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backpacking

Ambos Mundos, Around the world travel, Backpacking, Bucket List, Cuba, Havana, Hemingway, Travel, Varadero

Adios Coche, Adios Christy…

January 6, 2017

Rocky’s ride

The following morning, we head to Cafe Ria for our last breakfast and wait for Rocky to pick us up. Just before 9:00, I move from the small patio to stand on the sidewalk and sure enough, I see Rocky’s car coming down the road. I give Christy a thumbs up. Our arrangement was made so hastily and under such odd circumstances, that we were slightly hesitant about it all panning out, but it had.

We throw our bags in the back and begin the 3 hour drive back to Havana, stopping every 30 minutes so Rocky can pour water over the car’s radiator. I don’t mind the stops as it affords us amazing views of the surrounding scenery. To our left are lush, green rolling hills and to our right are miles and miles of sandy coastline. It continues like this until we reach the tunnel that will deposit us back in Old Havana.

The journey that never was…

We’re booked in at Carlos’s B&B for the night, which is centrally located on Aguilar. Carlos is nowhere to be found, but the cleaning lady lets us in and shows us to our room. We drop our stuff and decide to head out to Hemingway’s finca for the afternoon.

We walk down Aguilar to the waterfront, stop in a corner cafe for a mojito and then begin to negotiate a ride to the finca. We find a driver and begin driving back towards Vedado. Funny, I thought it was in the other direction (?) I can’t really communicate this in my broken Spanish and trust the driver knows where he’s going. We pass the many embassies that line Quinta Avenida, and just as we’re admiring the beautiful architecture, our car stalls out.

This is nothing out of the ordinary really. If you think about it, these cars are ancient. Our driver gives us a reassuring nod as he gets out of the car to check out the problem. The look he gives us when he gets back in is not as reassuring. The car is dead!

Adios coche…

He doesn’t hesitate and flags down another driver on a side street to pass us off to, directing him on where to take us, and moments later we arrive at Hemingway’s Marina. No, not Hemingway’s finca… his marina. This jaunt has gone wrong from start to finish, and we explain to the driver where we’d been hoping to go. Not entirely understanding how we got here, but feeling a bit sorry for us, he graciously agrees to take us back to Old Havana. When we arrive back in the city, we exit the cab at Plaza des Armas and head to Ambos Mundos. If we can’t have Hemingway’s finca, we will at least visit his hotel.

Ambos Mundos, Hemingway’s Hotel

Floor to ceiling windows and doors let afternoon light stream into the first floor of the hotel, and an older gentleman plays piano near a corner entryway. Everything seems to circle the large mahogany bar that sits in the middle of the room. People come and go taking a respite from the afternoon heat, admiring the space and checking out the collection of photographs of Hemingway on one of the tiled walls. We take a seat at the bar and order a couple of rums and toast to the journey that never was. Wasn’t it Hemingway who said something about grace under pressure??

We walk back to our casa via Plaza Vieja, the square that always seems to be bursting with life. An outdoor concert is in full swing, so we grab chairs at a table nearby and listen to the last set. We then head back to Cafe de los Artistas, where Christy and I toast to our last night in Havana.

We head home, check email and hear from Sarah. She is home in snow-covered Boston, and another storm is on the way. She advises Christy to check her flight and then tells me she’s connected me with another traveler she met after we left Havana. His name is Matt and he’s also a photographer. I send Matt a quick message with details on where we’re staying and tell him to stop by in the morning if he wants to share a ride to Trinidad. One part of the adventure is over and another about to begin.

Around the world travel, Backpacking, Bucket List, Cuba, Travel, Varadero, Viñales

Viñales to Varadero

January 4, 2017

Christy only has a few more days of holiday, so our plans are to head to Varadero for a couple of beach days before going back to Havana, where she will return to the US and I will travel further east into Cuba.

As we’re wrapping up breakfast at Casa Izzy, we see an old green Land Rover pull up outside. Barbara comes in to let us know our ride has arrived, so we grab our bags and head downstairs. As we get closer to the road, we see that the Land Rover is packed to capacity – not just with people, but with bags too. After a couple of minutes of people getting disgruntled, two passengers bail, our bags are tossed in the back, and we’re both told to squeeze in the front passenger seat.

I sit squashed between Christy and the car door and watch as we leave Viñales, once again climbing through the forest and descending onto a potted road that leads to the autopista. The Land Rover accelerates loudly and leaves a trail of fumes behind us, but it handles the potholes in a way Louis’s neon orange sports car never could. I roll down the window and let fresh air hit my face as we again pass horse and buggies, bicyclists, work trucks, tour buses and classic cars.

Today, I feel like I’ve found what I call my ‘traveler’s groove.’ Six travelers sit crammed on two benches in the back of the Land Rover, with our backpacks strewn at their feet. All of us are off to various places east of Havana, and we’ve entrusted our lives to this stranger, whose job it is to deliver us safely to Varadero, all for the price of 40 CUC. I am in my element!

I dig the Lonely Planet Cuba book out of Christy’s backpack and spend the morning reading the ‘History” section, venturing as far back as the country’s pre-colonial days and then landing in more familiar territory when I get to the names Batista, Castro & Guevara. One and a half hours later, we pull over at a little rest area for a break, my mind trying to sort the hundreds of years of history I’ve just crammed into it. We decide it’s late enough in the day for a cold beer, grab a Cristal to go, and continue on our journey to Varadero.

We cross Havana and head east, trucking across flat farmland. I can smell rain in the air and roll up the window as fat raindrops start to land on the windscreen. We’ve dropped a couple of passengers at a bus station on the outskirts of Havana, but Christy and I have decided to stay up front with our driver, Esteban, who educates us on Cuban pop music and points out his hometown as we pass it.

We’re soon arriving in Varadero, which immediately feels as touristy as Old Havana but without the charm and appealing architecture. The strip of beach to our left is lined with high rise after high rise and interspersed with small shopping centers. Fortunately, we’re staying at an Airbnb just south of here in an area called Santa Marta, which is like what Vedado is to Havana. Choc full of traffic and locals, I feel like we’ve made a right turn back into authentic Cuba.

After about an hour of driving around looking for where we’ll be staying, we finally connect with Irenia, who runs Santos B&B. We bid farewell to Esteban and follow Irenia as she welcomes us in and gives us a tour of the apartment where we’ll be staying for the next two nights.

We take a late lunch across the road in the little courtyard garden of Cafe Ria and then walk the 30 minutes to the beach area to scope out a place for tomorrow. We find a little snack stand en route to the beach and meet Pedro and his sidekick, who refers to himself as ‘Potpourri.’ They gift us piña coladas and make us promise we will return the following day.

We catch a glimpse of the beach before the sun has set entirely and then grab a taxi back to our neighborhood. We find a little market and grab a bottle of coke and settle into the chairs on our small patio. I dig through my daypack and pull out the cigars and rum we were gifted in Viñales, and we pour a couple of rum and cokes, toasting to a good travel day and our first night in Varadero.

Around the world travel, Backpacking, Bucket List, Casa Izzy, Cuba, Travel, Viñales

Adios Vedado, Hola Viñales

January 2, 2017

We have loosely organized transport to Viñales through Carlos, the owner of the Airbnb we will stay at when we return to Havana. I say loosely because we’ve had trouble confirming the transfer and our day of travel is coinciding with a national parade to honor the late Fidel Castro. Apparently, the city will come to a standstill later today.

At around 9am, we head down to the corner outside our apartment in Vedado and wait. We have no idea who we are waiting for and when they may show up…but about 15 minutes later, a guy driving a neon orange sports car careens around the corner of 12th, waving at us. There is no mistaking this is our guy. He pulls over in a nearby driveway, gets out and introduces himself as Louis, as he throws our backpacks into the small trunk.

As we get into the car and reverse out the driveway, Louis begins to renegotiate the cost of the drive that we tried to confirm with Carlos yesterday. “It’s a holiday…It’s very far…” Louis explains. We reconfirm the price and I wonder if travel will be like this throughout the trip. As we reach the city outskirts, I decide I’m not going to worry about this.

Literally less than 10 minutes into the drive, I feel like I’m witnessing the authentic Cuba I had so hoped to see. It’s here and it’s everywhere once you get out the confines of the city. Undeveloped land surrounds us on both sides of the autopista, which is potted with deep potholes Louis aggressively tries to avoid.

We pass classic cars, people on horseback, horse & buggies, work trucks transporting large groups of people, tour buses and bicyclists. Louis chastises everyone who drives faster than him and then puts his foot down so hard the speedometer needle is hovering around 120 km/hr. I try to get comfortable in the back, but we’re either dodging tour buses or ingesting fumes from the classic cars in front of us.

Two hours later, we exit the highway and begin a long journey along an even shittier road to Viñales. Colorful houses line the roads, and laundry hangs in almost every front yard. A few propaganda signs sit at intersections and roundabouts – those paying tribute to Fidel or mocking the US government.

We begin climbing a winding road surrounded on either side by dense forest. On the descent, Louis tells us we’ll be arriving soon.

As we make our way up the main street which seems to mark the entry and exit to the city, I know I will like Viñales. It’s night and day from the bustling crowds of Havana.

Louis winds his window down and stops a few people in the street to ask for directions. We’ve been told by our contact on Airbnb that many people in Cuba don’t know “dresses” and will invite you to stay in their casa, so she has sent us directions to go past the church and turn left after the clinico. We manage to find the correct street and a lady standing on a pink balcony on the second floor of a small apartment complex sees us and comes down to retrieve us.

We are staying in a small room at Casa Izzy, which sits off to the side of a small living room and kitchenette. Just outside the door is an identical space to ours where Barbara, the manager, and her family live. Barbara gives us a tour of the casa and shows us our room, which is bright and white, has two full beds and an en suite bathroom. She shows us where breakfast will be served and gives us a book full of activities we can partake in while here. We sign up for a 15 CUC horeback riding tour for the following day and head out to explore Viñales.

We walk down the main street, Calle Salvador Cisneros, past the church which seems to be where everyone congregates and head down a dirt road that eventually leads to farmland and horse pastures. We wander for a little bit, soaking in the peacefulness of this place before looping back to town.

We head to La Colonial for a couple of cold beers and then explore the local market, which is full of trinkets – shell jewelry, Che Guevara souvenirs, matchbox classic cars and kids toys made from coconut shells. We venture down a side street and stop to watch a group of men who are playing a game of dominoes in the last slivers of daylight.

We find a Mediterranean restaurant where a line is beginning to form, take this as a good sign, and join the line. Cuban food is good, but one meal without rice and meat will be welcomed. We order risotto and cannelloni and split a bottle of passable wine.

After dinner, the sleepiness of Viñales is getting its hold on us. After our crazy Havana nights, we welcome a chill evening. We head back to Casa Izzy, confirm our morning pick up for horseback riding and before Christy has even finished brushing her teeth, I am well away.

Chile, Patagonia, South America, The W Trek, Torres del Paine, Uncategorized

Torres Del Paine, Day 5: Torres

March 11, 2016

The winds are vicious throughout the night Listen Here, but the rain let up at some point. It was FREEZING though, hovering somewhere around 25 degrees when we woke up. Even cocooning myself in my tent and sleeping bag, I could feel the cold seeping in through the face opening. When I did finally turn on my headlamp and look out of my sleeping bag, I saw a layer of condensation on the interior of my tent.

It’s odd because during the first couple of days, despite the beautiful views, I would look forward to resting at night, but a couple days later and I was dreading finishing for the day because I knew sleep would be fitful and I knew it would be cold. So, when 4am rolled around this morning, I was wishing for 6am to come quickly, because I knew once I got up and moving, I would get warm.

I’m awake before my alarm and check in with Simon at 6. He updates me on the weather saying there are a few clouds, but lots of stars too, and he’s sure we will have a clear day. I put my clothes in my sleeping bag for 5 minutes in an attempt to warm them up and get dressed. We make time for a quick coffee – sipping down half a sachet of café con leche each, and we set out at 7am.

The sun is just starting to creep up in the distance, and I try to shake off sleep as we begin the steady ascent from Torres campsite. I am not a strong early morning hiker, but Simon is patient and walks at my pace. But, I’m feeling frustrated at my pace and lack of energy… and soon his sunny disposition is frustrating me too – when really I am just peeved at myself.

In my mind, I feel like I am holding him up and interfering with his plans of finishing in time. I’m also still trying to figure out if I will continue to the backside of the circuit or finish today with Torres and call it a ‘W’. And I think I have come to the conclusion that it’s not that I can’t continue and complete the circuit, but I’m not sure I want to.

The trekking is incredible – yes, it’s physically challenging, but nothing you can’t accomplish if you put your mind to it. What I am struggling with are the nighttime temperatures and discomfort. I feel like if I continue, I’m not going to enjoy it.

Simon is finding ways to encourage me to continue and then says “Maybe you’ve come here to find your spirit again.” At that point, a little piece inside of me wants to kick him down the hill.

When I really think about the reason and the lesson for all of this, I realize that maybe this is my opportunity to learn that sometimes it’s ok to give up and not finish – something I’m not so good at. I stick things out to the bitter end, sometimes to my own detriment. Even when I called home yesterday to check in on my grandmother, when I told my mother my possible change in plans, she said, “Don’t quit. We’re not quitters.” But today, I am going to let myself quit and it is going to feel good.

After crossing a small suspension bridge, we arrived at Chileno campsite and sit down at a picnic table for a water break and a small snack. Simon asks me if I want to continue to Torres. “Por Supuesto,” I respond.

We both notice a drop in temperature and as we’re leaving the campsite, I ask a couple who are packing up how their night was. “Fine,” they respond. “We have a really good tent.” I look at Simon and say, “I must have a really shitty tent and a really shitty sleeping bag!” and I leave it at that and walk on.

From Chileno, we pick up the pace and cover the 3km up to Torres Camp pretty easily. I have shaken my sleepiness off. Now, we have just 1km left, a 250-meter climb to cover, which will take between 45 minutes to 1-hour. I put my head down and go. Often times, Simon looks so far ahead and higher than me, but moments later I am where he just was. The time passes quickly and the three iconic towers become more and more visible. Then, as we make a left turn and ascend just a little more, Torres Del Paine sits majestically in front of us, the three granite rocks towering over an aquamarine glacial lake.

Clouds cover the top of the towers, but while Simon and I devour our sandwiches, the clouds lift and bright blue skies appear. Since we got an early start, we share this view with about ten other hikers.

I move down to the lake to take some pictures, and I realize this is what I came here to see. This is my finale. I will miss Gray Glacier, but I still have Perito Moreno and Fitzroy to look forward to. I will end my Torres hike today with this spectacular view.

Check out the video here

Simon is determined to push on to Seron this afternoon, so we say goodbye and he begins the hike back to camp to pack up. I sit for another 30 minutes just soaking in the scenery, and as I walk away, I keep having to turn around for just one more look and one more photograph – this is just so surreal.

At 12:30, I pull myself away and begin the descent, passing huge numbers of people who are making their way up. When I get to the campsite between Chileno and the Towers, I look up and see what look like ants marching above.

The descent seems never-ending, and I realize just how much climbing we covered this morning. At Chileno, I stop again to watch gauchos lead a group of horses across the river before continuing on.

It’s 3:30 by the time I arrive at the little market outside of Torres. I treat myself to a packed of Kryzpoo (the equivalent of Pringles) and wander over to peek inside the hotel. I decide to treat myself to lunch once I get my tent and gear packed up.

When I get back to the campsite, it’s almost 4pm, and I’m surprised to see Simon’s tent still up. I wave my trekking poles in the air and he waves back. As I get closer, I ask why he’s still here. He tells me how he’s only just arrived himself because of bad knee pain. I find him some paracetamol and gift him my remaining oatmeal and chocolate supply, and he decides to head to Seron and if he’s still in pain tomorrow, he will return to Torres.

We pack up our things and say another goodbye… this time he hugs me twice and says, “one for you and one your grumpy side.” We laugh and he says, “I’m glad I got to know both.”

Anthony and Celine, a couple that I met at the hostel in Puerto Natales are next to us at the campsite. They have been on a different schedule than us, but they have also just returned from Torres so we make plans to meet at the restaurant after packing up.

A few minutes later, I’m ordering a hamburger and a glass of red wine and just moments after that, the British girls, Simran and Feben, arrive and we all share the highs and lows of the trek. During this conversation, I realize just how grueling everyone thought the trek was. I realize again that I have done enough and seen what I came here to see. I couldn’t have asked for better days to see Frances Valley and Torres.

We head outside to board the bus, and I snap one more photo of Torres, still shrouded in clouds, but now pink as the sun begins to set. At Park Administration, we transfer to the main bus back to Puerto Natales, and I watch as we drive away and leave the mountains in the distance. I wonder if I will sleep and the next thing I know, we’re pulling into the bus station in Puerto Natales.

It’s a cool and windy walk back to the hostel, and when I arrive groups of people are enjoying a carb-loaded meal before setting off the following morning to begin their own treks. The three sisters who run this hostel welcome me back and help me get my bags out of storage and up to a room, and within 30 minutes of checking in, I am in bed… a warm, dry, comfortable bed.

Chile, Patagonia, South America, The W Trek, Torres del Paine

Torres del Paine, Day 3: Frances – Las Torres 15 km

March 9, 2016

I manage to sleep until 8, despite dreams of my propane tank exploding and our whole camp being kidnapped ?? It’s chilly and we’re camping on wooden pallets in a dense forest, but I’ve learned that there’s a pull cord on my sleeping bag and I can actually cocoon myself in there. I wrap the top of the sleeping bag around my head and pull the cord as tight as I can, so that only my nose pokes through. This way, I can still breathe!

I’ve also learned that trash bags are a great conductor of heat, as long as I don’t get too warm and start sweating, so last night I climbed into a big black trash bag, and then into my sleeping bag.

It was close to 9 this morning when I finally gathered the courage to brave the cold and change from my camp clothes to my hiking gear. And then came the cruel downward climb to the bathrooms (but they did have hot running water).

The morning scenic walk from Frances to Cuernos

Super Simon – On Top of the World

We had a nice leisurely breakfast – oatmeal and two coffees this morning and I felt rested and energized and took some confidence in knowing that today would be a somewhat easier day – only about 15km, so about 6 1/2 hours.

By the time everything was broken down, Simon and I set off just after 10:30. Once out of the dense forest, I could feel the sun’s warmth and shed my jacket and lathered on sunscreen.

Taking a little time to reflect on the trekking path

For the most part of the morning, we trekked next to a large lake on our right with a pebble beach. To the left were sheer granite rock faces, the backside of Cuernos. We left the snow and glacier capped Paine Grande behind us.

I felt strong and the so-say 2-hour hike from Frances to Cuernos took only 1 1/2 – which was encouraging. We continued on ascending 280 meters where a large rock protruded out over the lake, making it a perfect viewpoint and place for a photo opp.

We felt strong enough to keep ascending before stopping for a snack. This came about 30 minutes later after passing butterflies and small streams – flowing just enough to refill our water bottles. We stopped for a quick snack, but decided to try to get past the day’s half way marker before stopping for lunch. I wanted less than 3 hours to go after lunch, and I didn’t want to rely too heavily on the 30 minutes we may have gained on the first part of the morning’s trek between Frances and Cuernos.

The back side of Los Cuernos

Between a snack and lunch, most of our hike felt like a descent. Although it was a lot of ups and downs, I felt like our ascents were easier than those ascents people were tackling from the other direction, so we spent the afternoon encouraging others coming from the other way – telling them the fantastic views in Valle des Frances were waiting for them.

We stopped for lunch after a long climb, and two sandwiches later, we calculated we had just over two hours to go. I felt strong throughout the afternoon, and spent more time being present on the hike than being concerned over the time. I think this peace of mind came from knowing that we would arrive at Las Torres with plenty of time to set up camp and relax in daylight.

I practiced my Spanish with Simon – colors, days, months and later conjugating verbs – it took my mind off the hills. At the 5-hr mark, the trail led us away from the large lake and into rolling green hills that reminded me more of parts of Northern Scotland than Patagonia.

Afternoon clouds roll in

The view nearing Torres campsite

Clouds were gathering and I remembered that the forecast for Thursday (when I had checked in Puerto Natales) had called for rain. It didn’t look like the rain would wait til Thursday though.

Now, on our left was a smaller lake and as we climbed one last small hill, we could see Torres Hotel in the distance. Relief set in, seeing where we would stop for the night and this must have triggered something in my stomach. Maybe it was the idea of a clean toilet ahead, but I wouldn’t make it to Torres. Instead, I would quickly hand Simon the camera from around my neck and run down the side of a hill to seek the shelter of trees. As I undid my pants, Simon quickly fished out a roll of toilet paper from the top of his pack. And in what looked to be some football maneuver, he would toss the the roll to me and I would (thankfully) catch it while still running half way down the hill. (You’ve hiked, you know what it’s like!)

Relief overshadowed any embarrassment I may have had… but the embarrassment would come next, as I climbed back up the hill, swung my pack back on and began the downhill climb on a relatively steep gravel path to where Simon was waiting for me. As I took a step, my foot slipped out from under me, and I fell backwards on my ass. Luckily, the pack was there to break my fall, but unluckily, I couldn’t stand up again. The weight of my pack paired with being on a gravel incline… well, gravity was against me. And Simon sat at the bottom of the hill, with my camera in his hands, laughing and capturing it all. It took me four or five attempts to stand back up, but it provided us with a couple of good laughs!

Down for the count

Attempting to get up

Almost there!!

When I finally got on my feet again, we crossed a suspension bridge and arrived at Las Torres hotel, which looked as expensive as I heard it is. We continued on another 10 minutes to the campsite and finally arrived around 6pm.

Crossing the suspension bridge to Torres

I was impressed with how quickly Simon and I set up our tents, and we both positioned the zipper openings towards Torres, which sat looming over the campground. Then I proceeded to face plant on to my sleeping pad and lay there for a few minutes, feeling every bone and muscle relax. I could’ve stayed like this for a lot longer, but we managed to get changed and got water to prepare dinner. We also checked the weather and the following day called for p.m. rain. I still wasn’t convinced it would wait til the p.m.

Which way to Torres?

Simon found a free picnic table and we cooked up the remaining pasta. Despite not feeling hungry, I devoured every bite. It was cooling off by the time we finished dinner, and by the time I walked back from the bathroom to get into my tent, it was dark. Simon and I discussed our plans for the morning – to wake early and climb to Torres, weather permitting – and I crawled into my tent to cocoon myself for another night’s sleep. I hoped a grassy campsite and a windless night would be conducive to sleep, and it was for a few hours, but in the wee morning hours I was unfortunately awoken by the sound of rain on my tent… And this is the one day we needed good weather…It was our day to hike to the towers.

Backpacking, Bucket List, Chile, Patagonia, South America, The W Trek, Torres del Paine, Travel

Patagonia – How This Journey Came To Be

March 4, 2016

The desire to see this part of the world started long ago, just before my nomadic life began in 2009, but I guess you could say that despite it taking me eight years to finally make it here, Patagonia was the impetus for me setting off on my travels.

Back in my Sunnyside, Queens apartment in December of 2008, I was celebrating finishing my master’s degree and looking to plan a little get away between Christmas and New Year. Patagonia was where I wanted to go. Something about the raw beauty at the opposite end of the world intrigued me. Just the pictures alone made me want to jump on a plane.

After checking with my other broke friends in NYC and looking at the points in my Delta frequent flyer account, we quickly decided Rio was more feasible and affordable, so Patagonia took a back seat and there it sat for the next eight years.

Over these years, my travels would take me to Southeast Asia, Australia, India, Eastern Europe, Central America, Canada and even North Africa. The large continent of South America was somewhere I knew I wanted to go, but somewhere I wanted to go with the right amount of time and the right budget.

Over the years, the intrigue and desire to see Patagonia would grow… almost to the point where the thought of this trip took on a larger than life persona. I treasured the place before I visited and it became a dream trip… one I became hesitant to take, simply for the fact that I wouldn’t have it to look forward to anymore. I told everyone for years that Patagonia was the number one place on my bucket list, yet I was in no hurry to get here.

However, in January, I found myself with 4 ½ months before I had to return to work, some extra cash stashed away from my seasonal work, and the desire for a longer adventure… the time was right for South America, and the main reason for the trip was to finally visit Patagonia.

Around the world travel, Backpacking, Norway, Oslo

On the Road Again: First Stop Oslo

July 11, 2013

After seven months at home, I am itching to see the world again, but it’s a mad dash to get everything ready to go, especially when I’m leaving for an indefinite amount of time. I leave for the Atlanta airport feeling like I’ve forgotten something important. But at this point, all I need is my passport! I fly to Boston, grab a beer, switch off my phone service and begin the disconnection. I board the flight from Boston to Amsterdam, and when America is two hours behind me, I feel like I begin to settle in for the flight.

Less than a month ago, I was scheduled to head back to Nantucket to work a Summer season, but when everything unraveled at the eleventh hour, I took it as a sign. Here was my second chance to make the decision as to what I was going to do with the Summer. A European Summer adventure was calling my name.

Norway is a country that has been creeping up on my travel radar for quite some time now, and Summer seems to be the suitable time to visit, so the next 8 days will have me traveling through Oslo, Bergen, Alesund and Stavanger (with many small villages and fjordlands in between).

Norway’s Parliament building

First stop Oslo:
After almost 24 hours of travel, I finally arrive in Oslo. I venture to the city center by train and catch a bus to Mathallen. I need to track down Dimitri, a friend of a friend who has offered to put me up for a couple of nights while I’m in Oslo. Dimitri owns a couple of bars in the trendy area of Mathallen (Smelteverket and Dansens Hus Kafe- the first is home to the longest bar in Scandinavia). I find Dimitri, who gives me keys to his apartment and walking directions. I arrive knackered, wanting to sleep, but feeling like I should set out and see Oslo. I decide on a power nap, and after a quick shower, it’s already 6pm, but what I don’t realize is that I have almost six hours of sunlight left today- plenty of time to explore.

Oslo’s waterfront sculptures, near Aker brygge.

I venture out to see Oslo. I take a bus back to the city center and begin walking northwest towards the Royal Palace, passing Parliament, and the National Theatre. The streets are lined with tourists and locals alike, but the pace of this place makes me feel like I’m in a large village as opposed to a capital city. I walk over to Aker Brygge a waterfront entertainment area, filled with shops, bars and restaurants, Everyone is outside enjoying an end of day beer. Time check: 8:30- and there’s no sign of a sunset anytime soon.

Holmenkollen Ski Jump

From Aker Brygge I loop back to the city center taking my time to get back to Grunnerlokka, where I’m staying. I get back to Dimitri’s apartment, and he and his wife Ingvild ask if I’m up for a drive to the Holmenkollen ski jump. It’s 10:30 p.m. but it doesn’t look, or feel like it, so we hop into Ingvild’s car. The ski jump is perched on a hill above Oslo, and I’m afforded views of the city below. In the distance are the many small harbor islands that surround Oslo and provide city residents with a Summer escape.

We drive back through the city, making a stop at Vigelandsparken sculpture park and garden. It’s 11:30pm now, but a few stragglers are left cleaning up after their evening picnics and barbecues. I can already tell that the Norwegians milk every minute of sunlight in the Summertime, and they highly value their parks and green space.

Ingvild, Dimitri and I roam around the empty sculpture park, taking in the oddly beautiful sculptures of Gustav Vigeland. I know I need to return in daylight for a better look.

We arrive back at the apartment close to midnight. Ingvild and Dimitri have to work tomorrow and I need to will myself to sleep. But I’m looking out the window at 12:30a.m. and the sun is just setting. I retrieve an eye mask from my backpack and realize that if there’s any hope of sleep in Norway over the next week, I’m going to be needing this!

Around the world travel, Backpacking, Bucket List, Ho Chi Minh, long term travel, Saigon, Southeast Asia, Travel, Vietnam

Hoi An to Ho Chi Minh – A Change In Course

September 30, 2009

Hoi An looked to be a beautiful city from what I could see. Unfortunately, the damage done by Ketsana was worse in Hoi An than in Hue. We arrived at a dingy guesthouse after a 2-hour bus ride, and after all the rain, the weather had turned hot and muggy. Before understanding the extent of the damage, we decided to rent a motorcycle to get around town, however as we got closer to town and closer to the river, we found everything to be underwater. What a disappointment! The old town of Hoi An looked to be so charming and colorful, but we just couldn’t get around it. Where there wasn’t water, huge, fallen tree limbs stretched across the street, and being on a bike was like playing a game of bob and weave.

We took a ride out to the surrounding beach areas, and saw further debris and damage, and when we awoke the next morning to more rain, we decided to bypass the rest of Southern Vietnam, including Moi Ne and Natrang. This was disappointing. Seeing as how much I was enjoying Vietnam, I didn’t want to skip anything, but I also didn’t want to be spending my days sitting in a guesthouse watching the rain, so we booked a ticket to Ho Chi Minh for that afternoon.

Ho Chi Minh (still referred to as Saigon by the Vietnamese), is a bustling and modern metropolis compared to other Vietnamese cities. We arrived after dark, and the lights and tangible energy made me feel like I was back in New York.

We checked into My-My Guesthouse run by a women named, Hahn. She was a hilarious woman, never at a loss for words and full of advice and tips on how to navigate the city, especially if this enabled her to sell you an additional tour or service of her own. She pointed us in the direction of Vietnamese Barbecue, a restaurant popular with locals and tourists alike, which specializes in local cuisine prepared on a barbecue at your own table.

This restaurant was so good, we had to go back again. We grilled fresh prawns, brought out to the table still squirming on the skewers; we gorged ourselves on lotus salad, which was indescribably good; we sampled wild boar and frog, and topped it all off with a couple of special Saigon beers. We were slightly shocked when the bill came and it was less that $7 USD each! Surely they hadn’t done the math right!

We opted to walk home, or waddle, and soaked in the architecture of this more modern Vietnamese city. We had to praise Hahn when we arrived back at My My, and she just shot us a look as if to say, ‘do you think I’d steer you wrong?’