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

A cryptic photo-op at the MGM in Las Vegas

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

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

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

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

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

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

–Jeff Gates

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Africa!

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

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

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

–Don George, guest blogger

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

Baja California Dreamin’

Editor’s Note: The following post is by Laura Z, the online marketing guru at Blurb; Laura also writes about her voracious book consumption on a different site. We think the concept of Blurb is very cool, so we asked Laura to tell us about her recent trip to Mexico and how she created her own trip photo book.

There’s something about stepping on a plane in California and, a few hours later, ending up in a foreign land that makes it easy to do weekend getaways to Baja, Mexico. It’s my guilty-pleasure destination — one that’s not really “exotic” but still serves my annual need for beach relaxation. I typically fly into San Jose del Cabo (SJD), rent a car and get the heck out of there (the ratio of Americans to Mexicans in Cabo is frighteningly gringo-heavy).

A few hours north of Los Cabos is La Paz, a city that has become more Americanized in recent years, but whose beaches remain delicious. The hidden beaches along the Pichilingue peninsula are particularly swim-worthy. Here you won’t find tequila-shot-wielding Americans on jet skis, more like happy Mexican families picnicking along the water’s edge.

On my last trip, the stay in La Paz was shortened in order to amble along the coast to Las Ventana and eventually Cabo Pulmo, which hosts the only living coral reef on the western shores of North America. Cabo Pulmo was established as a National Marine Park in 1995, and the Pulmo Bay has the largest living coral reef system in the Eastern Pacific Ocean.I had so much fun snorkeling, reading and relaxing that the journey was un-photographed for the most part. I made up for the lack of photos on the last day, wildly snapping pictures along the dusty road back to San Jose del Cabo. These pictures make up the backbone of my post-trip photo book that I made with Blurb (full disclosure - I work at Blurb). I supplemented the photos with scans of Cabo Pulmo brochures, and scans of my travel journal. The resulting book is 80 pages and cost me $27.

Laura’s travel photo book laid out with Blurb’s software… can we get a copy?

It took me about an hour to pull everything together into a book I was happy with. Blurb’s software makes it easy to create your own professional-looking book, and I definitely recommend it to travelers who want to create an unforgettable post-trip memento. I scanned my travel journals, but you can just as easily use our text boxes to write your own (legible) text to accompany any digital photos or scans you have.

–Laura Z, guest blogger

What are you doing with your travel photos… why not make a Blurb book to show them off? Laura has created a special promo code for all Viator travelers. Simply enter the promo code gotravel on the Blurb checkout to receive $7 off shipping through the end of the year. Thanks Blurb!

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

A kiss is just a kiss…

My introduction to the wildlife of East Africa was a kiss from a giraffe. No, this isn’t a metaphor. We’re talking about a real wet lip-smacker here, a “come here big boy and let me give you a taste of my long black tongue” kiss.

But let’s back up a bit.

I arrived in Africa from London at about 8:45 on a humid Nairobi night. Almost immediately on exiting the plane, I was greeted by a smiling woman from the safari company that had organized my tour, and whisked through Immigration to the baggage claim area, where she introduced me to two fellow safari-mates who just happened to be on the same flight: Jennifer and Benjie, exuberant 30-somethings who, she explained, were celebrating their new marriage with a safari honeymoon. Ah, romance! We gathered up our green duffle bags and before long were rolling through the night toward the Norfolk Hotel, a grand colonial-era establishment on the outskirts of the city, where I tumbled into a deep sleep.

Early the next morning we met the fourth and final member of our party – Jill, a lively Southern Californian – and then gathered with Mrs. Pinto, who with her husband started and still manages the safari company; Duncan, the director of their safari programs; and our safari leader, Lewela. Pointing to a large map, Lewela presented an overview of our itinerary: We would spend the first day touring Nairobi and the surrounding area, then fly south the following day to Amboseli, where we would spend two days; in successive two-day stays, we would visit the Mt. Kenya Safari Club; Maasai Mara National Reserve; Serengeti National Park in Tanzania; and finally Ngorongoro Crater before returning to Nairobi.

Duncan then introduced a tall, thin man splendidly attired in bright red traditional Maasai garb, who told us in a soft voice about the history and culture of his people, and said that as part of our stay in Maasai Mara, we would be able to visit a Maasai village; he said the villagers welcomed this opportunity to teach us about their traditional ways of life.

Lion cubs having a nap… cute but where’s momma?

After that we scrambled into a minivan for a day-tour of Nairobi and surrounding towns. On first impression, Nairobi is a daunting city, a big, bustling, car-crammed and pedestrian-crammed, choking-air capital that seems to uncomfortably combine elements of the first and third worlds. On the one hand, there are shining skyscrapers, headquarters of international corporations and organizations, and businesspeople striding in sleek suits as they talk urgently on cell phones; on the other hand, there are potholed streets, broken-up sidewalks, and endless strings of people walking, walking, walking along the roadways, crossing haphazardly in the midst of perpetual-rush-hour traffic or threading a ragtag path between cars. In some places we passed small plots of lovingly tended community gardens and bright brand-name boutiques; in others, trash fires burned where sidewalks should have been, and muddy, tin-roof shanty towns sprawled and spread. While experience tells me that a sustained stay would open up the idiosyncratic wonders of the city, on first glance Nairobi seemed an intimidating, impenetrable place.

Soon a very different Kenya revealed itself as we drove into the suburbs of Karen, past posh mansions and rambling walled estates to the gracious former farmhouse of Karen Blixen. A Danish aristocrat and coffee planter who settled here from 1914-1931, Blixen wrote the passionate memoir Out of Africa, which has probably introduced more Westerners to the country than any other single tome. On her expansive estate Blixen lived what was considered a life of luxury, but it’s illuminating to tour the farmhouse, now a museum, and see what kinds of cooking and cleaning contraptions constituted luxury in those days. (more…)