Best of the Viator Travel Blog

Just last month we started publishing photos over on the viator.com website. And not just any old travel photos. These are photos taken by actual Viator travelers, photos of themselves on elephant treks, helicopter tours, hot air balloon rides, private tours of the Vatican — and on hundreds of the other 5,000+ tours and things to do available on Viator.com. Our Photo Galleries have only been live for a few weeks, and already we’ve received a few thousand photos from Viator travelers doing some very cool and interesting things.

So without further ado, here are the top 10 photos submitted by travelers on Viator.com. We selected the photos below based on a simple criterion: of all the photos we’ve received so far, these are the ones that most inspired us to take that next trip!

#10. Dubai Desert 4×4 Adventure

Here’s a shot taken by Merridy in Dubai, on a 4×4 Desert Wonder Safari. Merridy’s comment: “The kids loved it. We are glowing with praise for your fantastic desert safari and your even more fantastic staff who drove, cooked and looked after my daughter, her 9 year old son, 5 year old daughter and me… the grandmother!” We chose this for our top 10 list because the kids do, very much indeed, look happy riding that camel at sunset. Who’s up for a trip to Dubai?

#9. Dive & Snorkel Cruise from Cairns, Australia

Hello Samantha! What a funny shot of you underwater on the Dive and Snorkel Cruise to Agincourt Ribbon Reef from Cairns. Samantha’s caption: “Me, trying to take a picture of my self at Agincourt Reef!” And for attempting that underwater self-portrait, we salute you Samantha.

#8. Champagne Sunset Cruise, St Lucia, the Caribbean

Here’s a postcard-perfect shot of sunset on the Caribbean island of St Lucia, taken by Angela after her St Lucia Champagne Sunset Cruise. Check out a few more of Angela’s photos of St Lucia, all of which make us want to book the next flight to St Lucia.

#7. Elephant Trek & River Rafting in Chiang Mai, Thailand

Laurie took this shot of “elephants heading back home up the river after our jungle trek,” and for us it captures the thrill of taking an elephant jungle trek in Thailand. There’s something very cool and hypnotic about that long line of elephants slowly snaking up the river. See more of Laurie’s photos of her elephant trek in Thailand.

#6. Niagara Falls, Day Trip from New York City

Say hello to Sophie, Katherine and Sean. Don’t they look happy? Don’t they look wet? Don’t they look like they’re having a blast exploring the Niagara Falls on a day trip from New York City? Yes we thought so, too. Check out more of Sean’s photos of the Niagara Falls day trip from NYC.

#5. Ayers Rock (Uluru) Camel Sunset Tour

Hmm, not sure we intended to have a camel theme to our top photos of the year. But good photos are good photos, and this snap by Gillian of her Ayers Rock Sunset Camel Tour caught our fancy. Kangaroos in Australia? Sure. Koalas and wombats, too. But camels? Mate, you better believe it. Check out more photos of the Ayers Rock camel tour.

#4. Vatican & Sistine Chapel Tour, Rome

The Vatican, the Sistine Chapel, Rome… these are some of the most stunning sites in Europe. And we liked James’ photo above because it captures the awe-inspiring beauty of the Vatican’s architecture. Check out more photos of the Vatican & Sistine Chapel walking tour.

#3. Grand Canyon Helicopter Tour, from Las Vegas

For some people, Las Vegas is all about gambling. For others it’s all about the glitz and the glamor. For others it’s about easy access to sites such as Death Valley and the one-of-a-kind Grand Canyon. We selected Katie’s photo above, on her Grand Canyon Helicopter tour, because it captures the Grand Canyon’s majestic natural beauty with the shadows of a few fleeting clouds on an otherwise crystal-clear day. Great photo, Katie.

#2. Paris City Tour in a Citroen 2CV

Fancy a private tour of Paris in an old school Citroen 2cv? Nick and Nancy (above) did, and here’s what Nick had to say: “This was a trip down memory lane - my wife and I both drove 2CVs in the 1980s. I organised the tour for my wife’s 40th birthday, and it was great to hear the familiar rumble of a 2CV as it approached the hotel. This was a brilliant way to see Paris, and we were the centre of attention wherever we went. Great fun.”

#1. Statue of Liberty at Sunset, New York City

The Big Apple, it’s our kind of town. New York City is one of the world’s most iconic destinations, and it’s a safe bet that Manhattan’s skyline is the most recognizable in the world (More recognizable than Paris? Yes. More than London? Yes.). We chose Costa’s image of the Statue of Liberty at sunset as our top photo of the year because it is, simply, a beautiful photo of one of New York’s most famous sites. Congratulations Costas. And we hope your future travels include more of Viator’s tours and things to do, if only because we hope you send us more of your great trip photos!

–The Viator Travel Team

Editor’s Note: We’ve posted these Top 10 Travel Photos of the Year over on the Viator Flickr site. So far the main question we’ve been asked about the photos on Viator.com is, “are these photos for real?” We’re happy to report that yes, yes they are. Each and every photo was taken by an actual Viator.com traveler.

Editor’s Note: I originally posted these Vietnam itineraries last December, to answer the many questions I was fielding from friends about where to go and what to do in Vietnam. Over the past few months dozens of travelers have asked some great questions about traveling in Vietnam, which I wanted to share. If you have a question, just leave a comment and I’ll do my best to reply.

Let’s start with the coffee. Because in Vietnam coffee is more than just a drink. It doesn’t come venti or frappuccinoed or with whipped cream. And it definitely does not cost $3.75 a shot. No, coffee in Vietnam is thick, cheap and super-sweet. And it is beautiful.

Good coffee is just one of the many happy discoveries I had in Vietnam. It was my first trip, and as an American I had some baggage about visiting. You know, the war and all. The Vietnam War (or as it’s called locally, the American War). Telling friends that I was planning a trip to Hanoi and Ho Chi Minh City (formerly Saigon) generated a shock-surprise-fear response that I was not prepared for, at least from people old enough to remember the nightly news reports from the battlefront.

So I was half-expecting a chilly response when I arrived. After all more than 400,000 Vietnamese civilians were killed in the war, not to mention the impact on the land itself (ever heard of Agent Orange?). There were plenty of reasons for the Vietnamese not to like Americans.

Yet the reality could not have been more different. No matter where I went, no matter who I met, the people of Vietnam were unfailingly polite, friendly, approachable. I am not just saying that, either. I’ve been to dozens of countries, and there is no contest here: by a mile the Vietnamese win the awards for “most friendly” and “most gracious.”.

Scott learns to cook in Hoi An

The other great surprise for me in Vietnam was the food. Fresh, simple and full of flavor. Since my trip I’ve become addicted to pho (rice noodle soup), which is delicious for breakfast or dinner; gao nep (sticky rice), which is suitable for the vegetarians among us; and nem (spring rolls), made with rice paper, minced pork, crab, mushrooms and extra-fine noodles called vermicelli.

I spent almost 3 weeks in Vietnam, traveling south to north from Ho Chi Minh City to Hanoi. My Vietnam itinerary is below, in case you’re planning a trip of your own. If you have questions about Vietnam, leave a reply and I’ll do my best to field an answer for you. You can also see some of my photos from Vietnam over on the Viator flickr site.

• Bangkok to Ho Chi Minh City (direct flight)
• 2 days in Ho Chi Minh City. I didn’t get a chance to visit the Mekong Delta, but wish I had. The city itself is worth exploring. The American War museum is first-rate. Plenty of restaurants, bars and clubs have opened in the past few years. I’ve heard some people say that Ho Chi Minh City has the best nightlife in Southeast Asia.
• 3 days in Mui Ne, a postcard-perfect beach village, very quiet and laid-back. Definitely not as busy as Na Trang. I prefer the calm of Mui Ne to the bustle of Na Trang.
• The it was off to Hoi An (via an overnight train from Na Trang to Danang). Hoi An was my second-favorite spot in Vietnam. The center of Hoi An is a well-preserved French Colonial relic, with limited access to cars. For me the place was heaven. Hoi An has cafes, street markets, riverside restaurants, and the best hand-tailored clothes in Vietnam. I took a cooking class and learned how to make fish wrapped in banana leaves, squid salad and homemade dumplings. For less than US$100 I also had 7 shirts, 3 pants, 1 jacket and 1 suit made to order. The quality is not perfect. But who cares at these prices. One tip: If you own a shirt that you like or that fits you especially well, bring it! The local tailors can make copies in a dozen different fabrics.

Boats on Halong Bay, Vietnam

• We took a short flight from Danang to Hanoi, my favorite place in all of Vietnam. I don’t know what it is about Hanoi that I clicked with. Maybe the jam-packed streets, packed sardine-style with bicycles and mopeds, which you cross at your own risk. Or maybe the tree-lined streets bursting with all manner of stores, shops, workshops, alleyways, impromptu temples, sidewalk restaurants.
• We also did a trip to Halong Bay, which is definitely worth doing. If the weather is hot, consider doing an overnight or two-night trip so you can swim and relax and take in the scenery. The setting is absolutely unique, with rounded rock formations as far as the eye can see, often shrouded in mist that gives Halong Bay an otherworldly feel.
• Last but not least, it was a flight back to Bangkok. While you’re there, get a message at the Wat Po Traditional Thai Massage School (on the grounds of Wat Po itself, in the heart of Bangkok). It costs something like $5 for 30 minutes. Was it the best massage I’ve ever had? Yup. And it’s enough to make me plan another trip to Vietnam. Via Thailand, of course.

–Scott McNeely

Planning a trip? Browse Viators tours and things to do in Vietnam, things to do in Hanoi, and Ho Chi Minh City and Mekong Delta tours.

Last Saturday — a cold, dark, late-autumn afternoon here in Dublin — Katie Lincoln (who doesn’t have enough interest in Premier League soccer to actually hate it) suddenly nudged me on the sofa. Mid-game of course.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

Five words usually guaranteed to bring out the childish bugbear in old Disillusioned. But I suddenly remembered that when it comes to worthwhile adventures, Katie Lincoln has this unfathomable habit of always being right. Anyway, I had a blog to write and needed something else to complain about in dear, dirty Dublin.

“We’ll walk the South Wall,” she suggested nonchalantly, as I wrapped myself up and mumbled about a missing hat. Walk the what??

She must have spotted the bemused look on my face. “Don’t tell me you haven’t walked the South Wall before? Out to the Lighthouse? How long have you been living in Dubln?” Katie Lincoln is a Culchie meaning – in delightfully derogatory terms – she’s from the country. I am Dublin born. I don’t like the notion of her having one up on me when it comes to the Capital City. But ‘The South Wall Walk?’ No. Never heard of it. Meant nothing to me.

“Of course I’ve walked The South Wall. Good idea. You drive,” I said.

Beyond here, there be monsters

The drive from the City Centre to the Dublin Docks is a short journey through the heart of the Celtic tiger. On both sides of the quays below the elegant Georgian Custom’s House, the glass and concrete towers of the new Financial Services Centre have replaced most of the old warehouses in this post-industrial wonderland. Add in the scores of apartment blocks built to house the workers for the banks and finance houses, and the docklands has become a city within a city, a city of suits, a city of eerily empty and neurotically clean streets, city of cash.

Anto on the South Wall

Disillusioned asked Katie Lincoln to put the boot down and worried for a moment that the sea itlesf might have been concreted over. But then, as we approached the mouth of the River Liffey, an old-school, rusty, industrial landscape rose up to reminds all us white-collar Tigeristas that Dublin is, first and foremost, a port. The giant cranes, the cathedral of perfectly balanced containers, the colossal oil storage tanks; Disillusioned found it refreshing to think that at least some people in Dublin do real work, you know, make things, move things, not bytes, things.

Dublin port itself sits in the protective embrace of two man-made walls. The South Wall begins just after the impressive twin towers of Poolbeg Powerstation. No, not an art gallery that was a power station, but an actual working electric power station here in the heart of the city. (”You can even arrange a tour,” Katie Lincoln informs me. Culchie strike two.) We have travelled back in time, I suddenly realise, to Ireland before the boom. Beyond here, there be monsters.

My trust in poets, rewarded

The South Wall itself was built in 1716 to stop sandbars obstructing the entrance to the port. From the harbour at Ringsend to its end it runs for 3 miles, but only the last half a mile or so is good for walking.

We took our first steps onto the wall and the wind slapped us awake. And like any good adventure we met fellow travellers on the wall: A smiling man with his young and clearly bored young son. The man had a pair of binoculars and told us that this is one of the best spots in the city for bird watching. He pointed down to the water line and we spotted a number of different species feeding on the shore. Gulls of course, the size of rottweilers, and some oystercatchers. And then one loan bird among a hundred others, a curlew – according to our guide, a rare treat.

He gave me the binoculars and I looked down at a small light brown bird with a ridiculously long, ice-pick of beak. A curlew! You can’t imagine my excitement. You see as a schoolboy the curlew seemed to appear in just about every poem – in Irish and English – I was forced to read in school. Irish poets seemed to know no other bird. An example to illustrate, from Seamus Heaney’s Republic of Conscience:

‘I When I landed in the republic of conscience it was so noiseless when the engines stopped I could hear a curlew high above the runway.’

And yet I’d never seen one. No one I knew had ever seen one. I suspected a conspiracy of poets. “I always thought they were bog birds,” I said. “At least in the poems.”

Yes, my bird guru agreed, but they have to come east to the sea to feed in the cold winter. The long beak helped them feed at different depths than the other birds on the same stretch of shore. A curlew, at last. I can trust the bards again.

No, it won’t last

Walk on. From the wall we looked across to the north of Dublin bay and spotted a kite surfer off Dollymount strand. We headed on into the wind and towards little Poolbeg Lighthouse at the end of the wall.

Poolbeg Lighthouse, South Wall, Dublin

But the real joy and wonder of this brisk little walk comes when you turn at the lighthouse to head back. Then you are shocked with what has to be the very best view of Dublin on the planet, especially at this winter early twilight. Here I could see that Dublin is a great, arcing, bay city like Naples and San Francisco. The Wicklow Mountains to the south, the beaches of Killiney and Sandymount, below them the twinkling lights of the city spread for miles in the lowlands, the wild lump jutting into the sea that is Howth Head to the north. And, at the centre of it all, I saw the port, open to the world. The boats, small cargo craft and giant Ferries, moved silently past us back out to the unfriendly sea.

So there it is, old Disillusioned impressed by something in Dublin. Won’t last.

–Anto Howard

Planning a trip to Ireland? See all the things to do in Dublin that don’t require being too disillusioned.

Editor’s Note: I originally posted this back in April. Since then I’ve received numerous replies and emails about it. Some people have complained I am a snob. Others think I am being too judgmental. Some agree I’ve hit the nail on the head with my rant about the Ulles, the book, the TV show, and the cultural mediocrity it all represents.

Whatever your opinion, I am adding this preface and reposting because I have a question for you. Week in and week out, this post is one of the most searched for on our blog. Hundreds of people Google ‘1,000 places to see before you die’ and they end up here. And thus I am curious: when you type that search term in Google, what are you actually looking for? Are you simply hunting for a pre-packaged marketing concept broadcast over on the Travel Channel? (If so, I assume you haven’t made it even this far into the post…)

Or are you looking for actual, unbiased, honest-to-goodness travel inspiration? If so, let me make a humble suggestion: Skip the ‘1,000 Places to See Before You Die’ book, television show, T-shirt, DVD, podcast or whatever. Just go. That’s always the best advice. Just pick a destination and go. And as always, leave me a comment telling me what a snob I am, how wrong am I, how right I am.

* * * * * * * *

If only we had made it to Timbuktu…

Once upon a time I was excited by the concept of ‘1,000 places to see before I die’. As a lifelong traveler, the idea of visiting a thousand of the world’s most exotic, far-flung and inspiring destinations before — what’s the right word here, perishing? kicking the bucket? fading to black? — felt like something I had to do. Success was not to be judged on actually accomplishing this goal, but in the effort spent trying.

And the effort would be daunting. Assuming you can tackle 1 ‘must-see’ destination per week, you’ll need to set aside nearly 20 years to visit all 1,000 locations. On a budget of $25 per day, those 20 years will cost $182,500. If I adjust for inflation, well, we’re talking some serious cash.

But that’s part and parcel of the concept’s power. To actually visit all 1,000 places requires Commitment (note the capital C). It requires sacrifice. It is not something for weekend warriors or mere armchair travelers.

And then a few years ago I discovered a book called 1,000 Places to See Before You Die. My first reaction was annoyance. I was annoyed that somebody had actually written a book about the concept, thereby sucking the authenticity out of it by transforming the noble idea into a crass commercial project with a bottom line and a marketing plan.

I was equally annoyed that it wasn’t me who had the foresight to suck the authenticity out of the concept, by transforming it into a book with a bottom line and a marketing plan…

Clearly I had been scooped. But who was the author? Was she in the model of Tony Wheeler, the legendary founder of Lonely Planet and a man who knows travel? (Pardon this brief detour: Check out Tony’s new book, Bad Lands, an account of his travels in George W. Bush’s so-called ‘axis of evil’, Iraq, North Korea and Iran. Now that’s a travel book!)

The author is Patricia Schultz. I’ve never met Patricia. But I’m certain she is a lovely person. She is a freelance travel and fashion writer based in New York City. And as a one-time freelancer based in New York myself, I can recognize Patricia’s project for what it is: a great idea written by somebody who was at the right place, at the right time.

Don’t get me wrong. I think the concept is 100% compelling. And I think some of Patricia’s recommendations — a hot-air balloon ride over the plains of Kenya, the Pushkar camel fair in India, etc — are spot on.

I just wish the book had been written by a road-weary traveler who has spent — sacrificed, struggled through — 20 years personally tracking down each and every one of these ‘must see’ sites. I suspect that our New York City-based fashion and travel writer has not personally visited more than, say, 50 of the 1,000 places she writes about. I’m happy to be proven wrong. (If she has visited more than 200, I will eat a hat. If she’s ticked off more than 500 on the list I will personally carry her bags and cook her meals on her next trek in Nepal.)

Normally I don’t get this worked up. However a few weeks ago I started seeing television commercials — and billboards and magazine ads — about a new show on the Travel Channel called ‘1,000 Places to See Before You Die‘. The advertisements were omnipresent. They were slick. And they did a good job getting me excited about the show’s USA premiere last month. So I surfed the Travel Channel website and found this:

“Inspired by Patricia Schultz’s best-selling travel book, ‘1,000 Places to See Before You Die’ chronicles the journey of a young couple who put their lives on hold to travel the world for 14 weeks.

Albin and Melanie Ulle, newlyweds from Colorado, experience the vast beauty and diverse cultures of 13 amazing countries and approximately 100 of the 1,000 Places from the book, while unearthing all the local charms and traditions along the way!”

Hang on a second. I was expecting some life-changing description. I was expecting the Travel Channel to throw resources at this idea and to create the definitive television travel experience. Maybe my expectations were unrealistically high. But I can tell you I was not expecting “a young couple who put their lives on hold to travel the world for 14 weeks.”

Fourteen weeks? Are you serious? 14 weeks? That’s barely three months. Was this TV show really about a newly married couple who travel the world for 14 weeks? Because in most parts of the world these are called ‘honeymoons’ and they don’t usually end up on television.

I know of a dozen people out there, on the road right now, who are better qualified to lead armchair travelers on a journey to the world’s top 1,000 sites. How is it that the producers of the show don’t bother to include some authentic travelers into the mix?

The answers — that character-led programming is what drives television ratings, that this couple beat out 900 other couples in the auditions because telegenic good looks are more important than actual travel experience, that nobody really cares if the backstory is coherent as long as the program makes money — are no surprise.

The problem, of course, is that a show about real travelers, going to real places, would not make money. Alas, this is why I am not a television executive. Yet I am a traveler. I have authored a dozen travel books and visited more than 50 countries. I am not bragging. I am just saying I can tell the difference between travelers and tourists.

And on the road leading to the world’s 1,000 must-see places, the Ulles from Colorado are merely tourists. There’s nothing wrong with that. The world needs tourists. But I wish the producers had shown us the real travelers they met along the way. In doing so they would have created a compelling television program that lives up to the promise of its concept. Instead we get ‘travel lite’ with too many commercials.

–Scott McNeely

Cool tattoo, cool board

For the five or six months I spend each year in Sydney, I’m happily lodged in a small but unbelievably well located flat (Americans would say apartment) right across the road from Bondi Beach, Australia’s most famous strip of sand. Bondi is only a kilometer or so long, but it’s a magnet that attracts both an intensely loyal bunch of locals and a wide-eyed and never ending stream of tourists, eager to know what the fuss is all about. It’s impossible to take a walk along Bondi without seeing something that will instantly strike you as new or beautiful or weird or crazy or talented or… well, you get the picture. Here’s a snapshot of some things I noticed during my most recent visit…

Surf Culture

OK, surf culture is kind of obvious at Bondi, but the depth of it is unreal, with many sub-genres in existence. Here’s three you might not notice unless you look for them:

1. The recently minted tourist surfer
They’ve done three lessons with “Let’s Go Surfing” and bought their own board. Unfortunately the lessons were mostly in two-foot waves, and the new board has a sharp, pointy nose. So, imagine being out there on a five-foot wave with one, no — let’s say six! — of these guys, they’ve all been out drinking the night before, they’re slightly aggressive at the best of times anyway, and they weren’t paying attention during the lesson on “sharing the waves.” You get the picture, right?

Clubbies take to the water

2. The clubbie
Mostly seen in the early mornings — before 7:30am, say — or anytime at all on a Sunday morning, when the Surf Lifesaving Clubs literally take over the beach. Look out for well tanned blokes in little red speedos running down to the water with a surf ski under their arm, then disappearing for an hour as they paddle around to Bronte. On Sundays there’s all sorts of organised competitions or training, and on certain weekends clubs from other beaches visit Bondi for a full-on carnival. Expect beer consumption to peak later in the day. If you’re wondering why the clubbie is an important species, hang around at the beach long enough for a freak wave event and see what happens when two hundred tourists get washed out to sea. Very few people drown at Bondi; clubbies are the reason why.

3. Cool Japanese surfer-dude
A rare though not entirely uncommon breed, there’s usually one or two in the surf on any given day, but frankly they’re more interesting out of the water. Straight from Harajuku to Bondi, they have the coolest hair, the hippest clothes and the best looking friends. They sort of blend in when they pull on a wetsuit, so look for them on Hall Street instead. No-one is certain if they all surf, or just come down to look good and hang with their mates. Full marks for appearances, though.

The Shark Boat

No sharks, again

Sharks? Well, there hasn’t been a shark attack at Bondi since the 1930’s, when nets were first introduced. Few people notice the boat come in each week to check the nets, which seem randomly placed across the mouth of the bay. There’s a lot of debate about keeping the shark nets, focused on what other species get trapped alongside the occasional shark. Authorities are unlikely to remove them, though, for fear that an attack will leave them open to litigation. In the meantime, enjoy Bondi knowing that should you be taken by a shark, you’ll be the first victim in almost 80 years…

Sculpture by the Sea

Big blue beach, big blue sculpture

From modest beginnings in 1997, this annual outdoor art event is now the biggest drawcard on Sydney’s arts calendar. And why not? With over 100 sculptures placed along the Bondi to Tamarama Beach walk, there’s probably no better way to spend a weekend morning in Sydney than visiting this impromptu seaside gallery. In the early years some artists created pieces that were anchored or in some way interacted with the water. During the course of 18 days you’ll always get a big storm or two, and it’s tough seeing your work blown out to sea, so nowadays everything seems to be safely on land. If you’re in Sydney in November Sculpture by the Sea is un-missable. That may not be a word, but you’ll know what I mean.

Paparazzi

Everyday Bondi: Paparazzi lie in wait

The first thing I do when I get back to Bondi is make a cup of tea and a slice of toast with butter and vegemite, then sit in the sun-room and look out at the beach. I did just that couple of weeks ago, and spotted two very suspicious blokes skulking (yes, skulking) behind the bushes across the road. “Jeez, these blokes look like paparazzi,” I said to myself. Turns out they were, and they were stalking Rodney Adler, the high-profile businessman who’d been released from jail a few days earlier and was enjoying an espresso at Aquabar, a coffee shop downstairs from me. Bondi fact #1: Americans go to Disneyland to celebrate, but Sydney-siders go to Bondi.

Aquabumps

If you’re on the southern end of the beach around 6:30am on weekdays you’ll spot Eugene Tan, with his long lens and a serene gaze that seems to capture just about everything that’s interesting, colourful and cool. Two or three hours later, 25,000 people around the globe open Eugene’s newsletter, Aquabumps. It’s a daily dose of what the waves are doing, a couple of sublimely liquid surfer shots, the odd pretty girl in a bikini coming out of the surf, and anything else that catches his eye. That you could build a whole business around a newsletter with pretty much the same content options day after day after day says something about Bondi: it’s always changing, and always its same old beautiful self…

-Rod Cuthbert

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

One winter saw me taking up the fantastically esoteric position of “Bridge Guard,” for a recently reconstructed bridge over the Danube River on the border of Hungary and Slovakia. Destroyed at the end of the Second World War, the bridge was rebuilt in 2001, reconnecting the town of Stúrovo (pop 13,000) to Esztergom (pop 30,000).

I arrive in Stúrovo a little uncertain as to what the position of “Bridge Guard” actually entails, ready to do whatever it takes to keep the Maria Valeria bridge standing, with her turbulent history, romantic 19th-century lighting, gorgeous green colour and constant stream of traffic and pedestrians.

Old Guard, New Guard, Moving Borders

A friend tells me how as a boy he would only cross the river perhaps three times a year, that walking over the bridge for the first time was a very strong emotional experience, and how good it is to be able to go across at any time, not having to run for the last ferry! At the height of the cold war people were only permitted to travel across the border twice a year, and had to drive an extra 80km to make the one-hour trip to Budapest.

The week I arrive, a brand new pedestrian promenade is completed along the previously dirt road through the centre of town. I’m surprised by how much bigger the town is than I expect, one travel website said it was a dusty one-street town with nothing to recommend it. Obviously they didn’t discover the Vadas thermal baths, or Green Pub, or the spiritual pilgrimage site on Dobogóko Mountain across the river, where you can feel the pulse of the earth’s energy by placing your hand on the rocks. The Dalai Lama visited here a few years ago and called it the ‘beating heart of the world.’ There is even a Shaolin Village where you can go for meditation retreats, Kaqun water treatment, Thai-Chi training, or a meal at the Chinese Restaurant.

I’m fascinated by the idea of guarding not the border but the bridge. It’s a moving border that has been contested over thousands of years. There has been civilization and settlement in this area since Neolithic times, and the Communist decision to build a sprawling paper factory on top of the most significant archaeological site in Central Europe is sad but not surprising. The town has been burnt down five times, and is marked by conflicts between the Turkish armies, Mongol invaders, Czech and Hungarian troops. Since the fall of Communism, the border has been redrawn, opened and closed, easily crossed or highly restricted. Lately it has become more porous, so much so that even the border guards may disappear soon.

I Survive Winter

On my first walk to the bridge I am intrigued by the sign zimmer hallas (rooms for rent) and wonder if it is advertising rooms under the bridge? The road leads nowhere, so in my imagination I create a ‘winter room’ there for people to stay warm, talk and rest.

Coming from a hot climate I’m a little apprehensive about how I will get through the winter, reputed to be rainy, grey and very cold. I’m recommended to go regularly to the Vadas baths, and the Green Pub, and am thrilled to discover that one of the pools at the thermal complex remains open all winter. The Vadas Thermal Baths provide an oasis of rest, at 36 degrees Celsius especially enjoyable in the cold weather, surrounded by snow or falling rain. I love floating in the water of the outside pool looking across at the spectacular Esztergom Basilica, with families, older couples and teenagers chattering around me.

And for the other variety of liquid refreshment, the Green Pub really does live up to its local reputation as the best in Slovakia. The first time I visit provides a slight culture shock, with Goths and alternative teenagers congregated out the back, a young musician and his older friend having an intense discussion about the music of Pink Floyd, while in the front room sports fans watch the match between Slovakia and Spain on a TV in the corner. The Argos Pub on the Hlavna Stanica (Main Street) is a little more edgy with a university crowd, visiting home from Bratislava for the weekend, and the Lavazza Cafe offers a good atmosphere with pavement tables and refreshment, especially the luscious iced coffee and local specialty the honey cake with five layers of gooey deliciousness.

I Become Cultured

There is an impressively wide range of music and cultural events, taking place both at the Kulturhaz and summer festivals along the river banks with a mix of heavy metal, reggae, rock and classical. I see ‘Young Hearts’ performance troupe doing traditional Magyar, Slovak, Rom and Jewish dancing, the shepherd one is hilarious, and the men are in furry jackets on hands and knees being sheep. Their twirling skirts, thigh and heel slapping and foot stomping make me want to get up and join in.

I visit the tiny and beautiful church in Szalka for the concert by a famous Organ player on Christmas Day, and enjoy the virtuoso Accordion Concert in the music school, with classical works, experimental pieces, Ragtime and Tango. The Winter Ball season is wonderfully glamorous, a mix of politicians, local revelers and dignitaries. The Honorary Consular General for Hungary from Colorado introduces himself, telling me his parents had escaped Hungary in a midnight flight after the 1956 revolution. Another woman who grew up in Melbourne and now lives in Esztergom with her husband and daughters tells me of her family escape during the night, in the middle of winter through the forest, after her father was photographed cutting down a statue of Stalin. We dance the Czardas in a circle, dissolving into laughter as the changes of direction become faster and leave me hopelessly behind.

I Guard the Bridge

Postcard of the bridge, collapsed — not on my watch

Every day I visit the bridge, to check that she is still standing and not under threat. Reading a book of the history of the bridge tells me that the bridge existed in people’s hearts all the time it was in ruins, and this spiritual bridge allowed the physical bridge to be rebuilt. I start to understand more just how important this role of metaphysical bridge guard really is. I leave the physical side to the border guards; they have guns, rules and power. While it may seem whimsical, I strongly believe that the bridge needs love in order to survive. As the bridge guard, I am working on protection through presence and intention - just as love asks us to give care and attention to the needs of another.

My focus as bridge guard is to connect with people, to try and get a sense of the lives and loves of people living here. There is synchronicity in the New Year’s Eve firework display in Sydney, featuring two hearts beating on Sydney Harbour Bridge. Symbolic of the bridge between our hearts and the heart that beats in all of the bridges linking us to each other, in different places near and far. I know that my heart is in more than two locations, and home is found in many places.

All those conflicts over thousands of years, battles for control of the border, waves of civilization and conquest - what remains? How does the music and culture of one time shift and play into another? It is survival, not victory that counts in the end. History is created through the stories that we tell, echoes of the past; which give us a sense of self and create our place in the world. A thousand daily gestures, accumulated moments. What remains of the past is this bridge, the people and the river, always flowing.

–Jodi Rose

You can read more about Jodi’s obsession with bridges here. Jodi would like to thank everyone in the town for welcoming her and sharing their stories; Karol and Hanneke for the Bridge Guard Residency; the Australia Council for the Arts New Media Arts Board for their generous assistance; the Mayor, Gyuri, Sofie, Tommi, Mary, Andrea, Robert, Audrey, Mikey, and the people of Stúrovo.

Editor’s Note: This is the second 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 here.

Landing in Las Vegas at night is a bit like landing at National Airport in DC: an incredible view of the city beckons you. McCarren International Airport is just south of The Strip. So our first look at the city lights came from our airplane’s window. Despite our destination’s proximity to the airport it would be two hours before we finally arrived at Treasure Island, our hotel. Baggage Claim, Rental Car, and finally the 24/7 traffic jam of Las Vegas Boulevard took precedence. After our 10 hours of airplanes and airports we were hypnotized by the lights of the The Strip. And it wasn’t until two days later as we drove north to our next stop in the Sierras that we realized there was a real and quite normal metropolis just beyond these lights.

“Statue” with offerings at the Venetian’s version of St Mark’s Square

Looking out our hotel window the next morning was like taking in a view of each “land” at Disneyland. You had your Italian Renaissance Land courtesy the Venetian across the street, Francoland as seen by the Paris’ iconic Eiffel Tower replica, and Ancient Rome Land at Caesar’s Palace. My nine year old daughter immediately announced “It’s better than Disneyland!”

We had intended to go to Hoover Dam while in the area. But after experiencing the canals of pseudo-Venice and “St. Mark’s Square” at The Venetian, we wanted more of that man-made reality. So we spent our two days walking from casino to casino, marveling at the wonders of the Sphinx at the Luxor, the skyline of New York, New York, and the white tiger at the Mirage. We must have walked 15 miles that first day.

It wasn’t all fake postmodern pastiche. Our need to keep our feet in reality took us to an exhibition of Picasso’s ceramics and stopped us in wonder at Dale Chihuli’s glass sculpture installation (my wife studied with Dale), both at the Bellagio. And I took the opportunity to teach my oldest, a budding photographer, how to use fill-in flash to bring out detail when taking pictures in hotel lobbies. Yes, Las Vegas can provide some educational opportunities if you try.

We topped off our first day with a performance of Cirque du Soleil’s Mystère. There are five different Cirque venues along on The Strip. I was interested in “O” and their underwater staging while my ten year old was interested in Love, their tribute to the Beatles. But invoking our first rule of family vacations: thou shalt be sensitive to others’ phobias, we went with Mystère. Our oldest, after viewing each show’s promo video, thought this performance would be the least likely to scare her younger sister who claims to suffer from coulrophobia, a fear of clowns (ok, but are there any traditional clowns at any Cirque?).

At 6:30 the next morning our youngest woke us gently reminded us we owed the girls a visit to the pool. She had miraculously overcome her “deep-end” aquaphobia earlier in the summer and was eager to demonstrate her swimming prowess. Given the heat of Las Vegas in July, we decided early morning would be best. Shortly after breakfast we made our way poolside. The girls swam while I showed my wife how she could effortlessly chart her stocks via my iPhone all from the comfort of her lounge chair (part of my devious wonderful plan to get her hooked on this tasty bit of technology).

Susie and I are always on the lookout for the consummate souvenir. We like kitsch, but it has to be good (so bad it’s good). We had very high expectations for this city. If you can’t find quality kitsch here, where can you? We were dumbfounded when, at the Luxor, we discovered they didn’t have a pyramid-shaped snow globe (a family of collectors, my nine year old has a neatly arranged and catalogued case of them from our travels). A pyramid or sphinx with gently falling snowflakes would have been a natural and wonderfully ironic keepsake. Come on guys, get with it.

Kitsch nirvana at the Liberace Museum.

Our hopes and souvenir dreams were realized, however, when we arrived at the Liberace Museum. The Liberace Museum IS so bad it’s good. The whole place is one big beautiful nexus-o-kitsch. Of course, look who they had to work with. It resides in a strip mall and I took the best picture of the trip at its entrance, something that summed up my experience perfectly: the camp of the performer with the backdrop setting in which he is remembered.

That, in itself, is a great souvenir. I bought a chocolate Liberace “CD” (in a jewel case, natch) as an ephemeral remembrance of our visit, hoping to get it home intact. But when I next pulled it out of my backpack to show my sister a few days later it was a melted mess.

While Vegas has submerged its seedier side in an effort to draw families, it still exists. Hawkers pass out handbills for strip shows on the street. That was pretty easy to navigate. And the “adults only” bars and lounges are clearly marked. However, the nightly “Sirens of TI” caught us off guard.

Our girls were eager to see this free extravaganza which takes place four times a night in front of our hotel. The story is simple (and I wished I had read this on the TI Website before our visit):

The Sirens of TI ® begins with a 17th century clash between a group of beautiful, tempting sirens and a band of renegade pirates. With their mesmerizing and powerful song the Sirens lure the pirates to their cove, stir up a tempest strong enough to sink a ship, and transform Sirens’ Cove into a 21st century party. Experience music, dance, excitement and seduction…

Like these renegade pirates, Las Vegas’ Disneyfied edifice had lured Susie and I into forgetting what had built this city. We were surprised that such a stereotypical sexist message was so blatantly displayed in the amusement park-like atmosphere at street level. We assumed it was family-oriented since it was in a public area directly in front of our hotel. To be honest, the girls enjoyed the show for its special effects. But it wasn’t the Las Vegas we expected to see. We’ll stick with the Cirque du Disney version for now.

–Jeff Gates

Stay tuned for the next installment of Jeff’s family vacation, “The Eastern Sierra: Gateway to Yosemite,” coming soon.

Istanbul at sunset

I have a crystal-clear memory of my very first morning in Istanbul. It was 1996. I was on assignment for Lonely Planet and Fodor’s to update their respective guidebooks to Turkey. My flight arrived late, 10pm or something. I jumped into a taxi and headed straight to the small hotel I had booked in Istanbul’s Sultanahmet district. The last thing I remember before collapsing into bed is opening the window of my 4th-floor room. Ahhh, the fresh evening air of Istanbul. So refreshing.

My next memory? It’s a little hard to explain. Try this. Grab a bullhorn and turn the volume to ‘maximum’. Then ask a friend to place that bullhorn –> <– this far from your head. Now, have your friend turn it on and scream ALLAHHHHHHHHHHHHH at the top of their lungs. The whole thing will sound a little like this (courtesy of mosqueclock.com, which is among the best travel shwag I have ever purchased).

San Francisco? Nope. Istanbul.

The problem? My bedroom window was literally, and I mean literally, 10 feet away from the loudspeaker atop the neighborhood mosque. It was my first morning in a Muslim country, and by god why didn’t anybody tell me about the ear-bursting call to prayer at 5:40am??? It nearly killed me. The sound was deafening. I bolted half-dressed out of bed into the hallway of the hotel, jumping up and down like a MAD MAN.

Lucky for me, nobody witnessed my half-naked pogo dance. And as the call to prayer faded, I realized my error and slipped back into my room. Lesson learned.

Since then I’ve visited Istanbul 7 or 8 times. I dream of going back again. I’ve also considered living there, except that my tongue and brain are incapable of pronouncing the Turkish language. (Go on, I dare you to pronounce “Afedersiniz! Hala faturamı bekliyorum,” or “Türkiye çok güzel bir ülkedir.”) So while I continue daydreaming about my next visit, let me share a few reasons to cancel your next holiday and instead catch the first flight to Istanbul.

Scott’s 5 Reasons to Love Istanbul