture,my defences were accidentally lowered.

By which I mean that my towel cameunfastened and fell to the ground. Poor Mia waspresented with an ancient relic, unseen for years by anyone other than its owner. Frantically, I bentover to pick the towel up, but banged my head on the massage table and tumbled over onto my back. Mia could only recoil in what I assumedwas horror. But then she did something quiteextraordinary: she laughed! Her lightheartedresponse put me at ease – especially when shesaid that this was not the first time such a thinghad occurred. Mia was either a very experienced

masseuse or a courteous liar. With the benefit of hindsight, I now believe that she was both.

Once I regained my bearings (and mydrapings), Mia directed me onto the massage table and began to massage my feet. “Actually, the problem is in my legs”, I instructedher. “Shhh,” she replied, “your whole body is in your feet”. Having never heard of reflexology at that point, I thought that Mia meant to say “on your feet”. This madeperfect sense. I shut up and Mia set to worksalving my soles.

Let me say this: if the spa everwent out of business, Mia could haveeasily found work securing confessionsfor her country’s secret police. She pressed my feet so hard it seemed she was trying to extract their very essentialoil for bottling purposes. Tearspoured down the sides of my face and my wailings could have brought anyoneoutside the closed door to believe some hanky-panky was taking place. Either that or a murder.

“You have some problems, I think?” sheasked. “No”, I replied, firmly. My life wasfine. I had everything I could want: money,marriage, kids, property. But she shook her head and repeated herself. My treacherous feet hadapparently spilled the beans: I was a wreck.Defeated, one might say. “Don’t worry”, shepromised, “I will help you”.

Mia slowly worked her way up my legs pressing deeply into my flesh with her tinypalms. And then a warmth started to spreadupwards throughout my body. I’m not convincedabout chi, energy channels or meridian lines. I always regarded them as fancy terms for “good circulation”. But something was definitelyhappening that I could not explain. Tears began to run down my face again, though not from pain this time – rather from sheer, unbridled joy.

Unfortunately something else also barged ontothe scene at this point. Terrified that Mia mighttake offence at the stirring below my waist I thought very hard about stock market figuresand purchase orders. I tried to turn over but withher full weight on my thigh I found I could not.And so, once again, the towel shifted improperlybut this time Mia was not laughing. She stared atthe terry-cloth tent as if it were a long-dead ghost

likea(spa)virginOliver Benjamin discovers a phrase that can mean much more than mere physical contact.

text: oliver benjamin

image: andrew bennett

#96 get lost! ISSUE #15 get in the know! The term spa is thought to have originated the town of Spa in Belgium, where since medieval times illnesses were treated by drinking spring water.

Terrified that Mia might takeoffence at the stirring below my waist I thought very hardabout stock market figures and purchase orders.

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rising from the grave. “Sorry”, I said. “It happens”,Mia answered, pulling the towel more tightlyaround my waist. Embarrassment was onceagain averted by the patient and understandingmien of a kind woman who not only couldunderstand a man’s pain, but read the creasesbetween his toes.

When it was all over, I felt like a new person.The pain in my legs was gone, along with, for the moment, a deeper and more chronic pain at the centre of my being. Also missing was a substantial amount of money from my wallet, as I felt compelled to tip Mia accordingly. As weparted ways, she shared some advice that I shalltake to the grave. “Always make sure to wrapyourself securely”, she said. At first I thought shewas talking about my towel, but I later realisedshe was being allegorical. Like a baby’s swaddlingyou must wrap yourself in the fuzzy, warmtrappings of the things that secure you and not allow fleeting whims and worldly chaos to overcome you.

Actually, now that I think about it further, Mia might have just been talking about towels.

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