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The Best Dives in Kauai

Posted on 16 April 2019 | by robin@robinesrock.com | Leave a Comment

Divemaster Sabine Templeton, a native of Washington DC, surveys the spacious lower deck of the 48ft Anela Kai. She’s been working for Seasport Divers – a multiple award-winning dive shop headquartered in Kauai’s Poipu Beach – for three years. As usual, it’s a mostly male affair, with 11 guys from the mainland, a fellow divermaster Ryan, and Captain Andrew, a skipper who has navigated these warm Pacific waters for over 16 years. I amble up to Sabine:
“I might not look like it, but I’m actually a Scuba Diver Girl.”
“Those girls are awesome,” she replies excitedly, “but wait, you’re a guy!”
“Maybe, but since Margo and Stephanie taught me everything I know underwater, I dive like a Scuba Diver Girl.”
“Oh, then you’ll have more fun then.”

It takes 2.5 hours with the swell for the boat to make its way along the west Kauai coastline towards the islands Ni’ihau and Lehua. Fellow divers tell me that it doesn’t get any better in all Hawaii. Some of them are repeat customers from years past. The islands and reef have few indigenous inhabitants, and are protected and revered. Seascape only runs excursions to Ni’ihau from late spring to early fall, when the swells and currents get too strong. Today is the last run of the season, and due to surge, entry and exit will be drift dives. Everyone will be using Nitrox, allowing us to go longer and deeper than normal air. It’s both my first drift and Nitrox dive, and I couldn’t wait to get underwater.

First site, the Lehua Ledge, sitting off the small island Lehua adjacent to the much larger Niihau. Seconds in the water, I’m being stared at by a large monk seal, an endangered pinniped that lives around these waters. As I descend, I encounter a huge school of colorful Pyramid Butterfly Fish. Below me on the shelf, I see the shadow of a large Sand Bar shark, gracefully vanishing into the shadows. Other highlights on the first dive: A Yellow Margin Moray, Tritan’s Trumpet, a Crown of Thorns, and endemic Bandit Angels.

The next dive is at a pinnacle known as Vertical Awareness. My Nitrox is at 32%, and I am relieved that it tastes just like regular air. I descend to 90ft, making my way around the large outcrop. Sabine had told me to expect amazing topography, and she wasn’t fibbing. We see Pennant Butterflies, a Stout Moray, a huge Titan Scorpion Fish, an endemic Hawaiian Lionfish, and a cool red-striped nudibranch. Although the water is a comfy 79 degrees, I pass through some cold thermoclines, as a powerful surge sweeps me along. There’s a reason why this dive is seasonal. Captain Andrew sees me not far from Sabine’s bright orange safety sausage, and picks me up as divers continue to pop up all over the surface.

Lunch is a fresh spread of meats, veggies and salads, as divers share obligatory tales. Sabine tells me she’s had some clients who look down on a female divemaster, but that everyone is usually respectful when it comes down to it.

The best is saved for last, a drift dive to a spot called Pu’u Mu’u. It’s my introduction to underwater caves, and while one diver ends his dive early with claustrophobia, I absolutely love it. Reflective bubbles of air gather on the cave ceiling like mercury, as my flashlight reveals so much life and color. Black coral hangs from the walls, along with Cauliflower and Leather coral. Deeper into the rock, Purple Spiny Lobster and big Tiger Cowry shells are amazing to see, as I ebb towards a series of spectacular swimthroughs. It has not been long since the SDG introduced me to the life aquatic in Papua New Guinea, but I’m continually amazed at the diversity and inspiration every dive seems to deliver.

The swells pick up as we return to Poipu, even as Bottlenose and Spinner dolphins gather around the boat. It will be another season before Seasport resume this incredible dive, but there’s plenty of others on Kauai to keep them, and us, busy in the meantime.

Seasport Divers are located on in Poipu Beach, on the southern side of Kauai. They have been in operation for 25 years, and founder Marvin Otsuji is a local diving legend. Dives to Ni’ihau run twice a week late spring to early autumn.

Robin used the following gear:

Scuba Pro Classic BC with Air II

MK25 – A700 Scuba Pro Regulator

Oceanic Veo NX Computer

Atomic Full Foot Split Fins

Aqualung Look 2 Mask

10 Tips for Healthy Travel in India

Posted on 2 March 2019 | by robin@robinesrock.com | Leave a Comment

If the thought of squatting over a hole for days on end is holding you back on one of the most incredible journeys of your life, I urge you to read this. For it is possible to travel extensively in India and not get a case of Delhi (or Rishikesh, or Anjuna, or anywhere) Belly. What’s more, you’ll be able to eat some of the best food on the planet. I know this because I spent a month in the country, and while travellers around me seemed to drop like flies, I remained healthy. This is not because I have a superhero gut of steel. It’s because I took some basic precautions, and stuck to them. Our digestive system just isn’t ready for the onslaught of foreign microbes you’ll find on the sub-continent. Over time, it will adjust, but for travellers, here’s Robin’s 10-step plan to prevent a messy disaster:

1. Don’t drink tap water: Obviously, enough said. Don’t freak out too much about that scene in Slumdog Millionaire where tourists buy bottled water straight out of the tap. Most packaged water is fine, just check the cap to make sure it’s sealed. Keep a bottle of drinking water handy for brushing your teeth. And importantly, watch out for ice in drinks.

2. Don’t eat meat: India is a country of vegetarians, where cooking vegetables has been elevated to an art. You’re not going to miss beef, pork or chicken, even though it is widely available. Relish the veggie curries, and stay clear of potentially contaminated meats.

3. Don’t eat uncooked cheese: Cheese is heaven for nasty microbes. A friend of mine was doing great until she sprinkled some Parmesan on a pasta dish and spent the next 72 hours expelling fluids from every orifice. Paneer is fine – it’s an Indian cheese cooked in many amazing curries. And pizza should be OK, so long as the cheese has boiled at some point.

4. Don’t eat eggs: Leave the sunny-side-up for treats back home. An undercooked egg will probably tie your intestine into a sailor knot.

5. Don’t drink milk: For some reason, most travellers deal well with lassi, the delicious yoghurt-based drink. It has been known to be mixed with tap water and ice, so use your judgement. Since dairy farming refrigeration is sometimes not up the standards you’re used to, milk is a risky business. Do your gut a favour, take your coffee black.

6. Don’t eat fish unless you see it caught and cooked: On the coast, fish doesn’t come fresher, although you may want to make sure that’s the case first. Uncooked or fish left standing in the heat too long is going to mount an all out attack on your immune system.

7. Don’t eat uncooked vegetables, peel your fruit: Fortunately, most vegetables are cooked in curries so delicious your taste buds will dance a Bollywood musical. Peeling fruit is a wise choice. If you’re washing stuff, make sure you do it with packaged water.

8. Eat in restaurants that cater to tourists/wealthier Indians: A place with a good reputation and steady clientele usually knows the value of good hygiene, and the importance of keeping itself recommended in the guidebooks. When it comes to dining out, it pays to follow the advice of those who have come before you. The only time I ate meat was at a famous international hotel and it was fine. I know you’re dying to eat street food like the locals, just be aware that locals can handle things in their tummies you probably can’t.

9. Wash/sanitize your hands regularly, and especially before eating: Just like your momma taught you.

10. Trust Your Gut: You could follow all of this religiously and still get sick. Or you can meet travellers who don’t follow any of this and do just fine. Everyone’s system is different. However, being paranoid about what you’re eating will definitely rob you of having an awesome experience. India is no place for Nervous Nellies. The best way to deal with the sensory overload of color, smell, noise and people is to relax, be patient, keep a sense of humour, and listen to what your gut is telling you.

Swimming in the Devil’s Pool over Victoria Falls

Posted on 1 February 2019 | by robin@robinesrock.com | Leave a Comment

Credit: Flickr CC Joep yrek-Flickr-CC—flic.kr_p_dDAkks

I once travelled with a guy who kept the same journal for almost a decade. He’d tape additional books together and write in tiny script. This impressive travel diary was his Bible, an invaluable historical record of his complete life adventures. It was stolen, along with his backpack, off the roof of a bus somewhere between Transylvania and Budapest. What the hell does this have to do with Victoria Falls? Well, I once had a journal, and it contained the most incredible photograph of me jumping off the very lip of the world’s largest waterfall. Twice the height and width of Niagara Falls, more water falls into the chasm dividing Zambia and Zimbabwe than anywhere else. It’s not the world’s highest waterfall (that’s Angel Falls in Venezuela), nor even the widest (that’s Khone Falls, Laos). Yet the sheer volume of the mighty Zambezi has attracted Bucket Listers for centuries, drawn to a place the locals call “the smoke that thunders”. Traditionally, most tourists to Vic Falls stay in colonial hotels on the Zimbabwean side, but with the country’s political and economic collapse, many now prefer the Zambian side. Hotels and tour operators in both countries are known to gouge their guests for the privilege of seeing this natural wonder, including a day-visa which allows you to cross borders for the views, at a price of around 40,000 Zambian kwachas, or ten gazillion Zimbabwe dollars. Actually, Zimbabwe’s currency was abandoned altogether, rendering all its notes worthless. Inflation reached 89,700,000,000,000,000,000,000% in 2008. And I didn’t even make that number up. In both countries, where the US greenback goes very far, you’ll pay up to $80 just to see Victoria Falls. No more bitching about prices to cruise under Horseshoe Falls in Niagara.

I visited the Zambian side in December, the tail end of dry season. With the Zambezi flowing at low volume, you can walk to Livingstone Island, and then make your way to the Devil’s Pool. Here, a rock barrier creates a pool right at the very edge of the falls. Much to the horror of tourists on the Zimbabwe side, you can even go rock jumping. Across the chasm, tourists can’t see the pool, and must therefore watch what appear to be tourists committing suicide. This close to the edge, you don’t have to worry about crocodiles or strong currents, although the occasional tourist has gotten a bit overzealous, missed the pool, and found themselves visiting Zimbabwe without a visa, or a heartbeat. If swimming to the edge of the world’s largest waterfall isn’t enough of a thrill, you can also bungee jump 111-metres off Victoria Falls Bridge, once the highest commercial bungee in the world. Or spend $500 a night at the Royal Livingstone, a hotel bill that is sure to give you a heart attack. Zimbabwe is a country with abundant natural resources, and a country that once promised much hope for sub-Saharan Africa. Unfortunately, a corrupt, crackpot dictator bled it dry. A common joke: Where is the capital of Zimbabwe? Geneva.

I’d love to illustrate this post with an epic, once-in-a-lifetime photo of me rock jumping into the Devil’s Pool. We set it up so it looks like I’m actually leaping off Victoria Falls itself. Unfortunately, much like Zimbabwe’s economy, that travel journal mysteriously vanished, along with the photo in question (and so many more), the writing, and contacts of new travel friends. It pains me to even think about it. Fortunately, you’ll never forget Victoria Falls, even if you do lose your journal. Nor should you forget any of the Bucket List adventures on this site, although you might want to keep an online blog and back up your photos all the same.

A World of Bucket List Spa Experiences

Posted on 4 January 2019 | by robin@robinesrock.com | Leave a Comment

For thousands of years, people have been travelling for the therapeutic benefits of spas, springs and massage therapies. Today, just about every major resort offers spa services, for relaxation, sport injuries, or romance. Over the years, I’ve had some unusual spa treatments. Perhaps these will inspire you to do the same.

The Goa Rub Down

A cramped, overnight train ride from Mumbai resulted in stiff muscles and one achy Esrock. Walking on a dusty road in the village of Arambol, I saw a sign: Ayurvedic Massage, 1 Hour, $8. Anytime I see a massage that cheap, I pay attention. I was ushered into a small, steaming room. Three men poured a bucket of warm, herbal oil over me, and got to work. Kneading, squeezing, and rubbing my skin with such concentration that sweat dripped from their brows. For thousands of years, Ayurvedic medicine and massage has helped people in India, and now around the world. One thing is for sure: An hour later, I was relaxed, loosened up, and in the perfect mood to explore the beautiful beach towns of Goa.

The Fire Doctor of Taiwan

In Taipei, I found myself sprawled on a massage bench in the office of Master Hsieh Ching-long. For more than a dozen years, this fire doctor has been using open flame to untie the knots and heal the muscles of Taiwanese sports and movie stars. He tells me it took years of martial arts training to channel his inner energy so he can use his hands like iron. Lying on my stomach, he pasted herbal goo on my back, doused it with alcohol, and took out a blowtorch. I felt a quick burst of heat, after which the Fire Doctor used his bare hands to spread the flame around. Something smelled like burning skin. My burning skin! Still, with his iron fists, the Fire Doctor hammered out my stiff worries, creaked here, twisted there, and wished me well. Out of the frying pan, and into a scorching summer Taipei day.

Balinese Massage

Balinese massage is a mix of aromatherapy, acupressure, stretches, kneading and skin rolling. At the fantastic Hotel Nikko in Bali, we were treated to a family spa that relaxed our muscles, put big smiles on your faces, and literally head-massaged my youngest into a blissful slumber. While friendly attendants painted my five year old daughter’s nails, my wife and I became puddles during our couples massage, and while little Gali continued to dream, we transferred him to the bench and us to the large adjacent outdoor bubble bath.

The Communal Thai

In Thailand, massages are as a cheap as a beer back home. Small, lithe masseuses twist and crack joints, often chattering away as they do so. Off Khao San Road, where thousands of backpackers flock to cheap hotels, bars and markets, the massage shops might pack a dozen clients into a single room. Here you can chat to your friends too, in a rather social environment, all the while having your body subjected to the type of pain and discomfort that can only be good for you. Thai massages are heavy on the elbows and knees, penetrating deep into the tissue. Off resort, at $6 to $10 an hour, the price is always right, especially on the beach.

The Georgian Backwalk

In the Georgian capital of Tbilisi, you must visit the famous 17th century Orbeliani bathhouses. Blue tile lines old eggshell domes, housing hot sulfur springs that have been revered for their healing properties for centuries. After my dip, I was shown to an adjacent room and told to lie down naked on a marble slab. A man wearing naught but a small towel came over in the steam and poured a barrel of boiling water over me. He then proceeded to give me a rub down using rough hessian rope, scraping away layers of skin with a thick, foamy soap. It hurt, but not as bad as the sulfuric water poured on afterwards, or when he started walking up and down my back. There is a separate bathhouse for women, but not, alas, for the Georgian Rugby Team, who joined me in the baths shortly afterwards.

Something afoot in Shanghai

I had wandered a couple blocks from my hotel looking to experience traditional Chinese acupressure. Based on the same idea as acupuncture, acupressure uses hands, elbows or props to stimulate various pressure points, which help with circulation and energy balance. In a small shop, I was shown to a chair. My feet were scrubbed clean, and then a tiny lady with iron clamps for hands got to work. Pushing and probing, she honed in on my sensitive pressure points, and proceeded to punish them with vigour. My ears were throbbing, my lower back was sweating, my armpits were singing – I don’t know what she was doing, but when she finally stopped, the relief was well worth the agony.

Hungarian Healing

Budapest sits above a sea of natural thermal baths, which Turk conquerors once developed into exquisite palaces of swimming pools. There are still several enormous bathing complexes, exhibiting grand architecture, and well-maintained baths. For about $15 you get a locker, and access to dozens of baths of various temperatures, along with saunas, spas, whirlpools, showers, and for a few bucks more, massages. I spent the afternoon at the Szechenayi Baths, amazed there could be so many options to enjoy. Hot, cold, big, small, indoors, outdoors. A large, sour masseuse however, ensured my massage was as tranquil as a Soviet prison.

A Spa for Two

Occasionally I’m lucky enough to travel with my wife. Many resorts offer couples spas as relaxing alternatives to long walks on the beach, or in the mountains. The wonderful Willow Stream Spa at the Fairmont Banff Springs offers various couples packages, encompassing rose-infused side-by-side scrubs, rubs, and baths. In South Africa, we soaked up our pampering at the luxurious Gary Player Health Spa, getting matching facials to enhance our romantic glow. You don’t have to be on your honeymoon to treat yourself to a couples massage. Although after you experience one, you’ll feel like it anyway.

Submerge in Colombia’s Mud Volcano of Youth

Posted on 6 December 2018 | by robin@robinesrock.com | Leave a Comment

by Robin Esrock

This is one is straight out of Willy Wonka’s sweet imagination. About an hour’s drive outside of Cartagena lies a natural phenomenon known as the Volcan de Lodo El Totumo, a mud volcano with thick, mineral-rich chocolate-textured mud bubbling in its crater. Formed by various geological forces, mud volcanoes are found around the world, free of hot lava, but saturated with sedimentary sludge. There are several volcanoes featured in this book, and Bucket Listers should take great care not to fall into their craters. This particular volcano, on the other hand, wants us to jump right in.

Locals have long enjoyed the benefits of El Totumo. Lately the crater has been seeing a lot more foreign bodies, making the journey from the cruise port of Cartagena. First, dispel the image of Mount Doom. This is no lava-crackling cone towering in the distance, shooting gases and molten rock into the sky. In fact, when you first encounter the Volcan de Lodo El Totumo, it looks like an overgrown termite hill, or a fifteen metre-high pile of elephant dung. More than one Bucket Lister will shake his or her head disappointed, wondering if this is just another tourist scam, a two-bit natural wax museum. Well don’t judge a book by its cover, a volcano by its lava, or a Colombian taxi driver by his choice of car (trust me on that last one).

I climb a slippery path to the top, holding onto rickety wooden beams, quickly ascending high enough to gaze across lush tropical vegetation and a tranquil lagoon below. Several thatch huts at the base offer blessed shade from a scorching equatorial sun. Volcan de Lodo is operated by an association from a nearby village, the villagers rotating duties of collecting entrance fees, selling water, offering massages (for tips) or lagoon rinses (for more tips). The crater itself is the size of a small pool, if you can imagine a small pool full of dark, creamy mousse. I arrive early, before the crowds, and a single villager beckons me in. The sun is already beating down hard, so I hang my shirt on the wood, and eagerly immerse myself in the cool, thick slop. I loved Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (the original, not the remake) and I’ve always fantasized about swimming in a pool of milk chocolate. Not anymore. This mud is so thick it suspends my body like a hair gel, comfortably invading my pores with natural mineral goodness. Solid enough to lie back and support my head, the crater is deep enough to stretch out in every direction and relax every muscle in my body. Within seconds I’m a mud creature, the unexposed pink skin around my eyes resembling shortcake in a chocolate pie. A mousse masseuse effortlessly spins me over and roughly exfoliates my back by rubbing his hands up and down. Like most Colombians I have met, he is only too eager to share his culture’s genuine hospitality.

Refreshingly cool in the mid-morning sun, the mud envelops my body like liquid black latex. Buses of tourists arrive, and the small crater quickly fills up, a bowl of black-bean soup with floating white potatoes. A splash of mud gets in my eye, but fortunately another villager is on hand to wipe it away with some tissue paper. Tugging on our arms and legs, the masseuse parks us around the crater, making sure everyone gets a spot. After thirty minutes, the mud has sucked up whatever toxins it could find, and I begin to feel lightheaded. Emerging from the silt porridge, I make my way down to the adjacent lagoon where village women await with tin bowls for the messy clean up. My rinse-lady is fearless. She dunks me into the warm lagoon, scrubs me with her hands, and before I know it she’s ripped off my shorts too. Female tourists yelp as they cling to their bikinis for dear life. Within seconds, I’m mud-free and, after awkwardly replacing my shorts beneath the water, emerge from the lagoon with rejuvenated skin glistening in the sunshine.

Local legend calls this the “Volcano of Youth”, where a fifty year-old might enter the crater, and leave twenty years younger. Whatever the medical or mythical benefits of this volcano may be, it’s most certainly one for the Global Bucket List.

The Drinking Club with a Running Problem

Posted on 2 November 2018 | by robin@robinesrock.com | Leave a Comment

When it comes to social gatherings in foreign countries, think hash. Not the potatoes you have with your eggs, nor sticky illegal marijuana resin. Introducing the Hash House Harriers, the “drinking club with a running problem”, an informal, open-to-all quasi-athletic club that has sprung up in over 178 countries. Hash House Harriers (or H3) might sound like an alliterative joke, but it is a genuine social phenomenon. With nearly 2000 groups operating in just about every major city worldwide, including Hong Kong, Hashers come together to run, drink, and be merry. To find out more, I strapped on my running shoes and decided to join the Hashers in Bucharest, Romania’s bustling capital. Forget vampire museums, it was time to see the city, make some friends, and earn the name that will be with me for life.

Essentially a twist on the old hare versus hound game, a human “hare” is selected to plan a route that the pack must follow. Using paper, chalk, or in our case flour, the hare marks the trail with a series of dots, splits, circles, red herrings and checks, to make it challenging for the pack to find their way home. Winning the race is inconsequential, for the real purpose of Hashing is for people to gather, talk, drink, run, and have some fun. Anyone of any age is welcome, and the only thing you’ll require to partake is a sense of ribald humour.

We meet at a park in downtown Bucharest, where a member named Crash Test Dummy welcomes regulars and “Virgins.” Hashers refer to each other by their Hash Name, which is assigned to Virgins by the group in due course. I quickly realize that Hashers have their own unique “mis-management” titles, and distinct vocabulary. Crash Test Dummy, an English engineer who has lived in Bucharest for two years, is the Religious Advisor, charged with blessing the circle. A crusty Scot named Pie Eyed Piper, the Grandmaster, is the ceremonial leader. Materhorny, who works in the Swiss Embassy, is the Cash Hash and in charge of financial affairs. Moby Dick is from Los Angeles, Gutentight is from Germany, and the Hare today has the distinctive Hash name of Tampon Jelly. Two things are immediately obvious: Hashers are defined by a bawdy schoolyard sense of humour, and are mostly made up of members of the expat community. In this, little has changed from its roots when the first Hashers formed over 70 years ago.

The first Hash took place in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia in 1938, as a casual exercise for British office workers to run out their weekend hangovers. Following a paper trail that would inevitably lead to a pub, the group became popular enough to register as a society, the name arguably chosen to reflect the seriousness of its intention. After World War II, with original members spread around the globe, new clubs (or kennels) were started in expat communities, and since the 1970’s, have exploded in popularity. Today, there are family hash events, gender-specific events, large gatherings like the Eurohash or Interhash, even a club in Antarctica. With no central leadership, no membership requirements, and no chance of taking itself seriously, Hashing pre-dates online social networking as a means to instantly make friends and get contacts in a foreign country. “It’s a great way to travel and meet people,” says Holefinger, an American agricultural consultant. “Wherever you go, you’ll always find a hash.”

The circle meet in a downtown Bucharest park, where introductions were made, and basic pointers explained. Using a tennis ball dipped in flour, the Hare had marked a trail through the embassy neighbourhood. Together the pack would chase down these dots, like a game of Pacman, until we reach a circle and have to fan out to find the next trail. A circle indicates a change in direction, an X a false trail. The FRB (or Front Running Bastard) calls out “On On!” to indicate he or she has found the next dot and everyone follows.

It is a warm, humid late afternoon, and the race is on. Gutentight blows his horn, and locals look on curiously, bemused at an eclectic, eccentric group running about shouting and laughing. Midnight Itch, a local “Harriette” who discovered hashing through her ex-employers, is the FRB, setting the pace. We dodge traffic and stray dogs, and it doesn’t take long before we approach a Beer Check. Congregating outside a neighbourhood shop, we crack open cold beers, and discuss the course, dirty jokes, Hash war stories from clubs near and far. There’s a couple Hashers from Texas, Australia, Scotland, and a few Hashers new to Bucharest who are accepted like old mates. I learn that drinking violations come in the form of quirks, like running with new shoes, or pointing with fingers. Each club makes up their own rules, careful to reiterate that of course, there are no rules.

“On On” and we’re off again, back on the trail. Around the bend I notice we have been led in a circle, the dust of the environmentally friendly flour pulling us through the streets. Hashes typically take place in forests, parks, streets, wherever the Hare chooses, and the length of the course, and number of beer checks, can vary. Finally, we arrive back at the park, where the Grandmaster forms everyone in a circle to cool down, and congratulate the Hare for his efforts. A round of drinks are consumed. The running club shifts to the drinking club, as barroom ditties are sung to accompany the tradition of “down downs”. The Virgins are called into the circle, handed a cup of beer, and roasted like celebrities. We are given the choice between a joke, a song, or flashing a body part. It typically takes a Virgin five races before they are named, but in a stroke of journalistic exuberance, I had let the hare out of the bag. When I was researching the Hashers, I came across the name Big Wanker, which I assumed to be yet another important H3 title. I asked Crash Test Dummy who is the Big Wanker. “When somebody asks a stupid question like that, they can only, from this day forth, be known as Big Wanker. Down down down…” and before I know it, I am tossing off a mug of beer straight down my throat. As I do so, my fellow Hashers pour their beer over my head, and douse me in flour. I have been in Bucharest less than 24 hours, and already I have made friends with a dozen interesting characters, sharing the kind of experience you’ll laugh about for years to come.

With the ceremony over and with more beers to consume, the group heads over to a pub where an evening of hysterical Hash songs ensues. Hash hymns are loyally kept in tattered books, and most are crude, rude, and easy to remember. I make the mistake of removing a shoe under the table, another drinking violation. The “down down” takes place using my sweaty shoe as a vessel. I slurp the heel and the next dirty limerick starts up. These are professionals, young and old, singles and couples, indulging in the time honoured tradition of socializing, over good exercise, gamesmanship, beer and food. Most are foreign to these Romanian shores, finding support, advice and friendship in the process. If you need to know where to buy a car, which bank to use, how things work, everyone here has been in the same boat, and wants to help.

For a drinking club with a running problem, steeped in dirty jokes and bad taste, the Hash House Harriers are a remarkably noble and well-intentioned group, destined to run “on on” as their membership grows around the world.

Most Hash House clubs have their own websites, detailing upcoming hashes, and contact details. All you need to do is show up to join in the fun. You can search a world directory and find out more information at the World Hash House Harriers page at http://www.gthhh.com/

A Rocinha Favela Tour in Rio de Janeiro

Posted on 1 August 2018 | by robin@robinesrock.com | Leave a Comment

While tanned sunbathers soak up the sun on the infamous beaches of Ipanema and Cocacabana, the other side of Rio de Janeiro rises up into the surrounding mountains. An estimated 750 favelas, or shanty towns, are found inside and around the city – the poor, crowded masses that service the city’s wealthy elite and thriving tourism industry. Some 20% of the Rio’s population live in favelas, and in a country with one of the highest income gaps in the world, favelas are impossible for locals or tourists to ignore. Drug violence and poor social conditions inside have been likened to an urban civil war.

With the introduction of walking tours designed to expose tourists to this world, an increasing amount of visitors are heading into the slums, entering high crime zones where few locals would dare to tread. Some argue that these tours have merely created a human zoo. Others feel it is essential to truly appreciate the city. To figure out who is exploiting whom, I decided to go see for myself.

A row of moto-taxis greet us at the bottom of the hill. Rocinha, the biggest of all favelas, is also considered the largest and most infamous slum in Latin America. Narrow alleyways and open sewers separate square-shaped cement living quarters. Painted or plain, they are jammed atop one another, sprawling up the hill like a house of cards. Be-a-Local has been offering favela tours for six years, and is the only company that offers walking tours through the alleys of Rocinha. Other tour companies prefer the safety and ease of a minibus.

Each member of my group, made up of mostly budget travellers, gets on the back of a motorcycle, which promptly speeds off into chaotic traffic up the main road. It’s a white-knuckle ride, as the moto-taxis narrowly slip between trucks and buses. We are all unaccustomed to the speed, traffic, or riding without helmets. Five exhilarating minutes later, we are deposited at the top of the hill, and our guide Marcio tells us the basic rules. “If you see someone with a walkie-talkie or machine gun, please, no photographs,” he says. We do not need to be reminded. Rio’s favelas control a massive drug trade, with entire slums patrolled by armed gangsters, ruled by drug kingpins, and off-limits to even the police.

While favelas are largely a no-go zone for both tourists and locals, these group tours are deemed completely safe, operating under the protection and one would assume with the blessings of the ruling drug lords. “For ten years, I have been bringing tourists here,” explains my guide Marcio. “I know everyone, they know me, there has never been any problems.” He explains that some children might ask for money, but we should refrain from giving it to them. 40% of the company’s profits go directly into Rocinha community projects, and Marcio proudly points out day-care programs and schools sponsored by the company.

We cross the main road, the artery that feeds Rocinha, and slip single file into the alleys. The further the living quarters are located from the road, the cheaper they are to buy or rent. Hole-in-the-wall shops offer groceries, hair salons, Internet, and pharmacies. With an estimated 150,000 people, everything the local population needs is catered for by enterprising tenants.

I hear a firework, a sudden explosion that makes me jump. Young children set these off to warn drug dealers if any police or outsiders are approaching, an entry-level task for children entering the violent, bullet-riddled world of the favela. But amongst the drugs and crime, there are also hardworking honest citizens, living the best they can, sending their children to one of four schools. Huge knots of wires hang above us, the power largely hijacked by makeshift electrical engineers. Although Rocinha has open sewers, the community has its own garbage control, postal system, and governing authority. Compared to slums I’ve seen in India or Africa, conditions are not nearly as bad as I imagined they would be. People flash their famous Brazilian smiles.

When I told local friends in Rio I would visit Rocinha, they could not understand why. Favelas are associated with danger, not with tourists. “Some people say this is voyeurism, but it’s essential if you want to try and understand both sides of the city,” says a traveller on holiday from South Africa. “You can really get a sense of community here.”

We visit a local artist, who sells some paintings to an American in our group. Backpackers are not the only ones interested in favela tours. We stop off at a grocer who sells some pastries, one of which he calls a “Kravitz” after the singer Lenny Kravitz, who once visited his store.

Today, I don’t encounter any guns, and not once do I feel threatened. While some may challenge the ethical value of visiting a slum, there’s no doubt it sheds a fascinating insight on an important component of Rio, and South America in general. Anything that brings people together, across the income or cultural gap, can only be a good thing.

The Best Cities to Explore by Bicycle

Posted on 3 July 2018 | by robin@robinesrock.com | Leave a Comment

There’s no better way to explore a city than by bicycle. You get to see more, smell more, hear more and feel more than any other mode of transport, discovering hidden gems all along the way. But all cities are not created equal when it comes to bike discovery. Hills, traffic, pollution and other challenges are best suited for feet, cars, buses and trams. With a warm sun in the sky, here’s our pick of the best cities to hit the pedals.

1. Amsterdam

In a city with 780,000 residents and over 600,000 bicycles, you know the riding is good, especially in the 17th century city centre, where the narrow lanes and canals don’t really suit cars anyway. Amsterdam has over 400km of bike trails, making it easy and safe to get around, with ample bike racks to secure your bike. This is important to note since there are more bikes stolen per year than bikes in the city – maybe they should just make them all communal! There are plenty of bike rental companies about for visitors, located at hubs by Dam Square, Liedseplein and the Central Station. For about 8 euro a day, you can explore the city, or pedal into the countryside to explore old windmills and farms. Best of all, the city is located just two metres above sea level, so it’s flat all the way.

2. Portland

With over 100km of bike paths, 48km of low-traffic bike boulevards and 283kms of bike lanes, it’s no wonder Portland touts itself as the bike capital of the United States. It holds the country’s highest bike commuter rate, about 10%, and is renowned for its citywide bike programs. Visit the Saturday Market or popular Farmer’s Market for a pitstop of artisan cheese, or pedal up to the Powell Butte Nature Park for a panoramic view of the city. Portland is also known as the City of Bridges, many of which have safe bike lanes. As for the weather, cyclists can rest easy with covered bike parking, like the ones found outside the Hawthorne Boulevard Shopping District.

3. Copenhagen

One summer in Copenhagen, I learned how to ride a bike while drinking beer. Not behaviour to be encouraged, but in a city with 350km of bike paths, and 20km of safely designated bike lanes, I could at least count on avoiding cars. About 40% of the city cycle every day, along bike lanes with their own signal systems, and privileges like going down one-way streets. Copenhagen launched the world’s first communal bike-share program, which has since spread to various cities around the globe, so much so that copenhagenization is a term used in urban planning. Bicycles are the fastest and easiest way to explore the relatively flat city, taking in sights like the Tivoli, the Danish Royal Palaces, and the colourful Nyhavn canal.

4. Berlin

Berlin has a vibrant bike culture. 7 out of 10 residents own a bike , accessing over 800km of bike paths including designated lanes, off-road routes and shared pedestrian/bike sidewalks. What’s more, there are also Fahrradstrassen, roads restricted to bikes and vehicles that travel under 30 km/hr. The public bike program is handy for tourists and locals, who can use their cellphones to unlock the public bikes. Bike rentals are available around the city. Make sure to get a map to explore the various neighbourhoods around the city, or follow the popular Berlin Wall Trail along the old Cold War relic. Like most of the best bike cities, Berlin has no steep hills.

5. Bogota

Every Sunday, visitors to the Colombian capital of Bogota will find major thoroughfares devoid of cars. Welcome Ciclovia, a local tradition that allows cyclists, rollerbladers and pedestrians to roam about the city in safety. The weekly event has proved so popular it has since spread to other cities in South America. Cyclists come together across socio-economic divides in an eco- transportation utopia, a far cry from the city’s unfortunate reputation for crime. While popular tourist spots like Plaza de Bolivar, Palacio de Nariño, and La Catedral are located in hilly Candelaria, Ciclovia is still a great opportunity to experience the heart of the city.

6. Vancouver

Vancouver continues to expand its bicycle lane program, with several new arteries opening up under its current mayor (who famously bikes to City Hall). The city boasts 300km of on and off-road bike routes. If you’re visiting, head down to Denman Street where you can pick up a rental at Cycle BC or Spokes Rentals. From there, you’re just seconds away from the city’s star bicycle attraction, the 22km long Seawall. Flat, paved, and with stunning views of the city and local mountains, you can follow the Seawall around Stanley Park, or continue towards Granville Island, where a handy bike ferry can shepherd you across the inlet.

7. Vienna

Ah, Vienna! Austria’s capital city is large and spread out, but the UNESCO World Heritage historical centre is easy to explore by bike, with most attractions accessible within a half hour. There are ample bicycle lanes and paths, although a map will certainly help you navigate some of the city’s notoriously odd bike paths. Hardcore cyclists often arrive via a bicycle route that follows the Danube from Germany, through Austria and onto Hungary. Fortunately, the rest of us can hire City Bikes (there are over 100 stations in the city) and explore the Sightseeing Bicycle Path Ringstrasse around the old city, where we can enjoy views of the Opera, Burgtheatre and Parliament.

8. Soweto

The largest township in South Africa offers some remarkable guided bicycle tours. While neighbouring Johannesburg has a reputation for violent crime, visitors to Soweto (population 1.7 million) are surprised to find a friendly and safe atmosphere. Soweto Bicycle Tours range from two hours to full days, and take you to historical sites all over the township. Visit the former, humble brick home of Nelson Mandela, the site of the Soweto uprisings, a workers hostel, and even an authentic shebeen, where you can grab a traditional beer and talk to the locals.

9. Helsinki

Exploring a city by bike often reveals far more of a city than by foot or car, but there’s another advantage as well. It’s cheap, which comes in handy when touring a notoriously expensive city like Helsinki. The city has 1100 km of bike routes that are popular with residents as well as visitors. If you get tired, it’s reassuring that transporting your bike on the local trains and metro carry no additional fees. There are 27 Home District routes designed to help you explore key historical, cultural and archaeological areas of interest. Unfortunately, Helsinki recently suspended its City Bike program, but head to Greenbike on Bulevardi, or Ecobike next to the Finnair Stadium, for reasonably priced rentals.

10. Montreal

My first night in Montreal ended up in a karaoke bar. It was a warm night, so at 1am in the morning, a local friend decided to make good on her promise to show me Old Montreal. We borrowed bikes and hit the 15km-long paved bike lane on the Lachine Canal. We continued onto the empty streets of Old Montreal, discovering its secrets around each corner. The cobblestone on Saint-Paul, the neon-blue floodlights of the Notre Dame Basilica, the blue Quebec flag flying over Parisian-style art galleries, cafes and bars. The streets were all but deserted, but the air was tingling with culture. Montreal felt like Salome dropping her veils, just for me. Fortunately you no longer need a local friend to provide the bikes. Montreal has Bixi, a successful public bike program, where you can rent one of 5000 bikes at over 400 stations around the city with the swipe of a credit card.

10. Chiang Mai

I had a blast exploring Chiang Mai with the help of a city bike program called Mobike. Easy to use with an app connecting to the bike via bluetooth (and tracking your rides to record your calorie-burn and carbon-saving), Mobikes are inexpensive, convenient, and a great way to explore the Old City’s amazing temples. There are two types of bikes, and you definitely want to pick out the orange ones with the larger basket. It’s a very smooth ride and comfortable in the saddle. Although they have an automatic night light, the silver ones are much lighter and unstable to ride. With its flat roads and many alleys, Chiang Mai is definitely a city made for biking around.

Warm Lakes and Rock Tombs in Turkey

Posted on 2 June 2018 | by robin@robinesrock.com | Leave a Comment

Say what you will about the value of guidebooks, but I’d never have found Köycegiz if I’d had one with me in Turkey. To be fair, this small Aegean town peppered against a large, warm, freshwater lake does get a mention in most Turkish guides – usually a throwaway paragraph with words like “sleepy” and “quiet” and “nice for lunch”. It’s just one of several signposts you’ll pass en-route from the infamous ruins at Ephesus to the Mediterranean beach resorts around Fethiye. But stop inside, look around, and you’ll find it as sweet as the sugar in Turkish tea.

I got the hot tip about Köycegiz from a New Zealander named Alison who ran a guesthouse in Selcuk. She had married herself a Turk, settled in for a life of olives and fruit orchids, and was only too happy to share the secret of the lake with me. Since I had no real urgency to be anywhere else, I asked the Selcuk-Fethiye bus driver to let me out on the highway outside the town. A couple of other travellers looked on with mild curiosity, and who could blame them? After walking through the quiet, sleepy, nice-for-lunch town, I was pleased to find one of the best backpackers I’ve seen anywhere, called the Tango Inn. Large mattresses were covered in rugs and pillows, interspersed with hammocks, a bar and a DJ booth. There were just a straggling of people, but the owner Sahin assured me things would pick up when the Fez Bus pulled in. The Fez is a hop-on hop-off tour bus that travels throughout western Turkey. In anticipation, Sahin had organized a cruise on the lake for that evening. Enjoying the calm before the storm, I walked down the lakefront and was blasted by a fresh breeze, the gentle lapping of water, and the view of towering mountains in the distance. The lake, also called Köycegiz, connects with the Mediterranean through a channel called the Dalyan Delta, and cruising through large bulrushes to the sea is a popular activity for Turkish tourists. I see a couple guys playing tavla, which I know as backgammon, and gradually readjusted to the pace of a fishing village where not much happens and people prefer it that way. Here is the real Turkey, and with it of course, real Turkish hospitality. People smile, invite you for tea, quiz your origins, all with a genuine sincerity and warmth.

The Fez Bus pulls in, and it doesn’t take long for some Australians to rally the troops and get everyone along to the boat for sunset. We board a traditional wooden boat that heads out into the dusk. Music is playing, inflatable pool toys emerge out of nowhere. Mix a party boat with a warm lake and a full moon and before long people are guaranteed to be swimming amongst the catfish.

The following morning, I awake to find the Tango Inn empty, the Fez Bus gone, and another delightful Turkish sunny day. Hopping aboard a wooden boat crammed with local tourists on their way to the beach, I am the only foreigner and relish the enthusiastic hospitality. I am attacked with homemade food and polite questions by my new found friends. Along the canals, we pass spectacular 2000-year-old Lyceum rock tombs carved into the cliffs above us. History is never far away in Turkey. After stopping off for a refreshing dip in the lake, we arrive at a long sandy beach, and the crystal blue Mediterranean. I end up playing Frisbee with some brothers from the boat, eating local homemade delicacies, enjoying my spontaneous off the beaten path adventure. The boat slowly makes its way back to Köycegiz at sunset, humid wind in my fingertips, the notes of a tanbur floating out the speakers up front. These are the moments in life when you stop, look around, and believe that somehow, everything, for everybody, is going to work out just fine. Losing the guidebook and listening to locals, it’s towns like Köycegiz that prove how off the beaten track is sometimes right on the money.

More Bucket List Destinations in Turkey

Istanbul

The bridge between Europe and Asia. Stand between the 6^th century Hagia Sofia and the 16^th Century Blue Mosque and let your goosebumps riot.

Cappadocia

Strange rock formations and striking landscapes, where else can you stay you stay in your very own cave while exploring fairy chimneys?

Olu Deniz

There’s no doubting the beauty of the Mediterranean beaches, but the real reason to visit this overcrowded resort town is for the once-in-a-lifetime paragliding.

Ephesus

History buffs will flip out at the ruins of this ancient Greek city, mentioned in the Bible, with the coliseum and library allowing you to walk in the steps of the ancients.

Mount Nemrut

Fly east for the surreal landscape of this World Heritage Site, where giant 2000-year old giant statues watch spectacular sunrises.

A Postcard from Phnom Penh

Posted on 1 April 2018 | by robin@robinesrock.com | Leave a Comment

It had to be the AK-47. Sure, the M16 looked kinda slick, and who hasn’t thought about firing off an old fashioned Tommy gun? But the AK-47 is the weapon of the revolutionary, the tool of liberation, bloodshed, freedom, and all the misery that comes with it. Plus, it only cost 100AED to fire off a magazine, whereas a rocket launcher would have set me back 800AED! I put on the camouflage jacket and followed a young guy into a dark, narrow room. A target was stapled about 30 feet away. I put on my tight orange ear guards, took a seat at a table, too busy feeling the cold weapon in my hands to listen to the advice on how to shoot the damn thing. Loaded, cocked, point, aim and fire. The shooting range, located outside Phnom Penh, had a menu with pump action shot guns, hand grenades, RPG’s, Coca-Cola and Fanta (sorry, no pictures allowed). Ten minutes away was the site of one of the worst massacres in modern history. Cambodia, it appears, is heavy on the contrasts.

Torn between the forces of communist Vietnam and US-backed Thailand, Cambodia’s modern history is literally a minefield. At the heart of one the worst genocides in history lay Pol Pot, a ruthless dictator who built an army of brainwashed kids committed to returning the country to the Stone Age. Genocide, famine, civil war – Cambodia in the 1970’s became synonymous with everything wrong with humanity. Scarred by the past, it has come a long way.

Riding on the back of a “moto taxi”, I saw children playing on the dusty streets of Cambodia’s capital, Phnom Penh. Smiling and waving, the motorbike zipped past shacks located next to brand new furniture stores, alongside street vendors selling fruit and vegetables late into the night. My guesthouse was located along the Beong Kak Lake, its deck built onto the lake itself, complete with hammocks, pool table, DVD library, music, and fresh cooked, excellent food. I paid less than $10 a night, but the sunsets over the lake were priceless.

There are not many must-dos for the traveller in Phnom Penh. Its main temple, with its famous Silver Pagoda, is beautiful, but most visitors come through Bangkok, and having seen the Thai capital’s magnificent Grand Palace, the Silver Pagoda feels like a lesser, if still stunning imitation. Guesthouses and tour operators sell packages consisting of one full day with a guide and a tuk-tuk that includes a popular if somewhat distasteful shooting range, the Silver Pagoda, the National Museum, and two of the most disturbing attractions for a traveller anywhere; the Killing Fields, and the Genocide Museum at Tuol Sleng.

Ruling for four, bloody years, the Khmer Rouge outlawed money and religion, closed schools, disrobed monks, destroyed temples, took over all farms and businesses, and created an army of brainwashed children. Phnom Penh was forcibly evacuated and became a ghost town, while refugees flooded to the borders. Intellectuals, politicians, teachers, students, doctors and professionals were rounded up and butchered. Reliving the horrors of Pol Pot and the Killing Fields is not easy. Most of my group was reduced to tears, staring at row after row of skulls, innocent victims who had been bludgeoned to death with bamboo sticks to save bullets. Whereas the Nazis had managed to destroy much of their evidence before the allies liberated the camps, the Khmer Rouge were caught off-guard by a liberating Vietnamese army. The thousands of mugshots of young, innocent victims are on display at Tuol Sleng, a high school that was converted into a hell for 20,000 people. Only seven people walked out alive.

It estimated that two million people lost their lives in the four years of Pol Pot. After the horrors of the World War II, the world promised it would never happen again, and yet it did. I was staring at a cabinet piled with 8000 bludgeoned skulls to prove it. That it took place just three decades ago meant anyone over forty in Cambodia today was either a victim, or a perpetrator, and so it was surprising to find how friendly Cambodians were. Locals are warm and generous to a steadily increasing flow of tourists, and despite legendary corruption, there is much hope for Cambodia’s future. Phnom Penh might be considered by many to be a poorer version of Bangkok, but the legacy of its tragic history, coupled with its beauty and bizarre activities, will fascinate those looking to learn from the world in which they travel.

10 Different Ways to Travel

Posted on 4 December 2017 | by robin@robinesrock.com | Leave a Comment

I’m often reminded just how much travel comes with the job of being a travel writer. Those endless hours in airports, cramped in buses, trains and taxis. Yet transportation is not only necessary to get around, but it can also shape your experience, the places you see, and the people that you meet. Below are 10 different modes of transport to explore a country, and some of the pros and cons that come with them.

1. By Bicycle

A bike has plenty of advantages. Moving slowly, you experience more of the land, its nuances, and people. There’s no glass bubble protecting you, as your bike becomes a full sensory experience. Cycling around a country keeps you strong and fit, adding targets and goals to celebrate every night. You’re travelling light, and so keeping it simple. Some countries are better for this mode of transport than others. Good roads definitely aid the avid cross-country cyclist, as does good weather. Of course, not everybody is up for the physical challenge, or has the length of time required for discovery by pedal power.

2. By Classic Car

Not everyone has an antique car, but a normal car will also do. There are various clubs that organize epic driving expeditions around the world. Driving in convoy, you become part of a community, a roadshow, a moving circus that intrigues the locals just as surely as they intrigue you. North America, Australia, South Africa, North Africa or Eastern Europe, the convoy can drive up to 500 km a day on planned itineraries. According to the website of a recent expedition from Vancouver to Alaska, drivers could expect “25 days of exciting motoring, spectacular scenery, good fellowship and fun.”

3. By Surfboard

A surfboard won’t get you from A to B, but it does provide a handy excuse to explore coastal towns and tropical islands. Surfers are passionate about their waves, booking surf vacations around the world. Countries in Asia like the Philippines, Sri Lanka and Indonesia have incredible surfing, as do Central American destinations like Honduras, Nicaragua and Costa Rica. Take your surfboard and follow the trail to the best beaches and the best waves, which are usually accompanied by happening beach bars and surf communities.

4. By Local Bus

Here’s a picture of me jumping on top of a Guatemalan chicken bus (I assure you, no chickens were harmed in the making of this photo). They are called chicken buses because it’s not uncommon to be sitting next to one. Or five. These old American school buses grind and choke over mountain passes, in places like Central America, Southeast Asia, and parts of Eastern Europe too. Passengers are crammed like sardines, the buses never, ever leave on time, and are prone to break down for hours. It’s not something you enjoy at the time, but you sure laugh about it when you think back about it. Travelling like locals makes you feel like a local, tasting a small slice of life in an exotic land.

5. By RV

Some people don’t like to travel because they don’t like to leave the comforts of home. So why not take your home with you? Modern RV’s are so well-equipped you never have to go without the kitchen sink, satellite TV, refrigerator, double bed and bathroom ever again. Driving across America has always been alluring, exploring the continent at a leisurely pace, stopping off at landmarks along the way. Other RV destinations are Norway and France. In summer, an army of RVs hits the road, coming together nightly in makeshift communities at excellent RV Parks along the way. I did my first RV trip last summer. It won’t be my last.

6. By Foot

There’s taking it slow, and then there’s taking it really, really slow. Long distance hiking is a serious challenge, involving a serious time commitment. The benefit is that you interact with the land and locals on the ground, step by step. Bill Bryson’s bestselling books often have the travel writer walking on famous routes, averaging several kilometres a day, stopping to smell the roses, and make a few jokes too. My longest hike thus far was spending a week on Vancouver Island. Next spring, I’ll be trekking 21 days in Nepal to Everest Base Camp. If anyone would like to join me, let me know!

7. By Motorbike

From Che Guevara to Easy Rider to Ewan McGregor, the idea of travelling long distances by motorcycle holds a timeless appeal. Accelerating on the open road, the wind against your leathers, the growl of your engine. Hills are no problem for today’s powerful touring bikes, although riding in bad weather is no picnic. In India, I met many travellers who had bought 500cc Enfields to tour around the country, selling them when they left. Baja California, Chile and Argentina, Rome to Istanbul – there’s no shortage of legendary bike routes around the world. Just remember that with speed comes danger, so take your time!

8. By Train

I spent three weeks crossing Mongolia and Russia by train. In that time, 11 days were spent on a train, including one 5-day stint without any stopping. Life on a train becomes almost hypnotic. The sound of the tracks, the motion of the carriage, the blur of the never-ending countryside. Perhaps more than other forms of travel, trains give you permission to stop. You can read and talk and think, gazing out the window as the world literally passes you by. Pretty much everything is beyond your control. You will arrive when you arrive, and depart when the whistle sounds. You may as well sit back and enjoy the ride.

9. By Kayak

There are some places in the world where you can kayak for weeks, encountering incredible wildlife, untainted natural beauty, and even indigenous tribes. Places like Venezuela’s Orinoco Delta, the Amazon, or even British Columbia’s Broken Group Islands. Tonga has 50 gorgeous islands to explore, while along Croatia’s Dalmatian Coast you can camp overnight on islands amongst lavender and vineyards. Another popular kayaking destination is the Ionian Sea in Greece, where you can paddle over turquoise water to the whitewashed islands mentioned in Homer’s Odyssey. Physical, yet gentle, kayaking on river or sea is an unforgettable way to get around.

10. By Thumb

Hitchhiking is always a crapshoot. You might get a great ride in a big luxury car, or find yourself squashed amongst the livestock at the back of a truck. You can meet friendly locals who go above and beyond, or, heaven forbid, put yourself at the mercy of lunatic. You could spend hours waiting in the rain, or get picked up by the first car to come along. Hitch-hiking across Europe, North America, and other parts of the world could be because you’re broke, or a matter of personal choice. It’s a mode of transport suited for the ultimate “where will the universe take me” adventure. I once spent hours on the side of an Albanian highway waiting for a ride. An old man rode up to me on a leathery donkey, and started playing his homemade flute. I remember that moment vividly, waiting in the sun, enjoying the lostness of it all. A thumbs-up moment for the power of hitchhiking.

Wined and Dined in the Douro

Posted on 1 November 2017 | by robin@robinesrock.com | Leave a Comment

Portugal’s Douro Valley offers discerning bucket listers more than just fine wines. Explore ancient vineyards on misty terraces, stroll through historic towns, dine like royalty and stay in hotels ranging from modern fortresses to 17th century villas. I’ve long said Portugal is the best deal going in Western Europe: all the cobblestone without the price of Italy, France or Spain. Portuguese wines offer great value, and so is the country itself. Below are some images from my visit to tick this one off The Great Global Bucket List: