Archive for September, 2007

Switzerland, so small and yet so large in the imagination. Chocolate, money, mountains and snow, cows with bells, Heidi.

After going there, my list now includes lakes, clocks, and bathing, yes, bathing. Let me explain.

I went to Switzerland by train – highly recommended. The scenery is so beautiful and the mountains majestic. Roads and railways fight each other for the narrow valley spaces. It was summer, June, and the highest mountains still had snow on them, with cascades of water rushing down to the lakes and rivers below. The rivers were full of sailing boats and the lakes rimmed by holidaymakers. The train ran on time, to within seconds (even though it came from Italy, notorious for trains doing whatever they like). But the Swiss like things to run on time, and for all their transport to connect.

Lovely Zurich, Switzerland

Later, I was amazed to discover that not only were all the clocks at Zurich’s main train station showing the same time, but that all the clocks at all the stations in Switzerland had the same time! And, to top it off, the timetables had been written so that trains actually connect with one another to make the traveller’s life easy. A new and shocking concept to an Australian. Especially one who has spent a while in Britain; I remember a section about Welsh trains in Bill Bryson’s Notes From A Small Island where he is amazed then amused then annoyed to discover that a bus was scheduled to depart a station two minutes before the train was due to arrive there – perhaps Wales needs to employ someone from Switzerland for a couple of months. Anyway, I digress…

Crossing the border into Switzerland was interesting. Passports were cursorily glanced at, but the Finance Controllers were more thorough. They walked the length of the train scoping out potential cash smugglers, then came on board and searched the bags of the chosen few. I hear that at some airports they now have dogs which can sniff out cash – where can I buy me one of them?

I’m not sure what makes you look like you’re on your way to surreptitiously open a Swiss bank account, but the man opposite me in his pinstripe suit obviously fitted the part. After searching his bag and drawing a blank, they turned on me: ‘You travel together?’

I shook my head. One of the most confusing things about border crossings is remembering which language to address which official in: I think I usually end up appearing mute. Anyway, they glanced at my gaudy purple-and-green suitcase, decided no one could be stupid enough to carry a million cash in that, and moved on to their next victim. I was kind of insulted to be thought not capable of money smuggling or laundering - and by the speed and intensity at which pinstripe suit man denied knowing me.

I was headed for Zurich to stay with a friend for a few days. I knew nothing about the place except for the above list and that she lived there. Also that it was important not to tell the inhabitants they are speaking German, they speak Swiss-German. I’m not sure whether they are that sensitive in Geneva, perhaps there they are happy to speak French. The first thing that struck me is how wealthy Zurich seems. The cars are all new, the streets are clean, there is no snarling traffic, everything runs on time (I think I may have mentioned that…) and everyone seems quite content. According to recent surveys, it is the city with the highest quality of living in the world (Geneva is second).

A Chagall window at Fraumunster, Zurich

That said, it lacked some of the excitement of other cities I have been to, some of their edge, but if I were raising three kids and a dog, Zurich would be very high on my list of places to do it – if I could get permission to live and work there. Understandably they are quite protective of their excellent opportunities to ski in winter and sail in summer, the clean air and affluent lifestyle.

But it was reassuring to note that sometimes the trams do smell like they’re homeless and to be approached outside the Kunsthaus gallery by a rather persistent man who said I had a lucky face – I didn’t hang around to find out what he meant but I did finally feel like I was in a big, bad city.

So don’t think I am saying Zurich is dull. It is a small (population 340,000) but packed with history. During the wars, the neutrality of Switzerland drew a lot of artists to live there and the Dada movement was born in Zurich’s old town in 1916, at Cabaret Voltaire, now a cafe/bar and exhibition space. James Joyce lived here from 1915-1919, wrote Ulysses and much later died here during exile from Nazi-occupied Paris in 1941. (He is buried in Fluntern Cemetery.) Lenin and Trotsky also took refuge in Zurich during World War 1. It must have been quite a party.

Zurich also has wonderful churches: St Peterskirche (which has the largest clock face in Europe), the Grossmunster (with its twin spires) and the 13th-century Fraumunster (with the beautiful Marc Chagall windows from 1967). The transition of church from holy place to must-see tourist trap became very clear when I was in the Fraumunster; there were many of us looking at the Chagall stained glass when a mobile phone rang. Rather than apologetically turning it off or taking it outside, the woman happily answered and held a loud conversation mid-chapel. And not one of us said a word to her.

Bad Utoquai, Zurich

But my favourite thing was the swimming pools. I went to one on the river and one on the lake. Floating on pontoons they have sun decks, changing cabins, kiosks and enclosed pools (which are actually part of the lake or the river). On the river is the Frauenbad, a 19th-century women-only bathing pavilion.

The basking is mainly topless, the atmosphere relaxed and the iced coffee sublime. Being on the river, the current was quite fast in the outer pool and the water not totally pristine. But I really liked it and wish it was in a city I lived in. On summer nights it becomes a mixed barefoot bar, Barfussbar.

On the lake is Bad Utoquai, a mixed swimming pool, bigger than the Frauenbad and with steps into the cold lake water and a platform to swim to as well as the enclosed pool which traps a fair bit of lake litter. But to swim in Lake Zurich, looking at the snow capped mountains, seeing people nearby walking in the park, swimming their dogs amongst the swans, while sailboats float past is really a very nice thing to do on a summer’s afternoon. And afterwards, try a Movenpick ice cream from one of the many street sellers, yum.

So, I’m really glad I went to Switzerland but I have to say, I’ll probably go back only if I have good reason – skiing, sailing, visiting my friend. Or a million bucks to launder.

–Philippa Burne

Planning a trip? Browse Viator’s tours in Zurich and things to do in Switzerland. You can also browse photos of Zurich on the Viator Flickr site.

Editor’s note: Despite being somebody who “doesn’t do tours,” Jodi surprised herself by having a great time on a day trip to the Pyrenees from Barcelona. “It’s a great way to get out of the city, with everything arranged for you. There is no stress and plenty of time for independent exploration or lazing about.” Thanks Jodi, we couldn’t have said it better ourselves…

I decided to sign up for a day trip into the Pyrenees with a new company operating in Barcelona, whose philosophy is to take small groups to some of the best places in the countryside, and let you choose your own sights and adventures within their framework.

The market in Vic

It was a little like being shown around by your best friend’s friend, who looks after you and is well informed but doesn’t shower you with facts. Rather, the information comes out during conversation, and so the tour is tailored to the interests of the people on it.

The groups are small, around 6 people, and there is plenty of time for sightseeing at your leisure. The group was relaxed and friendly, it’s easy to do on your own, and there’s no being shepherded around monuments and castles by a tour leader with a megaphone. Think ‘traveller’ more than ‘tourist’.

The guide takes you to the first point of interest, hands you a map and outlines a few salient features of the place, things you might like to see, and where to meet in a few hours.

We arrive in Vic

On the drive out of Barcelona to our first stop, the charming town of Vic (third or fourth largest in Catalonia), we discussed all manner of historical and cultural events in the area. The textile industry had certainly left its mark, with abandoned stone factories scattered over the hills, some had an entire village, school and church for the workers. Oddly juxtaposed with the mushrooming apartment blocks that fill every available space in the outskirts of just about any town in the world.

One of our group asked about the Catalan language, sparking a lively discussion about cultural identity and politics, across the border in the French Pyrenees the local language has all been dominated by French, whereas Spain has four official languages. Our guide’s passionate response to this issue was inspiring, as was his knowledge of various fields and areas of interest.

Our guide tells us to “get lost”

Sculpture in Vic

The day unfolds at an easy pace, with plenty of room to do your own thing. The guide told us all to ‘get lost’ at one point – in the nicest possible way – reminding me that sometimes the best way to experience a place is to have no idea where you are.

This low-key approach works well for me, it lets you engage as much or as little as you like, and there is no pressure to hurry on to the next place, or loitering around somewhere you have no interest in. (And I’m not alone — read what other travellers have to say about this Pyrenees day trip.)

Once we arrive in Vic, our guide walks us to the marketplace to give a brief introduction to the area, hands out maps, and then leads us willingly to the best bakery in town. If you do this tour, take his advice and buy something for lunch here, as the other food options up in the Pyrenees are expensive and involve lots of queuing. The local specialty is a concoction of light pastry with almond and orange cream, delicious!

Strolling through the medieval twisty streets, another cathedral looms out of the square. This one has a surprising interior, the paintings are by a contemporary of Dali and I won’t describe any detail, just make sure you stop there if you do visit. “Another pile of old rocks,” laughs my companion, as we find ourselves in front of a Roman temple, hidden inside the courtyard of a palace for a few hundred years it is remarkably undamaged, except for a few pockmarks on the pillars, hard to tell if they are from civil war or the ravages of time.

Eschewing the street of small goods and meat delicacies, we take a turn around the market, which has the usual array of ultra-cheap fashion knock-offs, a few interesting craft stands, baubles, shoes and plants. The outfit I bought was fun at the time, but not really something to lug home if your suitcase is already packed with shopping.

Next Stop: Queralbs

Now we drive on into the hills, along increasingly winding narrow roads as the climb into the Pyrenees begins. There is a fantastic story here about one of the heroes from the 870s and the First Count of Barcelona, Wilfred the Hairy. He was responsible for leading the fight to win back much of the country from the Moorish invaders, and many of his descendants seem to be still living in the area.

Queralbs, in the Pyrenees

The next stop is Queralbs, a gorgeous stone village high in the mountains. It is in fact the last settlement accessible by car, and we then climb aboard the 1930’s-built rack railway that ascends the final 800m in a steep route through dramatic peaks and walking tracks. This is an absolute highlight, the thrill of an incredible landscape mixed with a sense of sheer terror at the vertical inclines alongside us, dropping away to canyons and sheer cliffs.

At the top is one of the most bizarre architectural blights I have ever seen on a landscape. It’s a strange amalgam of summer camp, monastery, cathedral and tourist park. My advice would be to avoid the organized activities – horse riding, archery, an igloo, water slide – and opt instead for walking into the hills. Probably if you have kids it’s a great place to bring them, but my only inclination was to get as far away from all those people as possible.

The cable car up to the next peak looked fun, but again the queues kept me away, and there was a momentary plan to go canoeing on the lake, which was quickly abandoned. Eventually we found a quiet spot along the water for our picnic, and enjoyed the spectacular scenery and a gentle walk into the hills. You can opt for a more strenuous hike, or even walk back down along the route of the railway, but wear sensible shoes and bring warm clothes, as it can snow up here in spring and the weather is very changeable. This would have been an amazing place to visit before the architecture took over, but is still well worth the trip for a glimpse of one of the world’s most famous mountain ranges.

There’s a story about the cathedral which may interest couples trying to get pregnant – but if you want to avoid such a thing, don’t stick your head in the bell! On the way back down you have time to stop in Queralbs and visit the Virgin in her simple 10th-century stone church, apparently built by fairies and witches, with some beautiful murals painted onto the stone above the altar.

–Jodi Rose

I’m sitting on a plane and we just passed Mont Blanc, the highest peak in Europe. Snow-covered even in July. And at its foot, Lake Geneva. Beautiful. I’m on my way to Lisbon and I’ve just enjoyed delicious creamy veggie pasta to go with the view. Thanks Lufthansa!

Until 2004 I was too terrified to get on a plane. Even the sight of the airport was enough to break out the sweat, the twisted guts. I used to call planes ‘great silver deathbirds’, laugh that airports were called ‘terminals’, and declare that if I were meant to fly I’d have wings. What changed?

I Got Hypnotised

I had always been scared; I think it stemmed from flying from Sydney to Canberra on a smallish plane, through a thunderstorm - as if going to Canberra isn’t horrifying enough in itself. My sister also tells me that, when I was too young to remember, we flew to Sydney from Melbourne and my ears were so painful I screamed the entire way. Obviously not something the rest of the family was lucky enough to forget. Anyway, the psychological scars ran deep and planes became the enemy.

Bravely I soldiered on, even flying to Europe a couple of times after a short ‘training’ flight to Noumea for a holiday. Back in the olden days of the ’80s, the air hosties even took me into the cockpit of the plane to ease my fears! Imagine that. Me and a whole line of kids getting to peak out the front windows of the plane at the Middle Eastern desert far below. It did make me forget to be afraid for a while because it was so awesomely beautiful. But the image that haunted my mind longer was all those complex instruments… so much to go wrong at 30,000 feet. Mind you, I was able to panic in comfort because my extreme fear had got me an upgrade to business class. Ah, the good old days…

But despite all this, the fear built until in 1993 I panicked so badly on a flight from Perth to Melbourne that I swore it was over between me and flying. I was breaking up with planes.

For 10 years I stayed strong. No calls, no visits, no late-night flirtations. Then I got the job offer of a lifetime – in London. A couple of quick calls established it would be impossible to get there by ship. I’d have to fly.

I was brave. Did all my arranging, packed, hosted farewell drinks, then melted down. A friend suggested hypnotism. Did I say friend? I mean Saint. Because that one hour was the best thing I have ever done in my life. I got to London and now I have so many frequent-flyer points, I don’t know what to do with them all. Well, I do because there are still one or two places I haven’t been. I have no idea how the hypnotism works, what I do know is that as soon as I get on a plane, I feel relaxed and when that seat hits my bum, I start to nod off to sleep. Brilliant.

No Fears, No Worries

Sometimes the thoughts of all that could go wrong start buzzing around my mind but they don’t trigger off any physiological response, so, no panic. And there have been some memorable flights that would test anyone’s mettle:

• Vienna to Zagreb, Croatia. Another thunderstorm flight. The previous flight had been turned back by the weather so we were a bit of an experiment. The plane was full of Australians off to a sailing holiday and as it bucked and shook through the storm, I ended up comforting them with anecdotes about Neighbours, a popular TV show I used to work for. I heard myself lying: “Flying into Zagreb’s often like this, it’ll be fine.” I was the calm comforter? Bless that hypnotist.

• Munich to Bratislava, Slovakia. The greatest test because the plane was a tiny propeller job. If I hadn’t been with my boss I would have refused to get on board. As it was I had the humiliation of being in business class which was a single row facing the rest of the plane, and we were the only people being fed. Eating under all those eyes definitely took my mind off where I was.

• Frankfurt to Lisbon. The steward came to the person behind me: ‘It says here you are a doctor. Is that a medical doctor?’ Then the announcement you don’t want to hear: Is there a medical doctor on board? A woman across the row from me got up and headed down the back of the plane. At least she didn’t head into the cockpit.

• Melbourne to London the first time. Another medical incident. We took off through a building thunderstorm (what is it with me and flying through bad weather?), then the pilot announced: ‘Those of you who are observant will have noticed we have turned around.’ Yes, one of the plane’s staff had had a heart attack! We landed through the now fully unleashed thunderstorm. Any surprises I wasn’t too fond of flying after that?

• Berlin to London. Again terrible weather, this time fog. It was three days before Christmas so the passengers were restless, desperate. After a long delay we got there and landed suddenly, the ground erupting from the thick fog. Impressive. Everyone on board applauded. Until the hostie announced: ‘Please don’t encourage the pilots; they’re big-headed enough. And they had nothing to do with that landing, it’s all done automatically these days.’ The laughter got us over our terror.

• Moscow to St Petersburg, Aeroflot, a Friday night in winter. Getting to the airport was actually more terrifying than the flight. The traffic in Moscow has to be seen to be believed. Our first taxi didn’t turn up: too much traffic. Our second driver gave up after nearly half an hour in one street and took us to the nearest Metro. But that doesn’t go all the way to the airport so we found another taxi who drove like Schumacher on wet, dark, peak-hour Moscow roads. We sat in the back of that car, eyes closed, fateful. He got us there as our plane was boarding. The security woman took our passports and tickets and ran to the check-in for us as we were stripped of shoes, belts, jewelery and then ran sock footed to the plane. Where the air hosties resembled Rocky Balboa in size and determination. I dared not ask them for anything. The seats were a little broken, too…

LOVE to Fly

Flying is beautiful, if you don’t think about it too much

But it’s not all been that challenging. I once sat next to a British Airways pilot and he told me about his love of flying and all the beautiful things he has seen from the air. It made me suddenly see the whole experience in a different way; now I always ask for a window seat and have been rewarded by some of the best sights of my life. Top of the list – seeing the shadow of the plane encircled by a perfect rainbow against a background of fluffy clouds.

And on a flight within Croatia, sitting in the very seat which — according to a plaque — Pope John Paul II sat. I felt protected. And a final thought-provoking moment: during a recent landing at an airport which shall remain nameless there was a dog running alongside the runway, being exercised beside an official airport car. Hmmm…

I love flying now. Because it’s always an adventure and it takes me to amazing, interesting places. The world is so fantastic I will continue to brave weather and fate and keep flying in the relaxed world of the hypnotised. And be really, really grateful that fear didn’t keep me trapped in Melbourne forever.

–Philippa Burne

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 writing about players that matter. Now he’s on the ground in France and this is his first post, sent from a dodgy French keyboard, possibly after a few whiskeys. We won’t know for sure until he emails us the photos…

There is a bar in Lyon that sells 198 different kinds of whiskey. The Wallace. Not a bad spot to watch the opening game of the RWC, between France and Argentina. So the better half and I set ourselves up for a nice quiet evening in front of the screen in the pub. Or so we thought…

By the time kick-off came along at 9.00pm, the pub was jammed shoulder to shoulder with screaming French fans, about 200 people in a space that would comfortably fit 50, all screaming “ALLEZ LES BLEUS” at the top of their lungs. Every time that France touched the ball, the pub would erupt. And there was only two things that made the French shout even louder. The first was the sight of some pretty girls in the crowd on the screen (well, they are French after all).

But the biggest cheer of all was for the sight of Sebastian Chabel, big, bearded and hairy… Cries of CHABEL, CHABEL erupted every time they showed his face.

I have to admire the French crowd. They went silent during the Argentinian anthem, belted out the loudest version of La Marseille when it was their turn. And at the end of the match, they all applauded the winning team.

Which wasn’t France. Argentina won 17 to 12. A great game.

–Ian “Frentzy” Frentz

Editor’s note: This is the third in a series of articles about Darwin, Alice and the quirkiness that is the Northern Territory of Australia by Jack Brown. You can read Jack’s first and second posts to catch up on where the road trip’s taken Jack.

With all those little towns, along with the last signs of the tropics, falling behind us and subsiding into the dust, the journey south from Larrimah to Alice Springs is now about speed (130km/h is the limit), keeping the car straight and keeping the humour as dry as the landscape. However, should you meander off the straight and narrow just out from the HiWay Inn (that marks the turn off east to the Gulf of Carpentaria) to the quiet “town” of Daly Waters – you’ll find the wood-posted pub with a corrugated iron roof which has been decorated by travellers of the world with personal items aplenty, making it the other outback icon that’s made its way onto the World Map.

This place is something between an exploded wallet and a lingerie fight gone wrong: identification cards of every conceivable kind and country line the bar and surrounds (reckon you still need that Darwin City Council library card now? Hand it over if you please); knickers, panties, undies – call them what you will, the undergarments of the fairer sex hang proud at once from rafters, slung aloft for all to see and wonder. And last, but by no means least, a heists worth of bank notes unneeded by distant travellers have made their way into this impromptu desert wallpaper, good now for naught but a laugh as the ale tickles tired tonsils.

The Ute in all its glory

The Daly Waters’ Annual Campdraft and B&S Ball* is an unruly occasion to be sure. The tuxedos and “ballgowns” sported by the eager outback patrons are wearable for only minutes before the paint fight starts and the steady flow of Rum gets libidos and patrons a-flying. They come from as far as Queensland and north Western Australia to ensure their part of the action and come morning, the line-up of utes** and swags, sees much of this party confined to the horizontal from the wee hours for the lucky soldiers of fortune.

With your pants back on and heading down south to the Buchanan Highway turn-off (which leads to Top Springs, then crosses over to Western Australia and the Tanami Desert) you are, by now, starting to get the broader outback picture. Should you have not arrived in the tropics by land, the word is out now - distances are huge and even though it feels a long way already, it hasn’t even gotten going yet.

Elliott, at a mere 150 kilometres from Daly Waters, is a refueling opportunity at best, being a little less upbeat than Mataranka and without the thermal pools to boot. Newcastle Waters lingers off the highway for the enthusiastic and is also an ideal opportunity to encounter the Grey Nomad (also known as the Ewok, for their Caravan of Courage) in their natural environment. The slow moving Grey Nomad likes nothing more than places with little more to offer than happy snap opportunities and lots of other Grey Nomads. More on this remarkable species shortly. [If you must know, three stock routes that crossed Australia met here making the deserted township a bastion of reminders of Australia’s White colonial past, reiterating much of the Terra Nullius*** talk that was in vogue during the 18th Century. Let us speak of this no further for wont of social recrimination.]

Renner Springs is a quaint oasis upon the expanding southern trail. A strange coming together of disparate forms – for example, it was formerly home to two lost pelicans, then one when the partner made it some miles down the road to expire upon the highway and then there was none, as Agatha Christie once wrote. The piano in the dining room passes for “in-tune” and can be used to while away an hour should your musical side require relief. Slip in some conversation between sips of ales at the bar with some local wildlife and the backpackers - not to forget the road-train drivers (trucks of 3 carriages and up to 53.5 metres) that made this proud brown land what it is today. [God bless ‘em for they are the true gentlemen of the road].

Just outside of Renner Springs, near where the once again flat landscape plays one of its little tricks and arcs up suddenly into an unannounced escarpment, the road is marked by the number of the beast upon a road sign south - indicating the distance ahead to Alice Springs (666 km). Congratulations, souls bought and sold here. Best to opt for a takeaway.

Devil’s Marbles with Grey Nomads

Noteworthy, if only for its name - Bootu Creek (it’s a mine and there are many of them in the NT as there are miners) – appears and disappears to your left like a quiet practical joke in an otherwise unpopulated stretch.

Unpopulated that is, save for the sizable park-up happening all through the cooler months just south at Banka Banka Station. “Hot Showers”, “shady sites” and so on the signs said – and golden words such as these bring them in droves. Like a Grey Nomad Convention Centre the sites, indeed shady, swell with the ranks of Ewoks poised to recount stories of roadhouses, grandchildren and Places Of Interest to come.

A kip (sleep) in an unmarked stop on the roadside looks good should you not be wishing to take part in oral history survey of inveterate Australian travel culture. If you do in fact wish such a quiet moment, I recommend the Churchill’s Head back road. Virtually un-driven by other motorists, a serendipitous night of peaceful solitude awaits, with your only companion a rock which (that’s right) looks like (Winston) Churchill’s head.

Bonus points for working out which of the many bald, round number is indeed the rock of fame. And if big, round rocks are your thing, a veritable stony stupor of delights await you on the final stretch of our tar-bound travels as we cover Tennant Creek to Alice Springs in this drive of a lifetime.

–Jack Brown

* Bachelor and Spinster Ball – polite word for piss-up (heavy drinking) amid a singles grab that puts most nightclubs to shame on the meat market stakes.
** Utility truck, a good one is covered in stickers, mudflaps that would shame a semi-trailer and enough aerials to pick up the news in Singapore. Rum stickers are prized. A good tray on the back is about the same size as a double swag when the tailgate is down.
*** Terra Nullius: the presumption upon which Australia was colonised – no one lived here.

If you missed Jack’s first installment of Darwin to Alice by road, you can read it here. Planning a trip? Browse all of Viator’s Darwin tours and things to do in Alice Springs.

On the heels of its successful inaugural “You Oughta Know” tour, VH1 is hitting the road again with the first-ever “VH1 Hip Hop Honors” tour, featuring The Roots with MC Lyte and Big Daddy Kane. If you like hip hop, you’ll love this show.

It’s making stops in San Francisco, Anaheim, Los Angeles, Denver, Dallas, New Orleans, Chicago, Cleavland, Norfolk, Washington DC, Baltimore, Worcester, Philadelphia and New York City. The event kicks off the first show in San Francisco on September 13. The final show of the tour will be in New York City on October 5 at the Nokia Theatre, kicking off Hip Hop Honors Weekend in New York. You can buy tickets on the VH1 website.

If you’re planning to see any of the NYC shows, stick around and check out some of the Hip Hop history of Manhattan, Brooklyn, Queens and the Bronx, created especially to coincide with the Hip Hop Honors Weekend in New York.

• Thursday, October 4: Where Brooklyn At? The BK Hip Hop Tour
  Join Uncle Ralph McDaniels and move beyond videos and media descriptions, see where some of the nation’s most celebrated hip hop personalities, actors and athletes of today lived and honed their craft such as Whodini, Jay Z, Big Daddy Kane, the Notorious BIG and others. Take in the sights, listen to hip hop classics and see spectacular views of the Manhattan Bridge.
• Friday, October 5: Hip Hop Harlem and Boogie Down Bronx Tour
  Pioneering emcee, Grandmaster Caz leads you uptown to Harlem and the Bronx, pointing out Hip Hop landmarks along the way as well as taking you to visit the legendary Bronx locations as seen in the first hip hop film Wild Style.
• Saturday, October 6: Rappers’ Row The Queens Bridge/Hollis Tour
  Access Granted! Mikey D guides you through Hip Hop sites from Queens Bridge to Hollis and everything hip hop in between. See the former homes of legends and chart toppers, including performers such as Mc Shan, A Tribe Called Quest, Run-DMC, LL Cool J, 50 Cent and Russell Simmons.
• Sunday, October 7: B-Ball, Street Ball and Rucker History Tour
  The legendary Bobby Hunter is not only a former Harlem Globetrotter, he talks a good game about New York City street basketball overall. Be his guest as he takes a trip to black tops throughout the city, exploring the history of the Rucker League. This special tour includes admission to the Vh1 celebrity basketball exhibition game.

You can book all of the above Hip Hop Honors Weekend Tours over on the Viator website, along with plenty of other things to do in New York City. Also have a read of Rod’s bog post about his own Hip Hop tour in NYC.

–The Viator Travel Team

Editor’s Note: This is the third 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 first post and second post here.

“Some people are so nuts. They think every body of water is a wishing well.”

The drive from Las Vegas to the town of Lee Vining, the “gateway to Yosemite,” would be the longest drive of our trip: six hours, give or take a rest stop or two or three or four.

My vision of what my children would see when they first viewed the Sierras. The reality wasn’t quite like that. Albert Bierstadt’s Sunrise in the Sierras, courtesy of the Smithsonian American Art Museum

Susie and I had prepared as much as two parents could for the day ahead. Gameboys and travel versions of our girls’ favorite board games were conveniently accessible. We had entertained the notion of buying a portable DVD player but just couldn’t make ourselves go down that road. After all, the purpose of this “drive by” was to show our children the wonders of the West. Living in the former swamp that is Washington, I miss the mountain vistas of my youth. Passing this appreciation on to my children was important.

All was going according to plan until we got about an hour from our destination. Suddenly, my youngest announced she was about to throw up. The first and only other time this had happened was last year while driving the winding roads of Puerto Rico. Back then it had caught us completely off guard. And we were most relieved to return a prestine rental car by the time we left the island. We didn’t want to have this on our conscience this trip.

This time we flew into automatic pilot. Immediately upon Susie’s command I pulled over (the long and empty road cooperated). She jumped out and opened the back door. My daughter leaned out and all was once again just as I envisioned our family road trip would be. For the rest of the journey we allowed the girls to roll down the back windows for some fresh air while we blew the AC to the front. “Whatever works” is the parents’ first rule of survival. But a note to myself: next time bring a roll of paper towels and a big plastic bag. You know, for emergencies.

Mono Lake Panorama (click for larger image)

Immediately upon our full recovery we arrived at Mono Lake, our first close-up taste of the Western landscape. After the long drive everyone was happy to get out of the car for a bit of exploration. The serene and placid waters with the lake’s majestic tufas submerge the man-made political issues that defined the body of water that lay before us. The diversion of Mono Lake water was directly responsible for the growth of the city I grew up in, specifically the San Fernando Valley where I lived. As we walked along the shore I gave a brief history lesson on water use and the early 20th-century politics of Los Angeles.

The sand flies that feed on the lake’s shore provided a first for the girls: no fear of insect swarms as we walked along the beach (it helped that the flies didn’t bite). And we were rewarded for our nature walk with a huge and long-lasting rainbow on the eastern horizon. I was surprised by my family’s interest in this landscape. Given the unreal reality we had just left in Las Vegas, all of us made the transition to the real world nicely.

We had been preparing our nine year old for the next day for weeks. We would be exploring one of the largest noncommercial ghost towns in the West, Bodie. And we had to reassure her that there were no actual ghosts walking its streets. A short drive from our motel in Lee Vining, by the time we arrived she was fully in control of her imagination. But it was there I suddenly discovered a silly little secret about contemporary travelers: when given a chance they will throw money as a benefaction just about anywhere. In Las Vegas we noticed that any body of water became a “wishing well.” From the lagoon at Treasure Island to the Belagio’s huge fountains, any H2O could potentially answer one’s prayers. But in Bodie, this was taken to extremes.

Ghostly bedrooms, now sequestered behind protective mesh, held an abundance of cash, tossed in by passing tourists. And the town’s church, no longer in need of offerings, became currency pitchball to see how close to the last pew one could cast coins and bills. For the rest of the trip, whenever we encountered this phenomenon my children would repeat my words in unison: “Some people are so nuts. They think every body of water is a wishing well.”

–Jeff Gates

Coming up next: Jeff and family fend off the bears of Yosemite.

It’s been a sad week in Sydney. Starting with the 10th anniversary of the passing of Diana, Princess of Wales, closely followed by the 1st anniversary of the death of “crocodile hunter” Steve Irwin. Next adventurer Steve Fosset has gone missing and then today, the sad news that the great tenor Luciano Pavarotti has losing his battle with pancreatic cancer. I may have never met these people, but their lives in some way or another have impacted me to the point of bringing me to tears when they died.

I never really got the whole Princess Di thing, I dont understand what made her so special to so many people, but my eyes could not be torn away from the funeral, and the image of her sons mourning still moves me 10 years on. Once the shock of Steve Irwin’s sting-ray encounter passed and the reality of him being gone became real, I wept for days. The mention of his name still brings tears to my eyes such is my admiration for the man, I have much respect for the guy and everything he stood for. A few days ago and the disappearance of Steve Fossett was announced, not unexpected considering his extreme history, but that kind of thing doesn’t happen to billionaires…

Now today, as news and current affair programmes quickly piece together their tributes to Pavarotti, I realize what a loss his immense talent is to this world. Who can listen to the big man perform Nessum Dorma or Caruso and not feel shivers up and down their spine? Opera may not be my favorite genre of music, but to hear an astounding piece of music accompany one of the greatest voices ever to be heard, is truly a touching experience.

What does this have to do with travel you may ask? Isn’t Viator just some online travel company selling tours and activities around the world? Yes we are. However, like all companies around the world Viator is made up of real people with real emotions and real feelings. We love to travel and discover new cultures, and as a result open our hearts to the world and let our lives be touched by people outside our usual circle of friends and acquaintances. I like to think travel opens your eyes to new experiences and forces you to consider yourself as part of a global community not just your own little isolated existence.

In a world where Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan are deemed worthy of constant headlines, I choose to shed more than just one tear for a man with an immense talent who will be missed by millions around the world. Admittedly I’m sure I’ll cry like a baby if the likes of Robbie Williams, Bono or Simon le Bon (that’s Duran Duran for you youngsters!) dies unexpectedly, I’m not some kind of culture snob! I would love to be blessed with the kind of voice that entertains, however despite my love of music, anyone who has heard me at karaoke knows I was not given that particular gift! So I’m left to admire those who can. I appreciate those who contribute something more to my life than parading in front of the world’s media, scantily clad and with no real job or talent, is that completely unreasonable? I dont think so, tonight let’s all give a toast to the talents no longer with us.

May you rest in peace sig. Pavarotti, and thank you for the music you have left behind.

-Kerrie O’Mahony

As a big fan of side trips, I made a plan to add a Munich jaunt to my upcoming Italy tour. I’ve managed to squeeze in three days of sightseeing in Germany before heading off to Rome and Tuscany. And with what I’ve got planned, and much like Liz’s ambitious three-day weekend series, I might need a vacation from my vacation. So, out of the dozens of options for my three days in Munich, here’s what I ended up with on the shortlist.

Day One: Bavarian Beer & Food

I cannot even begin to express my husband’s enthusiasm for this part of our trip. Despite having countless travel guides littered across our house, he has devoted 100% of his Munich sightseeing studies on “Brewmaster’s Guide.” You can imagine my excitement when we loaded our latest Bavarian beer and food tour. Beer, food and oompah music? This is my kind of history lesson.

Day Two: Munich Museums

While I will have already had a visit to the Oktoberfest museum on the Bavarian beer tour, simply put, I have countless options for absorbing culture. On the serious side, I plan to visit the Deutsches Museum and the Neue Pinakothek, each of which could easily absorb entire days on their own. Of course I want to see both in just one day. If there’s even a few minutes left over, and once my art and culture threshold is met, you can bet that I’ll try to also see the toy (Spielzuegmuseum) or potato (Kartoffelmuseum) museums.

Day Three: Schloss Neuschwanstein

I have found many, many castles to see on this trip, but none are so emblematic as the Castle Neuschwanstein. Ludwig II dreamed up this castle with a stage designer to create a palace that’s equal parts myth and theater. Despite the fact that this “Schloss” is just 30 years older than my old apartment in San Francisco, the Neuschwanstein Castle tour is my chance to see this fantastic castle up close and personal.

I have castles, beer, and culture all set up and booked ahead for my whirlwind Munich stopover. Einfach Spass!

–Suzann M

You can browse photos of Munich over on the Viator Flickr site. 

Rome, Italy

On the evening of September 8th, Rome will hold its fifth installment of the popular “La Notte Bianca” event. In essence, this event is one night when Rome puts all it has to offer on display. All across the city there are attractions showcasing the finest in the arts, dining, and culture. Personally speaking, this sounds like an insomniac’s dream come true: everyone in Rome gets hopped up on caffeine and takes in the finer points of the arts from eight in the evening until eight in the morning. There are a number of free expositions in various palazzos; also, dining, museum, and theater prices are all highly discounted for the twelve-hour period.

While you’re in town immerse yourself further in Roman culture by booking a Taste of Italy day tour to the Chianti region or the Dark Heart of Rome - Ghosts and Mystery Evening Walking tour. For a deeper look into Rome’s historical offerings, check out the Classical Roman Private Walking tour and for those who are daring enough to put themselves into Roman history, try our Gladiator for a Day training course.

-The Viator Travel Team

Planning a trip to Rome? Browse all tours and activities in Rome.