Archive for August, 2007

Yes I have written about Chicago before, but seriously now, there is no better city to visit in the summer than sweet home Chicago. So it is humid on some days. So Michigan Avenue is crowded with people. So getting a bleacher seat for a Cubbie game can be a small fortune. Chicago is by far one of those places that makes me smile, that gives me a craving for Old Style Light, that makes me ecstatic to wander the city streets all day, that says it is okay to shop until you drop, that even though I am looking up at skyscrapers all day my neck is feeling just fine…could I gush even more? Well, yes!

A pal of mine, Erin Montgomery, was also born in this fabulous town. We were longing for summer in Chicago back in May. We made a few calls and within days our tickets were booked for a long weekend in July. Arriving at 2am into Midway airport my friend Jim Simmons played us Skip Haynes’ song ‘Lake Shore Drive’ on the car ride home, yes a bit cheesy, but not for a die hard fan of blues, deep dish pizza and nostalgia. Gosh so where do I begin, it just might be easier to go day by day at this point:

Friday began as a marathon day. We wanted a taste of everything since we knew that the rest of the weekend was pretty booked up seeing friends, family and a boat race. The day included: Chicago Architecture Foundation Tour, Shopping on Michigan Avenue, Field Museum of Natural History for the Darwin exhibit, Shedd Aquarium to see a friend dive in the tank, Dinner at Mon Ami Gabi, Toad the Wet Sprocket in concert at Lincoln Park Zoo, and a night cap or three at R. J. Grunts. Yes, you can do this all in one day.

Saturday we were slightly fuzzy but headed down to the riverwalk for a great lunch with Erin and Jim’s dad. It was great to see the Friends of the Chicago River Foundation and their incredible efforts to clean up the pollution in the river. We went to the bridge house museum to explore more and even saw a fish hotel. There were loads of people kayaking and canoing the river as well, a site that a decade ago wouldn’t have been as frequent. After meeting up with my brother and sister-in-law we also cruised Oak street and went and checked out the Canyon Ranch development that will add to the skyline in 2011. Speaking of new developments the only sad moment of the trip is when I saw the Trump development right on the river next to the Wrigley building, let us hope this is the first and last building he will get approval for in Chicago. After a bit of down time we met some friends at Opera, a restaurant in the south loop area. They made us duck three ways and the ambiance is incredible.

Sunday was the day we left, so sad, but we ended it well. Up bright and early and headed to the Columbia Yacht Club. This club is housed in a historic wood and iron plated steamboat. We headed in and out to the docks where the crew of the Fine Line was getting ready for the race. After hanging on the boat and meeting the crew we said our farewells and saw them off for the days races. Then headed over to Millenium Park to see the bean, the pavillion and the other urban art throughout the park. Next was a final run over to Garrett popcorn to get some tasty morsels for folks back in San Francisco. Our car picked us up and off we were up Lake Shore Drive for the flight back to the city by the bay.

If you haven’t been to Chicago you need to put it on your list of cities to explore. If you have been, make a point to get there at least once during the summer months. San Francisco is my city, but Chicago is my hometown.

–Liz P

Planning a trip? Browse all of Viator’s tours and things to do in Chicago, or else Liz will be annoyed with you.

A little over a month ago I had the pleasure of taking Friday off and flying down to Los Angeles for a long weekend. My close friend Darcy moved back there from San Francisco for graduate school last fall. She is originally from the San Fernando Valley and is an LA native. To be honest, I have never been a huge fan of Los Angeles, but the last few times I have ventured down south I have been happily surprised by the experience. Los Angeles has the sun, the celebs, the shopping, the cuisine, the mountains, the diversity….and the list goes on. With sunglasses, flip flops, and sundresses in tow I ventured down for the SoCal experience.

Throughout the weekend we ventured to Los Feliz, Silver Lake, Westwood, Downtown, and Woodland Hills. My tour guide was anything but boring. This weekend wasn’t dedicated to your traditional sense of sightseeing but checking things out from a true local perspective. Thursday and Friday nights were infused with music at the old Orpheum theater downtown. This theater is majestic with it’s painted ceilings, golden trim and old Hollywood feel. The band we saw was Widespread Panic. If anyone reading this knows about Jam Bands, well Widespread Panic is at the top of my list and going to a two or three night run is never enough. We met people from California, Ohio, Illinois, Georgia…two impressive nights of live music especially set 1 on Friday night.

Daytime and nighttime we feasted on eats & libations at local establishments like There is No Place Like Home and Eat Well as well as one of the hundreds of A-rated taquerias in the LA area. We also shopped in Los Feliz, indulged in PinkBerry, and got $40 Thai massages at Pho Siam in Silver Lake. The final night of the trip we headed to the Los Angeles Film Festival and saw an indie flick called Rocket Science. I believe it just came out in smaller scale theaters a couple of weeks ago. It is about a high school kid that stutters who joins his high school debate team, I highly recommend it. My weekend in Los Angeles was just terrific and I even had my own private star sighting while on a walk around Silver Lake.

Next time I hope to learn even more about what makes Los Angeles famous or infamous depending on how you look at it. Viator has suggested itineraries for Los Angeles but I would like to recommend taking the following tours to get that perfect taste of what makes up this city of angels:

1. Movie Stars’ Homes and Celebrity Grave Site Tour - Yes, sounds a bit dark but there is an underbelly in every city.
   
2. Los Angeles Beach Cities Helicopter Flight - The coastline is really beautiful from an aerial perspective.
3. J. Paul Getty Museum - Everyone can use a little art inspiration in their lives.
4. Historic Downtown Los Angeles Walking Tour - Get a glimpse of the old school entertainment area.
5. Private Surfing Lessons - Need I say more?

–Liz P

Planning a trip? Browse all of Viator’s tours and things to see & do in Los Angeles.

Amber Fort outside Jaipur

Last month I took a quick trip to India. I, like most sensible travelers, realize that India is a huge country, with billions of people, a complex and amazing culture and tons to see. So naturally I thought that, when I go to India, I should go for awhile, at least a couple of weeks to get started. It took 20 hours to travel there from San Francisco (not to mention how much the ticket costs!). That merits a lengthy stay. How long was my trip in July? 6 days. How do you see India in 6 days? The answer is, you don’t. And being a sensible traveler, I limited my trip to two cities — Hyderabad (where my husband was working, and hence, why I came to India for only 6 days) and Jaipur.

If you’re a Westerner and you haven’t yet experienced India, there is definitely an adjustment period. That was the major regret of my 6 day jaunt, around day 3 I was just getting acclimated to the dust, the traffic, the noise, the crowds, being stared at (women with short hair are a novelty), the etiquette, and how to eat properly with just my right hand (tricky, but practice makes perfect) and it was nearly time to go home. But let’s not dwell on the shortcomings! Sights were seen! Tapestries were bought! Yummy yummy food was eaten!

Kelly’s 6 Favorite Things in India (one for each day):

1. The food in Hyderabad. Spicy and delicious. Sitting on the plane we discovered that we were seated next to the owner of a chain of Indian restaurants in San Francisco (Naan N’ Curry) , who was headed to Hyderabad to interview chefs. Food is a big deal in Hyderabad, and they are famous for excellent biriyanis. For a classic biriyani, hit Paradise. My other favorite? Angeethi.
2. The Pink City. Jaipur is known as the Pink City, and yes, it is pink, or at least the
   buildings of the old town are made of pink stone. The pink looks delightful at sunset, and is generally very pleasant.

Made with Bombay Sapphire, naturally.

3. The Polo Bar. If you are looking for the perfect gin and tonic to refresh you after a long day of hot sightseeing on the dusty town, you cannot miss the Polo Bar. Sip your g & t and wait expectantly for Prince Charles to stroll in for his.
4. Textiles (I know it doesn’t sound fun, but keep with me here). Jaipur is a shopping mecca and Rajasthan is renowned for its textiles. We got some great custom made shirts (for way less than the price of an off the rack shirt in the US) and a gorgeous wall tapestry. Kicky elephant place mats and napkins were bought as gifts. Want a sari? Head to Jaipur.
5. Our autorickshaw driver in Jaipur, Shyam. Riding in an autorickshaw takes some
   getting used to, traffic is crazy, roads are dusty and sometimes drivers are unrealiable or a little on the untrustworthy side (shopping kickbacks are common). We got very lucky and had a great driver who took us to the shopping we wanted, all the sightseeing to see, and even got us into the cinema before everyone else (and out of the long line and heat!). If you’re in Jaipur give Shyam a call (91-9314899552), you can often find him parked by the Samode Haveli hotel.

Shyam and my favorite autorickshaw

6. Monkeys. Oddly enough in my day to day life in San Francisco, monkeys do not regularly crop up. Dusk in India? Primetime for primates. You can find them wandering by your hotel pool, running across rooftops of Samode (a village outside of Jaipur), and I hear, hanging out at Jaipur’s Monkey Temple. I regret not having my camera handy when a monkey knocked over a bucket of water, causing an 80 year old woman to chase him with a broom (ok, she was maybe not 80, but she was old, and very spry with a broom).

While 6 days doesn’t seem like much time to see anything, I ended up coming away with a fairly satisfied feeling from my brief time in India, which just reinforces my firm belief that despite what you might think about how a trip might go, it is always better to travel than not.

– Kelly G

Editor’s Note: This is the first in a series of posts from Jeff Gates, the New Media Lead Producer for the Smithsonian American Art Museum and Managing Editor for its blog, Eye Level. Jeff is on a family vacation, which sounded like a great excuse to publish his trials and tribulations from the road. You can read Jeff’s original post on his Life Outtacontext blog.

A cryptic photo-op at the MGM in Las Vegas

As a boy family vacations were always an exciting prospect: traveling on adventures to the great unknown in the comfort of our 1953 Pontiac. No seat belts and open windows, the early morning desert air blowing in my face (no air conditioning of course). The 1950s and early 1960s were indeed an era of post-War American expansionism and hegomony over my small world of the San Fernando Valley. It was a prosperous and exciting time for a ten year old. Of course, I didn’t have to plan the trip, just totally immerse myself in it.

As a parent, I now know the truth. Putting together a family vacation is hard work and even torture if you wait too long to make reservations. Getting four people out of the house and on their way, which seemed so much fun as a boy in the 4 am darkness of pre-dawn, can simply be hell when you’re now the responsible one. They never taught this in any parenting class (well, if we had taken a parenting class). We only know what we knew. Now I know what I know.

Susie and I had wanted to take our nine and ten year old girls on a road trip out West for a while. But the thought of driving across country for five days just to get to the West was never an option (we were naive but not dumb). My wife wanted to show the girls the Grand Canyon. The West. She suggested we fly into Las Vegas, rent a car, and go. Simple. Sounded good to me. In April I made plane reservations and counted our four free frequent-flyer seats a major planning coup and a very good omen.

The last time I was in Vegas was 30 years ago with my father and stepmother. Highlight of that experience: coming upon a failed gambler who had jumped from the heights of a downtown hotel. A lot had changed in the city and I was eager to see the sights (and erase that ugly memory).

Only after the reservations were set did we realize the Grand Canyon was a five and a half hour drive in the wrong direction. We needed to end up in San Francisco for the wedding of my BFF-from-the-first-grade’s daughter 10 days later. Wife and I reconnoitered for new plans: we would instead go west through another scenic icon, Yosemite, then head to Gilroy for a couple days with my sister before heading up to SF.

Our itinerary seemed to have it all: the glitz of The Strip, the beauty of the Sierra Nevada, the garlic of Gilroy (by sheer coincidence our arrival would coincide with the annual Gilroy Garlic Festival), ending up at the classy Fairmont Hotel in the City by the Bay.

–Jeff Gates

Stay tuned for the next installment of Jeff’s family vacation, Living La Dolce Vegas, coming soon.

Editor’s Note: This is part of Viator’s ongoing series of posts about the 2007 Rugby World Cup. Ian has been tipping his favorite teams in Pools A & B and Pools C & D, and will report on matches live from France later this year. It’s also not too late to book your tours and activities during the RWC, because you can’t watch rugby all day long, can you?

OK rugby fans, how many of you out there are FREAKING OUT because you haven’t got your game tickets in your hot little hands yet ?

You’ve bought tickets via the Internet, booked your flights halfway across the globe, organised hotels and car hire and train bookings, and your precious game tickets still haven’t shown up, with only three weeks to go before the tournament kicks off…

I thought I would raise this subject because everyone I know who has bought tickets to games has had problems. It only seems that I have had an extraordinary amount of luck (and the assistance of a very clued-up guy at DHL), that I managed to get my tickets at all. I have a friend of a friend who hasn’t received ANY of her game tickets, she leaves Australia in a couple of weeks, and is starting to PANIC because she has paid so much money for tickets that she hasn’t got yet!

So what is the problem? I suspect (and I am only guessing here) is that whilst you have placed your Internet order via Ticketnet in France, or Ticketmaster in the UK, those companies have simply passed your contact details onto the ticketing department for the Rugby World Cup Organisation, and some of the details have gone astray when they were passed on. I had one courier pack show up that was simply addressed “Level 3, Sydney” (well, that narrows it down - at least it had the city on it!), and another 3 packs showed up that was missing the last digit of my contact phone number on it (pure luck that the detective skills by the DHL guy found me via the correct phone number on the 4th courier pack).

So what to do? Well, you can try contacting the ticketing department on their email (sav-billetterie@france2007.fr). If you are lucky, they might even reply, though I’m still waiting on a response to a couple of my emails sent a few weeks ago. Unfortunately, they don’t have a contact phone number on the Rugby World Cup website.

You can try contacting Ticketnet in France (if you put your order through them), but your French better be good, as I had a friend who had a hard time speaking to them in English. Contact details there are telephone (33) 1 46 91 58 40 (0.15 € / min), or by email to serviceclients@ticketnet.fr.

Finally, and this may be your best bet, there is a new page that has just been added to the RWC website, about collecting your tickets at the stadium. Looks like you’ll need to take a copy of the original purchase order, and your passport for ID, but check out the link for further details in each city where the games are being held.

Hope that helps all those out there who may not have received their tickets yet. I hope you get them, as I don’t want to be sitting in a stadium by myself. See you in France.

–Ian “Frentzy” Frentz

Going to the 2007 Rugby World Cup in France? Browse our complete list of tours in France, things to do in Paris, Edinburgh tours and more.

When I was little, my dad went to Europe for work and brought me back an apron from Portugal. Forget the jokes about ‘all I got was this lousy apron…’, I loved that thing so much. It was pink and embroidered with typical colourful Portuguese flowers and motifs and a map of Portugal. It made me dream of going there one day…

The steep streets of Lisbon

Decades later I finally got there. And it was fantastic.

I only had a few days so just went to Lisbon and, honestly, I could spend ages there. It feels like a big city with diversity and depth, culture and energy, but it’s a manageable size. (Population about 600,000 but growing fast.)

More than 85% of Lisbon was destroyed by an earthquake in 1755, so it has the feel of being planned, with vistas to the sea down streets of similar buildings, and huge public squares. You can walk the Baixa (old town) and surrounding areas, and there is also lots of good public transport if the hills get too much, because Lisbon is set on some very steep hills.

So steep that one of the pieces of public transport is an elevator! Elevador de Santa Justa is a Gothic Revival-style lift, built around 1900 by a disciple of Eiffel, to connect Baixa with the Bairro Alto area, a fabulous meander of winding, narrow streets, up the hill with shops that stay open late and countless tiny restaurants and bars. This is a very cool town!

A Sintra day trip & pastries that make you miss a plane

We had one of those hilarious trips where every plan goes awry, and you still have a great time. Probably better, in fact, because all the wandering and sudden changes of plan meant we saw a lot and learned even more. For example, don’t try and visit Sintra — a UNESCO World Heritage listed area, for its 19th-century architecture — in a morning when you have a plane to catch mid-afternoon. Especially not when you have a fantastic hotel that’s hard to leave in the mornings (Hotel Britania).

Why so hard to leave? The hotel’s Portuguese tarts are served as part of breakfast – and it’s impossible to hurry a Portuguese tart, they must be savoured. If you’ve never had one, I’m sorry. Flaky pastry and perfect, cooked creamy custard filling with a crème brulee-style top. In Portugal they are called Pasteis de nata, and are impossible to miss. One shop in the main street has a whole window filled with them. I wanted to lick that window. They were first made by Sisters at Jeronimos Monastry in Lisbon over 200 years ago and the Casa Pasteis de Belem was the first shop to sell them in 1837. I’m guessing that accounts for the huge queue outside the bakery in Belem near Jeronimo’s Monastery.

Anyway, back to trying to visit Sintra. The bus takes about 25 minutes to get there. We decided train would be nicer and quicker. Big mistake. Rossio, the main central station in Lisbon is currently closed for renovation. No problem; we used the very cheap and efficient Metro to get to another major station and waited for our train to Sintra. And waited and waited. The nice thing is that the signs change departure times according to the actual location of the train, so you can sit on the platform and watch your 10.26 train become the 10.34, then 10.41, then 10.55 – and suddenly Sintra has slipped away. Because another helpful sign informs us that the train takes 43 minutes to get to Sintra, twice as long as the bus. Go figure. We had to abandon that plan.

The right meal at the wrong restaurant

A little like our dinner plan the night before. A blogger had advised eating at Café Sao Bento (at 212 Rua de S. Bento, tel. 395 29 11), and the guidebooks backed the recommendation. We found a map and set off on foot. The streets in Lisbon are all tiled in (small) fist-sized white polished stone – very pretty, but less easy for walking up and down hills on narrow footpaths. I think Portuguese women must be trained to wear those high shoes on these uneven streets – very impressive.

Nope, they don’t usually fall over

So, we walked, and walked, found ourselves in tiny narrow deserted streets but stuck to our plan. And found the place – which was closed for a month over summer. Of course. ‘Always ring first’ should perhaps be the motto. But, as with any travel, it was not a waste of time. We saw a whole new part of the city, wowed over the beautiful faded glory of metal-lacework and tiled apartment blocks, and caught a tram back to Barrio Alto.

I had wondered why the trams were so tiny but traveling on one as it shot at speed, along streets barely wide enough for a tram and a parked car, I suddenly understood. Although why all the wheels are nested in the middle is still a mystery to me – don’t the trams sometimes fall over?

The dinner we ended up having that night was one of the best of my life. At a tiny 22 or so seater restaurant, with tiled walls and a long queue outside, I ate garlic prawns and Steve had the fish recommended by the chef – one of the best things he’d ever tasted. A guy in a shop around the corner had told us about the place the night before but we were put off by the queue and chose another place where the food was very average. Another big mistake. The restaurant is called Cantinho do bem estar in Barrio Alto — go there, wait in the queue, it’s worth it. And not only for the food – the waiter (owner?) was fantastic, ensuring no-one lingers but never making you feel rushed; the charm with which he fed me my last spoonful of dessert (also to-die-for-delicious) was fantastic - and quickly followed by the presentation of our bill. Oh, and on the English menu, desserts are listed as “3.50 per dose”. Fabulous.

A day of hopping on, hopping off

One thing which actually did go according to plan was taking the Lisbon hop-on hop-off sightseeing tour, which I’d highly recommend. I’ve never been one for tours and tend to just wander and stumble on things but when time is short or a city is spread out, it’s a great thing to do. We saw lots of real Lisbon (i.e., not just the old town): the bullring where bullfights still happen regularly; Jeronimos Monastery, which is absolutely beautiful and its cathedral truly awe-inspiring; also Torre de Belem, a defensive tower on the banks of the river Tagus, near the museums quarter; the Ponte 25 de Abril, which is the wonderful suspension bridge; and so much more.

But Lisbon really is a city to wander, to sit and drink coffee or beers in the street-side cafes, to buy shoes which are plentiful and cheap, to eat, to be delighted by the architecture and the culture. There is a lot of graffiti on buildings and this adds to the colour and vibrancy of the city. Lisbon feels alive, from the funky clothes shops, to the rattling trams, to the offers of cocaine and hash as you wander the main streets. It’s a city of layers. Homeless men sleep outside designer shops. Beggars sit outside churches. Crowds gather outside the Hard Rock Café to watch the filming of something akin to Idol. And the people are so, so friendly. I want to go back there; I will go back there.

Oh, and I bought myself another apron.

–Philippa Burne

Planning a trip? Browse Viator’s tours and things to do in Portugal, including things to see and do in Lisbon, tours in Porto & northern Portugal, and things do see and do in the Algarve.

In the last century Paris drew writers like moths to a flame. Ernest Hemingway fictionalised just about everybody he knew in 1920s Paris in the pages of A Moveable Feast. George Orwell published an entire book’s worth of anecdotes in Down and Out in Paris and London. And you can read about Paul Auster’s “starving writer in Paris” years in Hand to Mouth, which is also an excellent exploration of the compulsion to write.

Shakespeare & Co., Paris

There’s still a hangover from those earlier times: Paris still pulls in aspiring authors, often to the bookshop Shakespeare & Company, perched between cafes on the Left Bank of the Seine. George Whitman opened Shakespeare & Company in the 1950s and it became a regular hangout for beat writers Allen Ginsberg, Jack Kerouac and William Burroughs. (George still lives above the shop in an apartment crammed with books, photographs and memorabilia.)

Back then writers could stay at George’s apartment on condition that they typed out an autobiography on the shop’s battered old typewriter and handed it to George by midnight. Kerouac stayed there before writing Satori in Paris. Burroughs researched Naked Lunch in the shop. Ginsberg gave poetry readings there.

George has a wicked sense of humour and likes to kid people that he’s descended from the poet Walt Whitman. He’s a grizzled and anarchic 93 years old now, who still looks very beatnik with his wild hair and dandy shirts, and calls himself the ‘Don Quixote of the Latin Quarter’. These days his daughter Sylvia handles the day-to-day running of the place. The torch is being handed on, so to speak.

The shop itself is a small warren of uneven bookshelves, over-loaded and warped with time, a maze of step ladders, cinema aisle seats, even a piano (a sign reads, “Please play the piano”). Past the wishing well and up the stairs at the back there’s a writer’s cubby-hole complete with typewriter and usually someone clacking away at it. There’s a library, too, that’s more of a place to hang out and meet people. And there are even beds between the bookshelves – for the twenty-somethings who work and sleep there.

…lest they be angels in disguise

It’s a strange mix of public and private, an invitation to break the social boundaries we don’t normally dare cross. Is it a shop or a home, or both? Painted on the wall is the slogan “Be not inhospitable to strangers, lest they be angels in disguise.”

George, who’s known so many writers since he arrived just after World War II, looked back to an earlier generation of ex-pats and the original Shakespeare & Company at 12, rue de l’Odeon. That was the shop that published James Joyce’s Ulysses and belonged to Sylvia Beach, an American who gathered together Anglophone writers in the 1920s and ’30s. She had to close during the Nazi occupation but she passed the name on to George a decade later.

For almost six decades now George’s Shakespeare & Co. has run literary events. There are readings every Monday at 7pm, hosted by veteran journalist John Kirby Abraham, whose old-fashioned radio announcer accent gives you the feeling he’s speaking for the benefit of the listeners at home.

Shakespeare & Co also organise literary festivals in the summer (travel writing last year, memoir & biography writing next) as well as celebrations of Bloom’s Day in honour of James Joyce.

And there are writing workshops where you can listen to new talent or get feedback on your own stuff, such as the drop-in “Other Writers’ Group” open to all every Saturday at 3pm. It’s a vibrant scene, a good community to plug into if you’re coming to Paris to write.

But the best thing is Sunday afternoon tea at 4, when, if the mood takes him, George opens his apartment-museum for a tea party to which the whole world is invited. You never know who you’re gonna meet; quite possibly some writer who stayed there back in the 1960s or ’70s. Like its owner, Shakespeare & Co is an oasis of individuality in a world of bland chain bookshops. This place has accumulated time and character while most other shops have been gutted and refitted and had their past annihilated. “One of the last real places in the world,” as a letter tacked to the wall has it.

Paris has several regular poetry nights in English – among them the monthly Live Poet’s Society at The Highlander pub and the fortnightly open mic night “Spoken Word” at The Lizard Lounge. If you crave a complete listing of literary events and creative writing courses in English, click here. So why not come and trace Paris’ literary history or find inspiration and support to write yourself? As Henry Miller said, the problem with Paris is not the lack of stimulation, but that there’s so much of it.

–David Barnes

Editor’s note: Shakespeare & Company is at 37 rue de la Bûcherie, Paris. Metro Saint Michel. If you’re planning a trip to Paris, be sure to browse Viator’s list of Paris tours and things to see and do.

It’s been five years now that I have traveled the world in search of the secret voice of bridges. Every rumbling truck and gust of wind generates a vibration in the cables, and these sounds create a unique music, which is always present yet only heard once amplified through contact microphones.

The idea originally came while studying sculpture at art school in Sydney in the mid-1990s. One of the lecturers for a course in public art had given us the exercise to come up with an idea for an artwork in public space which had absolutely no constraints, wasn’t limited by feasibility, practicality or any other real-world concern.

Anzac Bridge

The first recording I made while the Anzac Bridge was still under construction, taking a team of radio producers and sound engineers from the ABC National Radio with me to best capture the industrial yet ethereal voice of the cables. Looking up at the new Glebe Island (Anzac) Bridge as it was being built over Blackwattle Bay on my way to art school everyday, the particular mix of public sculpture, sound art, and deconstructive theory swirling in my sleepy brain led me to wonder, in an idle moment of curiosity; how would that big harp-like structure of cables and concrete sound? Could I link together bridge cables around the world as instruments in a global symphony?Freedom of imagination is a gift not to be taken lightly. It is open to everyone equally, and in the end, your life is expanded and limited in accord with your capacity for imagination and corresponding courage.

The cables of suspension and stay-cabled bridges vibrate with unexpected sounds. I am always thrilled to hear a new bridge, as each one has a unique texture, rhythm and sonic signature. Tuning in to the sound in the cables gives voice to the spirit of each bridge, in which we hear the moans, sighs and singing of the bridge. Every structure is a new sonic adventure. On the bridge you are suspended in space, neither here nor there, lifted above the everyday world in a moment of pure presence, and the possibility of transformation. No wonder seeking bridge music has now become a lifelong quest.

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Despite the best efforts of my friends and family to convince me that a stable job and small apartment would be a more logical path, I decided to follow my dream of creating a symphony of bridges, and set out to capture and record the sounds of these urban instruments wherever I could.

My Thuan Bridge, Vietnam

The first leg of the journey took me to Vietnam, where I jumped out of a tour van to walk across the My Thuan Bridge over the steamy Mekong Delta. One of the guides came with me, and helped by banging on the steel casing of the cable when I found to my dismay that the contact microphones didn’t pick up any sound from their vibration. Having come this far, I wasn’t going to walk away, so while cursing myself for not having tested the equipment on a bridge at home before leaving, we managed to create some interesting sounds in the otherwise silent cables. This is the only bridge where I have been offered mango by the street vendors, and taken a wild ride on the back of a motorcycle, dodging trucks through crazy traffic.

Next stop Rotterdam, where the newly built Erasmus Bridge gave us a wonderful cacophony of sound through the railings and pylons… but still not much vibration in those cables. The bridge opened for a ship to pass by, and I captured the grinding mechanism inside, followed by wonderful trams rattling and bicycles squeaking past as the traffic started up.

It wasn’t until my third bridge, the Maatinkaari in Helsinki, that I actually heard anything like the sound I was hoping for in the cables, a low laser popping, similar to that first bridge. This one is far smaller than the previous two, and was built to resonate at a frequency of 1.3 Hz, to ensure a pleasant journey for pedestrians. The Finnish engineers did a great job, a drummer friend who climbed up into the cables and tapped out some rhythms set off the low pows and tremulous resonance. I started to hear a subtle range of sounds when the bridge responded to bicycles and people walking across.

Novy Most Bridge, Slovakia

The ‘Glienicke (Spy) Bridge’ in Potsdam, just outside Berlin, is where intelligence agents were exchanged between the US and Russian forces, and contains a surprisingly code-like series of clicks, squeaks and scratches through the structure. Exploring further East, I chose to record the Novy Most Bridge in Bratislava, Slovakia, based on the fantastical shape, as though a UFO had landed on top of the pylon. The cables were sadly mute, not actually being high-tensile steel which carries vibrations, but the mechanical shudder of the lift in the pylon gave the bridge a gritty industrial voice. I enjoyed the view of a 14th-century castle juxtaposed by monstrous 1960s concrete apartments on either side of the Danube, while sampling the local fizzy grape drink. The tiny stooped old man operating the lift has been replaced by hipsters taking cocktails with names like ‘Violet Sarcasm’ in the minimalist refurbishment of the bar.

The Millennium Bridge in London had only just been reopened when I arrived to take its sonic pulse, as the bridge suffered ‘synchronous lateral excitation’ on the opening day, a condition of noticeable and potentially dangerous swaying when hundreds of people fell into step walking across it. This is different to the Tacoma Narrows Bridge, where the wind picked up the resonant frequency of the materials, causing the bridge to be known as Galloping Gertie, and it eventually buckled and collapsed in 1932. I could hear a high-pitched chattering in the Millennium Bridge, a sound that was uneasy and spoke, if not of collapse, at least of the tension in the structure.

Brooklyn Bridge, New York

In contrast, the Brooklyn Bridge in New York City has a gentle murmuring tone; the exposed steel is easily accessible from the pedestrian walkway. Although signs declare that it is illegal to attach anything to the bridge, no one stopped me fixing the contact microphones onto a number of cables, late one evening. The soothing burble is prophesized in Waldo Frank’s 1917 novel, The Unwelcome Man: “The bridge that reeled beyond him seemed an arbiter. It bound the city. It must know the city’s soul since it was so close to the city’s breath. In its throbbing cables there must be a message.”Artist Joseph Stella’s response to the bridge was even more heightened: “Many nights I stood on the bridge—I felt deeply moved, as if on the threshold of a new religion or in the presence of a new Divinity.”

The Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco has a far more urgent sound, almost violent in the twang of cables popping and constant undertones that speak of mayhem, disorder and panic. I guess those noir films picked up on the secret voice of the bridge, casting her as a femme fatale and site of spooky visitations or dangerous power struggles. The beauty of the setting almost lets you forget that this is one of the most popular places for suicide attempts in the world, one survivor described crossing a mystical golden threshold after jumping.

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Bridge in Bangkok, under construction

An invitation arrives out of the blue from a Swedish engineer building the new mega-bridge in Bangkok, who asks me to record the cables during the construction process, and wanted to hear the bridge ‘played like Jimi Hendrix’. My intrepid companion team of documentary filmmakers climb into a tiny metal cage with me, and are suspended 200 metres above the Chao Praya River, then dropped at the top of the pylon to clamber down ladders inside the structure and record the workers who installed and tensioned the cables.

The range of sounds from the machinery to the cables stretching into place is extraordinary. I can’t wait to make more music with it!

The next step is bringing together the goodwill and networks of engineers, architects and musicians who have responded to the project and create the Global Bridge Symphony. I look forward to that moment of hearing an orchestrated concert of bridge voices, soaring through space and across the world together in global harmony.

–Jodi Rose

Welcome to possibly the coolest city in South America. At least, that’s my (somewhat biased) opinion. Quite simply the capital of Argentina, Buenos Aires (BA for short), oozes class – take a walk down the main streets and you’ll see what I mean. Whatever you’re into – culture, nightlife, food and drink – you’ll find it here, with a vengeance. Add to this the fact that BA is currently one of the most affordable cities in the world, and you’ll be itching to get here.

The following represents the highlights from my own trip to BA last year – whilst it could be done in three or four days, I took my time and ended up staying a fortnight.

Avenida Florida & Plaza de Mayo

The pedestrianized Avenida Florida is the nerve centre of Buenos Aires in terms of being rammed with shoppers, businessmen and tourists, all going about their lives in the shadows of daunting skyscrapers and old European edifices. Buskers and street vendors add to the general bustle, making this a really colourful area to explore. (Most of this area is covered on Viator’s Buenos Aires city tour and Buenos Aires bike tour.)

Tango on the streets of Buenos Aires

The Plaza de Mayo is the political centre. The square is bordered on one side by the eye-catching pink façade of the Casa Rosada (Pink House). The balconies of the building have been the scene for many of the most famous Argentine politicians preaching to the masses in years gone by. Free guided tours take place weekdays at 4pm, although only the Friday one is in English. You are best turning up an hour in advance to reserve a place. Every Thursday at 3:30pm you can also watch the Madres de la Plaza de Mayo (Mothers of Plaza de Mayo) as they march around the square in their seemingly unending fight for justice and a full account of the atrocities committed during Argentina’s “Dirty War” of 1976 – 83.

While you’re in the area you should also visit the Catedral Metropolitana, a splendid baroque cathedral that contains the tomb of General José de San Martín, Argentina’s most revered national hero. A flame on the outside of the cathedral is meant to keep his spirit alive. Tours (in Spanish only) take place weekdays at 11.30am.

A few blocks east of Plaza de Mayo, on Avenida de Mayo, is Café Tortoni. Although BA is packed with decent cafés, this is the one to tick off on your list. Probably BA’s best-known and traditional café, a good mix of locals and tourists provide the atmosphere, while quality tango shows are offered nightly, with jazz at weekends.

Avenida 9 de Julio & Around

With 16 lanes at its widest, Av 9 de Julio is often proclaimed by porteños (the local name for BA inhabitants) as ‘the widest street in the world’. Whether or not that is true, the famous Obelisco that dominates the street at the oval Plaza de la República is a sight that you’ll come to associate with BA after a day or two.

If you can, try and make time for a visit to the Teatro Colón, a beautiful world-class theatre for opera, ballet and classical music. Situated on Calle Tucumán one block beyond where it criss-crosses Av 9 de Julio, its excellent guided tours are to be recommended. Nearby is Argentina’s largest synagogue, the Templo de la Congregación Israelita.

San Telmo

Tango on the streets of San Telmo

With its quirky atmosphere, San Telmo is a lovely place to relax and sample BA away from the skyscrapers of the city centre. Why spend loads watching a tango show when here you can watch it performed for free in the street? And if antiques are your thing, there’s no better place than the Feria de San Telmo on a Sunday, when seemingly everything from antique artwork to vintage clothing is on display in the cute little shops that adorn the pebbled streets. This is also a good place for purchasing those irksome souvenirs. There’s a fantastic hostel for meeting other travellers, too – the Sandanzas, a cosy little joint where I shared a very reasonable double room for about $17 a night.

Recoleta & Palermo

These are the wealthier, middle-class neighbourhoods northwest from the main city centre. The chief attraction in Recoleta is its Cementerio (cemetery), with its labyrinth of imposing statues. The city’s most elite – past presidents, military heroes etc – lie in the crypts, while the revered Evita Perón was also buried here, her gravestone being one of the chief reasons for bringing a camera with you. Another must-see is the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes – Argentina’s foremost fine-arts museum. Visitors are freely admitted to gaze at masterpieces by Renoir, Monet, Rembrandt and Van Gogh, as well as classic Argentine artists.

An angel in Recoleta Cementerio

Palermo Viejo is the place for ethnic restaurants and designer clothes shops, and has unsurprisingly become one of BA’s hippest spots. As it covers such a large area, you’re best taking your time to walk around and explore whatever takes your fancy. You’ll find pretty much whatever you’re looking for round here, but a personal favourite is Krishna, a tiny vegetarian restaurant that has the kind of thematic décor that lends itself to hippiness, with the very reasonable menu featuring exotic drinks, soy burgers and cheese /chutney crepes.

Nightlife in Buenos Aires

Given that the vast majority of the population are of Spanish and Italian descent, it’s perhaps unsurprising that BA has a nightlife to rival anywhere in the world. Discos often don’t get properly going till 2am, and continue into the early hours – and later! You’re best to dress stylishly, if you want to blend in with the crowd. Admission to most clubs tends to be around $3 to $7, although some may charge more but offer a free drink or two.

Amongst the maze of hip nightspots, Pachá, near La Pampa, regularly features sets by famous DJs, and has an excellent sound system that continues to lure a well-dressed clientele, eager to sample the latest electronic music. Amerika is another huge club, attracting a lively mixed crowd eager to party. With one main dancefloor, and two upstairs, you can sample a mixture of techno, dance, tango-electronica, and classic Latin pop songs. Given the canilla libre (all you can drink), it’s surprisingly free of drunken idiots (or it seemed to be!) and is a genuinely feel-good place that I recommend.

Day Trip from Buenos Aires: Tigre & the Delta

Barely 30km north of the city, Tigre and the Delta is a popular weekend getaway for porteños and well worth a visit, if only to relax on a boat whilst watching the world go by. Tigre itself is an attractive little city that is easily walkable. The Puerto de Frutos (open 11am – 7pm) features a large crafts fair at weekends, as well as vendors selling housewares, wicker baskets and dried flowers. For history enthusiasts, the Museo Naval de la Nación paints a vivid picture of the Argentine navy with its comprehensive display of model boats and airplanes, artillery pieces and historical photos.

The main attraction, however, is the Delta. Consisting of some 5,000 waterways and canals, it starts to form near the city of Diamante and finishes in the Rio de la Plata (River Plate). The marshy region may seem a curious attraction at first glance, but a visit will reveal it to be an almost underdeveloped tourist paradise. The 3,000 or so people who live on the numerous islands are employed mainly in the paper and plywood industries. A pleasant boat ride offers you a glimpse of their way of life, together with vantage points for the local stilt houses and colonial mansions. Frequent commuter launches leave Estación Fluvial for various destinations around the Delta. The Tres Bocas neighbourhood, in particular, is a popular destination with plenty of peaceful walks on narrow pathways connected by bridges.

–Anthony Lye

Planning a trip? Browse Viator’s tours and things to do in Argentina, from Buenos Aires city tours to Tango shows to hot-air balloon flights over Buenos Aires to day trips on the Delta.

Editor’s Note: The following blog post is by Don George from his recent trip to Kenya & Tanzania. Don, a pioneering travel writer and editor for 25 years, is the host and creator of the adventure travel web site Don’s Place and the editor of the literary travel magazine RECCE. His seven books include “Travel Writing”, “The Kindness of Strangers,” and “Tales from Nowhere.” You can read Don’s original post here.

We’ve just stepped off an 18-seat Air Kenya propeller plane onto the airstrip at Amboseli National Reserve. Vast brown savannah surrounds us. A nearby herd of ungainly, big-horned wildebeest stares at the noisy, propeller-beaked bird that just disrupted their grazing. Beyond them sleek-striped zebra munch, flanks twitching, on the grass. To their distant left a trio of Thompsen’s gazelles leap toward the green foothills of Mount Kilimanjaro, whose flanks disappear into masses of gray clouds.

I look at the three others on my safari and blurt out the only words that come to mind: “This is so – Africa!”

We climb into our minivan and set off for the tented camp where we will spend the next two nights. We’ve been driving for about 15 minutes when we come upon a swamp. Lewela, our safari director, suddenly points to the far shore, “Look! Over there!”

Four heads swivel. And there it is: Three feet from the water’s edge, a lioness is lying next to the bloody half-carcass of a zebra, the remains of the pride’s dinner. “They had a big party last night!” Lewela laughs as we stop to absorb the scene.

Another lioness is lying down about 20 feet away, sated, so exhausted from the effort of eating and digesting that we can hear her labored panting and see the bellows of her tawny body moving in and out. Soon a great African drama begins to unfold. First wiry jackals come on the scene, cautiously approaching the carcass, smelling the air, anxious in their hunger, waiting for an opening when they can dash in and make off with some lunch. Then two hyena come loping across the savannah, eyeing the lions, warily working their roundabout way toward the glistening kill.

For a long time the lioness lets them approach, head on paws, eyes closed, seemingly oblivious. Then she slowly raises herself, turns, and begins a purposeful stride in the direction of the jackals and hyenas. After a few taut seconds they scoot away, followed closely by the lioness’s eye. Then she returns to her resting place and curls up again next to the carcass. One of the jackals gives a disappointed yelp. Lunch will have to wait.

Another drama begins to play out in the swamp as the wildebeest and zebras start to cross. They enter the water in a line, following the leader across the depths and out to the opposite shore. But suddenly, about a third of the way into the swamp, one of the wildebeests begins to flail wildly. It has strayed off the path into deeper waters and bucks in terror for a few seconds before it finds its footing and splash-charges into shallower waters and onto the land. “During the Great Migration a lot of wildebeest die this way,” Lewela says. “Either they drown or they get separated from the herd and become easy prey. The lions wait by the rivers like they’re at a buffet.”

As he speaks, the next wildebeest in line hesitates, confused, then looks around, snorts and gallops back onto the land he’d just left. The one behind him stands still for a second, then belligerently wheels around and follows him back. Soon the entire line of wildebeest and zebra has beaten a retreat onto land, and the animals graze and gaze placidly, now on both sides of the water, as if nothing has happened.

In the foreground a flock of long-beaked, white-winged great white pelicans erupts as one into the sky, swerving over the sweeping brown-golden grass-plains and toward the line of hazy green-purple hills beyond. Acacia trees thrust their thorny branches into the sky, and giraffe, elephant and Cape buffalo materialize in the distance. The smell of fresh dung carries on the breeze, mixing with the dry dusty earthy smell of the land. And Kilimanjaro broods over it all, massing in the clouds.

Africa!

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Now it’s 3:15 and I’m sitting on my verandah, looking out on the snow-topped crown of Kilimanjaro – well, I would be, if the mountain would deign to appear – and the dry swaying grass of the savannah. A mid-afternoon torpor has settled over the scene. A slight breeze barely stirs the branches of the tortillis acacia trees that tower around my tent, casting long shadows over a dense tangle of green, insect-loud vegetation. The most energetic beings are the buzzing flies and the calling birds. There’s an amazing, sweet cacophony of bird calls – one that has a sandpapery grate to it, others high branch-strung tweets, others that woo-woo-woo… To the east of cloud-massed Kilimanjaro rain sheets down in the distance.

A whiff of wetness is borne on the breeze, and the insects shrill with even greater intensity.

I look around and shake my head: It’s almost impossible to believe that this is just our first day in the bush. Who knows what wonders await?

–Don George, guest blogger

Planning a trip? Head over to Don’s Place to browse his recommendations, or browse Viator’s own tours and safaris in Kenya.