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In 2018, Universal’s Fast & Furious: Supercharged opens and Disney’s Hollywood Studios will reveal its Toy Story-themed land. SeaWorld Orlando, in need of an attendance game-changer, is opening a new raft ride. But more attention from industry observers is focused on the Star Wars lands opening in 2019 at Disneyland and Walt Disney World or talk of Universal developing a Nintendo-themed world. “People are going to delay their trip to Orlando because they want to see Star Wars,” said Scott Smith, an Orlando native who is an assistant professor at University of South Carolina’s hospitality school and still studies the industry. He expects the parks to offer price incentives or sneak peeks for the much-awaited future expansions as ways to keep attendance from dipping in 2018. “With great changes comes great price increases,” Smith said, looking ahead to 2019. It makes sense for the amusement parks to advertise 2018 as a good time to come before the big crowds and big ticket prices arrive, he said. Calling 2018 a slow year says a lot about Orlando’s high standards, said Robert Niles, a journalist who has covered the theme-park industry for 20 years. “An off-year for Orlando is an amazing year for everybody else,” said Niles, who has written for publications, such as the Los Angeles Times, The Orange County Register in California and his popular blog, Theme Park Insider. “This looks like a smaller year simply because the bigger years have become so big.” Theme parks’ biggest competitive push in recent years was the opening of the Wizarding World of Harry Potter in 2010, said Duncan Dickson, a former Disney executive who now teaches at the University of Central Florida’s Rosen College of Hospitality Management. “Ever since Harry Potter, it woke everybody up. The game is changing, and we have to keep up,” Dickson said. “You want your guests to keep coming back – you’ve got to create a reason.” With the success of Harry Potter, Universal challenged Disney World, which did not want to give up its market share to a competitor, he said. “It’s leading to a theme-park arms race in the Orlando market,” Dickson said. Now the large amusement parks typically expand every year, whether it’s a new multimillion-dollar roller coaster or something more low-scale, like a parade, Smith said. “You certainly don’t ever want to be accused of resting on your laurels,” Smith said. “You have to put something in your advertising that’s new and improved.” This year’s new rides at Disney and Universal are pulled from “powerful franchises” and could be well-received, Niles said. Fast & Furious: Supercharged will take visitors on a chase in a party bus through San Francisco with characters from the movie franchise. It is in the same vein as Universal’s Skull Island: Reign of Kong ride, which has 3-D, high-definition images on 360-degree screens, Niles said. “What we do best is place the guest right in the middle of the story and action,” said Thierry Coup, senior vice president of Universal Creative. The Fast & Furious movie franchise has been overlooked and is especially popular among diverse audiences, Niles said. “There’s a huge audience out there that absolutely adores Fast & Furious,” Niles said. “This is for them.” Disney’s Toy Story Land, which features two attractions, including the family roller coaster Slinky Dog Dash, stands out because it’s one of the rare franchises that appeals to multiple generations, he said. The first film came out in 1995, and many of those who grew up watching it are having children now. Toy Story 3 was released in 2010. The expansion will help a relatively empty Hollywood Studios – which shut down the Great Movie Ride in 2017 and is currently under construction for Star Wars: Galaxy’s Edge – steer some families from the more crowded Magic Kingdom, Niles said. SeaWorld Orlando will debut a new raft ride, Infinity Falls that features moments of intense rapids and a record-breaking 42-foot drop. “I’m really excited for Infinity Falls,” said Paul Noland, president of the Orlando-based International Association of Amusement Parks and Attractions. “That will have the potential to take raft rides to a whole another level.” The ride opens during a pivotal time after 2017 brought declining attendance, dropping revenues and SeaWorld cut 350 positions in October. “I can honestly say 2018 is going to be a make-or-break year for SeaWorld,” Smith said. “We’re rapidly approaching the point they may have to make radical changes.” But Smith and Niles said they were doubtful a raft ride would be enough to generate a significant attendance boom. “It’ll be a nice addition to the park,” Niles said. “I don’t know if it moves the needle boosting their attendance.” “No one thing” will immediately fix the attendance struggles, said SeaWorld vice president Brian Morrow, adding that Infinity Falls is a part of a multiyear investment in new attractions at Orlando and the company’s other theme parks to rebound. – Orlando Sentinel/TNS

My wife and adventuring buddy of more than 30 years had never seen the Grand Canyon, so we figured, why not really visit the place. The only person willing or crazy enough to come along on our wilderness jaunts is my wife’s brother, a physician from Iowa. He joined us with his good humour and roomy van that eased the marathon commute from the Chicago suburbs to Arizona. To venture below the canyon’s rim, visitors must walk, raft or ride a mule. We chose the first. Starting at the South Kaibab Trailhead which is a few miles east of the touristy Grand Canyon Village via shuttle bus the trail drops close to 5,000 feet during almost seven miles of descent into panoramic vistas. The deeper you hike, the greater the visual rewards. But even a casual walker can scamper down just short of a mile to Ooh Aah Point for a stunning view. Within the national park’s massive, silent beauty, humanity seems insignificant compared with time and nature. On the other hand, every step you take is a testament to human drive, innovation and hard work. The trail was literally cut into the cliffs nearly 100 years ago, largely with manual tools. The heavy cables holding up bridges far below were once carried down on the shoulders of Native Americans. “It’s a spiritual place,” said Bruce Rawlings, a veteran Grand Canyon hiker from Calumet City. The adjunct finance professor at Illinois Institute of Technology has been coming here — often with rookie friends in tow — for nearly two decades. We bumped into him while waiting for the free Hiker’s Express shuttle bus to the trailhead. Despite the canyon’s visual and spiritual wonders, hikers will find plenty of time to curse the trail, the sun, their legs, feet, boots and the person who convinced them this was a good idea. Young and healthy backpackers with no fear of knee damage might be able to crank down to the Colorado River in four to five hours — faster yet if a mule carries their gear. But even in late October, the trek to the bottom was hot and dry, taking our party seven hours. When you finally catch a glimpse of the river, it’s still many steps away. At the canyon floor, most first-time hikers’ goal is to get to the confluence of the Colorado River and rumbling Bright Angel Creek. There lies an oasis that includes the bustling Bright Angel Campground and the rustic-but-comfortable Phantom Ranch, with its small cabins, communal bunkhouses and a common dining room. The remote, natural setting turns this otherwise simple lodge into an indulgent luxury. (Reservations are available via an online lottery system up to 13 months in advance.  Phantom offers meals, prepaid, by reservation, but it’s also a popular spot for people to drop by to buy soft drinks, snacks and souvenirs. River rafters on weeks-long float trips often stop at Boat Beach and hike the quarter mile to the ranch for mule-delivered mail before tackling more rapids. To get a backcountry camping permit, apply through the park’s backcountry office four months in advance. We e-mailed our fees ($82 for three people, for three nights) and a few preferred dates at the end of May for an October trip. We received confirmation — for our third choice of dates — in mid-June. A few essentials I’d recommend that backpackers bring with them: freeze-dried food, bug spray, sleeping bag and pad, flashlight and first-aid kit. In spring and fall, some seasoned canyon hikers count on the temperate weather and skip the tent. We weren’t that brave. The most vital thing you’ll need to carry with you is water. On a hot day, you might guzzle a gallon. Because the area is so scenic, it’s also in high demand. Campsites are stacked like spawning salmon. Be prepared for an experience more like car camping with chatty predawn neighbours and plenty of light pollution from today’s high-lumen headlamps. Despite such drawbacks, the once-in-a-lifetime trip to the depths of the canyon is well worth it. Eventually, though, you have to head back up. We chose the 9.5-mile Bright Angel Trail for our ascent. One of the nation’s most heavily travelled backcountry trails, it’s better maintained and generally gentler than its neighbouring South Kaibab Trail. After crossing the Silver Bridge over the Colorado, we followed the river to Pipe Creek Beach before turning south (and up) toward Indian Garden Campground, our home for the night. Just as on the South Kaibab, the trail has composting toilets along the way — an almost unheard of backcountry luxury. Hardy hikers can climb back to the rim in one day, but bucolic Indian Garden is a welcome way station and a bit less hectic than the canyon bottom. It’s worth dropping by the ranger station to enjoy the view from an easy chair on the front porch. If you’re lucky, Ranger Betsy may have some snacks or fresh fruit to share. The gradual ascent out of Indian Garden eased us into the next day, but steep climbs loomed ahead on the way to the rim 3,040 feet above. By the time we reached Three-Mile Resthouse, we’d started to share the trail with day hikers who’d hit the trail early with lofty goals. Farther up, the trail got distinctly steeper. Even so, we started to pass hordes of casual hikers in less-than-sensible shoes carrying coffee cups and smelling of exotic soaps and shampoos. We were a bit of an anomaly, attracting wide-eyed questions about our hike, unsolicited congratulations and even a sense of awe of the “you must be crazy” variety. At the top, we were belched into the throng of everyday visitors. We’d returned to the land of souvenir shops, ice cream stands, traffic, tour buses and trains. If you’ve ever done true wilderness camping, you may miss that solitude on a trip to the canyon. But you’ll have seen one of the world’s most stunning natural features — right down to its guts. Some people come to conquer the canyon with rim-to-rim runs or multiday backpacking challenges. But when we passed Rawlings, the frequent canyon hiker, as he rested on a rock along the trail, he summed up the key to a visit: “I’m just taking in the view.”                            — Chicago Tribune/TNS

“The world is a book and those who do not travel read only one page.” St. Augustine A surprisingly cold wind swept across the desolate beach at Volunteer Point, one of the Falkland Islands’ most popular tourist destinations, but the throngs of king, gentoo and Magellanic penguins didn’t seem to mind. This sight made the two hours of bumpy four-wheeling over roadless peat beds worthwhile, and neither the overcast skies nor the midsummer chill could dampen the excitement I felt as I gazed at the largest colony of king penguins outside of Antarctica. More than a thousand of the stately birds huddled in a protective circle, many straddling a single egg or feeding a downy gray chick. Occasionally a few adults waddled unsteadily away from the group, past a separate cluster of Gentoo penguins, looking for their next meal in the frigid, steel-gray South Atlantic waters. As I photographed this melange of assorted penguins, I felt that this extraordinary penguin encounter alone made our cruise worthwhile. To put this adventure in proper context, after our recent retirement, my wife and I rented our home and travelled in South America for four months, both to see her family and to explore this intriguing part of the world. As we had learned during a previous extended Europe trip, by including a nice cruise in the middle of our travels, we were able to put aside the demands of overland travel and savour our cruise ship’s unique ability to provide a high level of comfort while taking us to varied and often remote destinations. Which explains how we found ourselves on Norwegian Cruise Line’s ship, the Norwegian Sun, circumnavigating the tip of South America – Cape Horn. This once-in-a-lifetime cruise, beginning in Buenos Aires and ending in Valparaiso, Chile, provided an amazing assortment of adventures with penguins, glaciers and fiords, mixed in with remote towns and hospitable people. In a journey filled with so many memorable moments, here are the highlights: Buenos Aires proved to be a remarkably European-looking city, full of parks, a renowned 200-year-old-cemetery (the site of Eva “Evita” Peron’s tomb), the widest boulevard in the world and a shoreline bordering the Rio de la Plata, considered by many to be the widest river in the world. Not only is it the most visited city in South America, but it provided easy air access to one of the world’s greatest waterfalls, Iguazu Falls, a natural wonder not to be missed. Approaching Cape Horn, the southernmost piece of land on Earth above Antarctica, we earned our nautical bragging rights as our ship battled formidable waves and wind before we were able to gaze at the rocky point that had witnessed centuries of sailing triumphs and tragedies. At Punta Arenas, Chile, we joined our ship’s exclusive DMC Chile excursion to one of South America’s most picturesque mountain ranges, Torres del Paine National Park. This trip required two bus rides and a private plane flight over surprisingly barren expanses of Patagonia before we reached the craggy mountains. From what we could see of the peaks through the clouds, the formations were indeed spectacular. From Puerto Montt, Chile, a rather nondescript town, our ship’s tour took us to Petrohue Falls, whose cascading waters framed the perfectly cone-shaped Osorno Volcano, which we later visited. From our vantage point halfway up the cylindrical cone, we admired the expansive view of Lake Esmeralda and the hilly countryside surrounding it. When we entered the Chilean fiords, every passenger watched spellbound as we glided past a series of spectacular glaciers draped across craggy, snowcapped mountains. The massive ice sheets, lined with deep fissures, glowed with deep aquamarine hues in the late afternoon sunlight. Some of the ice walls spewed milky waterfalls as the behemoths slowly melted and crept inexorably toward their demise in the frigid ocean water. As the Norwegian Sun pulled into Valparaiso’s bustling harbour, we reflected on our once-in-a-lifetime cruise around some of the most remarkable sights in the world. We felt grateful to have been able to sail around the infamous tip of South America and to have waddled alongside king penguins in the remote Falkland Islands. This chapter in the book of our travels will remain among our most treasured memories. — TNS

This is a story that must begin at the end. But oh, what an end. I stood on a forested mountaintop in Mexico in late February, mesmerised by monarch butterflies swirling around me, darting in and out of the trees and pockets of sunlight. They were high in the blue skies, clumped by the thousands on tree trunks and branches, clustered on woodland flowers and swarming in small streams of water on the forest floor. The sound of their wings was like a whisper on the breeze. Beams of sunlight shone through 100-foot-tall oyamel fir trees like spotlights on a stage, with enough dancing butterflies to make a Bollywood extravaganza. Bucket list experience? Absolutely. Mingling with monarchs on a Michoacan mountaintop was a singular experience, mystical and almost spiritual. My interest in monarchs started when I was a child, enjoying what has since, sadly, become unusual: an abundance of the orange, white and black butterflies floating through my Chicago backyard. As an adult, I noticed there were fewer monarchs around. I started learning about the decline of the monarchs, which once numbered in the billions, and about their near-miraculous – at least to me – annual migration to Mexico. Each year in late summer and early fall, monarchs born in the northern US and Canada begin an epic journey of about 2,500 miles to mountaintops in Mexico – a place they’ve never been. It’s not clear how they know where to go. But somehow the fragile insects, each weighing about as much as a cotton ball, travel to the spot where their ancestors mated and began their own journey, at that time headed north. The butterflies begin arriving in Mexico at the end of October and early November, close to the Day of the Dead. Some locals believe the butterflies are the souls of deceased ancestors. The monarchs stay in the forest until March, when they begin heading back north. Monarch populations are measured by the geographic size of the overwintering sites in Mexico. From a peak of about 45 acres in 1996-97, the size has been on a downward trend. In the 2016-17 winter, the area was estimated to be about 7 acres. “What’s fair to say right now is that scientists estimate the population is at a pretty serious risk of getting so low that it might not be able to recover,” said Karen Oberhauser, director of the University of Wisconsin, Madison Arboretum and co-chair of Monarch Joint Venture, an organisation that co-ordinates monarch conservation efforts in the US. The decline of the monarch population is largely because of habitat loss, both in the overwintering grounds in Mexico and in the northern breeding grounds. Monarchs only lay their eggs on milkweed plants, and that’s all their caterpillars eat. But milkweed has been disappearing from farm fields and elsewhere, mainly because of the use of herbicides. Monarch numbers have been on the decline, but visitors to the high forests of central Mexico can still get an eyeful of the insects from November to March. Mexico’s butterfly reserves were named a Unesco World Heritage Site in 2008. But Omar Vidal, CEO of the World Wildlife Fund in Mexico, notes that illegal logging in the butterfly reserves remains a concern. “But even if Mexico’s overwintering sites never lose another tree,” he said, “without food and habitat along the migration routes, the forests will soon bid farewell to their final orange-and-black-winged tenant.” El Rosario butterfly reserve, a little more than 100 miles west of Mexico City, is the largest sanctuary in the state of Michoacan, and it’s where I got my first look at the beautiful insects. It’s perched roughly 10,000 feet above sea level, and the altitude hit me hard. I was short of breath even at the entrance to the reserve. Rather than make an hour-long walk to the top, I rode a horse – a bargain at 100 pesos (about $5). It took around 20 minutes over rough terrain for our group of about 10 people to make it to the top. Each horse is led by its own guide, so all the passengers have to do is hang on. After a few minutes riding under a dark forest canopy, we came upon a small dip in the trail that was flooded with sunlight and dozens of fluttering monarchs. The riders let out a few whoops, but the trail guides didn’t stop for photos. At the top, a wide, sunlit meadow offered lots of photo ops. But our jaws didn’t drop until we went further into the dark forest and saw the butterflies clustered on tree trunks and branches, covering them in orange and  black. “I was overwhelmed when I first entered the quiet and dark of the forest,” said Paula Zito, an operating room nurse from Sarasota, Fla. “I can’t believe they were circling me, surrounding my body, occasionally landing on my shoulder or backpack.” Oberhauser, who has been studying monarchs since the 1980s, recalls her first visit to El Rosario in the ‘90s. “I just looked into the trees and saw all the monarchs, and it was mystical ... and I just burst into tears,” she said. “It’s just an amazing thing to look at those butterflies and think that every single one of them has an amazing story of survival.” I didn’t just see the butterflies – I felt them. A wing brushed my cheek, a pair landed on my shoulder, a few more on my hat. And I felt the joy of touching nature and whatever is spiritual in this world. –Chicago Tribune/TNS

In 1998, a small group of bird-watchers in Ecuador stared intently as a diminutive bird darted along the ground. They soon realised they had discovered a Jocotoco antipitta, which was thought to be extinct. The fact that this species was alive and well in Tapichalaca’s cloud forest in southwest Ecuador galvanised them into action. Within a short time, the group founded one of Ecuador’s leading non-profit conservation groups, the Jocotoco Conservation Foundation, and raised enough money to buy more than 12,000 acres of the steamy forest. Soon after, they built a lodge at Tapichalaca and hired a local staff to maintain the reserve. From this humble beginning, the Jocotoco Foundation has steadily expanded to 11 reserves scattered around the country, conserving some of the planet’s most endangered birds and accompanying biodiversity. You don’t have to be a hardcore bird-watcher to be mesmerised by the dazzling display of hummingbirds and various other tropical birds that swarm to the feeders at the Jocotoco reserves we visited, especially our favourite one, Buenaventura. Although the larger birds provided momentary excitement when they appeared, what truly captured our attention was the never-ending stream of hummingbirds of every size and shape – ranging from tiny brown-green hummers with almost no tail, to impressively large, rainbow-tinted ones, some with tails longer than their body. When a family of long-snouted coatis (related to raccoons) emerged from the nearby forest and clambered onto the porch at Buenaventura searching for a snack, it was clear that we had arrived in an Ecuadorean nature nirvana. My wife, Sharen, and I discovered this admirable organisation while visiting Quito, Ecuador, at the beginning of our four-month tour of South America, and thank goodness we did. Through Jocotoco Tours, we managed to experience some of the best bird viewing in the world (Ecuador has 1,600 bird species, compared with around 800 in the United States.) Our first introduction to this remarkable organisation took us to the Yanacocha Reserve, about 45 minutes from Quito. Perched high in the Andes mountains at 11,000 to 13,000 feet, this reserve, like the others, was mainly established to protect critically endangered birds – in this case, the 300 remaining black-breasted puffleg hummingbirds, found nowhere else on earth. In addition to admiring beautiful birds at the feeding stations, we marvelled at the diverse shapes, colours and textures of the tropical plants we saw during our hike. My favourite was a plant whose leaves measured nearly 5 feet across. Following our air-gasping hike, we had tea and a nice lunch in the small restaurant near the visitors information centre. The next phase of our Ecuadorean exploration took us to Cuenca, and from there we set out to discover three other Jocotoco reserves, starting with Buenaventura, one of the larger reserves near the southern coast. Although it is possible to fly to Santa Rosa, a town near Buenaventura, we opted for the four-hour drive from Cuenca so we could see more of the countryside. During our 120-mile drive, the landscape changed remarkably, from arid, rocky hillsides covered with cactuses and bromeliads to lush junglelike forests. As we neared our destination, banana groves lined both sides of the road as far as the eye could see. Buenaventura Reserve felt like an oasis in a vast expanse of tropical forests. After many kilometres of bumpy, winding roads, we relished our clean wood cabin with its private bathroom and two comfy beds. Outside, on the large deck, a hammock beckoned us to slow down and appreciate the panoramic view of the distant mountains cloaked in deep green foliage. Several times, Sharen, reposing in the hammock, called out “Doug, come quick. Two gorgeous toucans are sitting in the tree close to me,” and I felt lucky to get great photos of them. With only three cabins and the nearby restaurant with its expansive porch, the facility imposed itself very little on the surrounding junglelike landscape. The staff prepared three tasty meals daily, but what set apart this experience was our ability to observe up close so many gorgeous creatures and plants, either from the porch or while hiking. Nothing in our previous bird-watching experience compared with our ability to gaze, close-up, at the frenetic procession of hummingbirds that whirred around the bright red feeders from morning until evening, providing endless entertainment and exceptional photo opportunities. In fact, bird photographers from around the world, some with astonishingly large lenses, regularly come to photograph birds that are found nowhere else. Other visitors, however, contentedly click away with their digital phone cameras, or patiently watch with their binoculars. During our three-day Buenaventura stay, we particularly enjoyed hiking on a 4-kilometre dirt road through the cloud forest, inspecting colourful insects and tropical plants while being serenaded by distant howler monkeys and melodic bird songs. Later, our host drove us to a distant part of the reserve to see its new hummingbird park, primarily built to entice local Ecuadoreans to better appreciate and conserve their unique natural heritage. I persuaded our visiting American naturalist to take me on a couple of night hikes, which opened a whole new world of exciting discoveries – birds, bugs and spiders that we didn’t see during the day. During our return drive to Cuenca, we stopped at the 378-acre Yunguilla Reserve, tucked away in the hills at the end of a rough 5-kilometre dirt road. The reserve’s “forest guard” met us, and with machete in hand, he led us across a stream and up a narrow trail into the hills until we reached a small grove of trees harbouring two bird feeders. Soon, a diminutive grey and white bird, the pale-headed brush finch, appeared, and I was thrilled to witness a visit by one of the rarest birds in the world; the species’ remaining 200 birds reside in this one small reserve. During our stay further south in the town of Vilcabamba, we decided to spend two days at our final Jocotoco reserve, Tapichalaca. The 75-minute journey, like others we had experienced, led us along a scenic road that offered beautiful panoramas along with the adventure of dodging occasional landslides, overflowing streams and rocks randomly sitting in the middle of the road. Upon reaching our lodging at the reserve, we donned calf-high rubber boots and marched into the dense cloud forest along soggy trails wrapped in a cloak of tropical plants. Sitting quietly while our guide placed juicy worms on a special spot, we were soon treated to a rare close-up view of a trio of the famed Jocotoco birds. Back at the lodge, most of our time was spent watching, and photographing, the innumerable hummingbirds, most of which we hadn’t seen before, especially the most common variety, the chestnut-breasted coronets, which resembled prismatic flying jewels. When I reflect on why we travel, one of the reasons is to experience magical moments in unique places like the nature reserves we visited, and to find those who make a difference in the world, which is exactly what the Jocotoco Conservation Foundation does. Our memories of Ecuador will include hearing the intense whirring of rainbow-coloured hummingbirds’ wings, seeing yellow-billed toucans sitting in nearby trees and watching shy Jocotoco birds emerge from the dense forest, living freely because people cared enough to protect them. – The San Diego Union-Tribune/TNS

The ponies, shaggy and barrel-bellied, came up right to the car window. They seemed to be welcoming us but were probably expecting a treat. They were Shetland ponies, which made sense: We were in the Shetland Isles, on the largest island of the archipelago, the third destination on a Viking ocean cruise that took us from London to Norway, with plenty of midnight sun on the way. Viking is best known for its river cruises (hello, “Masterpiece” fans); the company has added ocean cruises and does them very well, with new, comfortable and relatively small ships. They carry a maximum of 930 passengers and have witty lectures by academics in place of casinos. Viking offers lots of excursions, but for Shetland, we hired a private guide. One of my ancestors, Charles Edmondston, emigrated from the Shetlands to Charleston, SC, in the late 18th century, and I wanted to see – and learn – as much as I could. Shetland is part of Scotland, but culturally it’s more like southern Scandinavia; the local summertime celebration is called “Viking Days.” It’s almost equidistant between northwest Scotland and western Norway. On an unusually sunny morning in July, the Viking Sky docked in Lerwick, the capital of the Shetlands, on the largest island, known as Mainland. We met our guide, Jeff Goddard, and headed south. Goddard, a native of southern England, is married to a Shetlander. A thoughtful man with a fine sense of humour, he’d researched the Edmondston family (of Scottish mainland descent, they were a litigious clan, prone to suing the neighbours and one another), and packed a lunch to save on time. Our immediate goal was to reach Jarlshof, at the southern tip of the island, before the tour buses did. Misnamed (Jarlshof means “earl’s house,” but there’s no evidence that a Norse earl ever lived there) by Sir Walter Scott, the site has archaeological remains from Bronze Age inhabitants in 2500 BC up to the 17th century. Goddard took us where we could see seals basking in the sun and to a bird sanctuary rich in puffins, to historic lighthouses and the north coast. We learned about the island’s geology and history, drove past the Broch of Mousa, the best-preserved example of those mysterious round Iron Age stone towers; we took a walk along a cliff with a precipitous drop to the sea on the peninsula of Esha Ness, and saw the tiny island of Dore Holm, which looks (if you squint a little) like a horse taking a drink. Shetland was a high point of the cruise, but there were more adventures to come, from a visit to Orkney and its Neolithic standing stones to crossing the Arctic Circle. Norway For much of Norway, a cruise is the best way to go. After sailing up the Vestfjord into the northerly Lofoten Islands, we visited a charming old fishing harbour called Nusfjord; its banks were lined with traditional red-painted cottages (red paint, derived from copper and blood, was cheap; the wealthy bought white paint) called rorbus. All is rugged mountains, blue seas and interesting architecture – and drying racks for stockfish, the air-dried unsalted cod that was the basic foodstuff and export for centuries. We could have used more time at the Lofotr Viking Museum in Borg, a meticulous reconstruction of a Viking chieftain’s house located next to the remains of the original. Almost 275 feet long, it has a feasting hall, work areas, living quarters and stables. (The museum’s fjord horses and wild boar live outside.) Costumed guides cook, work on handicrafts and explain Viking life and beliefs to visitors. The next day brought us to Honningsvag, the northermost city in Norway, and the departure point for North Cape, or Nordkapp. It’s where the Barents Sea meets the Norwegian Sea, a little more than 1,300 miles south of the North Pole, located on an impressively steep cliff. Remote though it is, it’s a tourist magnet, with campers, cars and motorcycles (some with Russian plates) parked alongside the coaches; some passengers from our ship skipped the bus ride and arrived by helicopter. It was sunny, and warm enough that some folks were down to T-shirts. There’s a large museum and other amenities under the plateau. This is Sami country, home of Scandinavia’s only indigenous people; their language is unrelated to the Nordic tongues. Once known as Lapps, the Sami have distinctive rights and protections in Norway (they’re the only ones allowed to herd reindeer) and their own parliament. On the road from Nordkapp, the bus stopped at a little Sami encampment. I recognised the sad-faced Sami man with a reindeer, dressed in an ethnic costume and standing by a tipi-like hut, from photographs; his melancholy visage even illustrates the Sami Wikipedia page. Heading south, our next stop was Tromso, the “gateway to the Arctic.” Tromso became a seal-hunting centre in the 19th century and was the jumping-off point for many polar expeditions; the Polar Museum attests to both. It’s the home of the world’s northernmost university, Europe’s only continuously operating cinema (101 years and counting) and the “Arctic Cathedral,” a striking church with soaring roof lines. Continuing south, we re-crossed the Arctic Circle, catching more dazzling scenery on our way to the city of Molde. Briefly the de facto capital of Norway during World War II, it suffered severe damage from the Luftwaffe but came back strong in the postwar era. Today, it’s thriving. We visited the open-air Romsdal Museum, where 50 historic buildings were moved between 1912 and 1992; there are demonstrations of crafts, and children perform Norwegian folk dances. A little church was constructed from materials from nearby farmhouses and barns and decorated with salvaged religious art. We were pining for the fjords; next morning, we arose early as the Sky glided through the towering peaks of gorgeous Geirangerfjord. A Unesco World Heritage site, the year-round population is about 250, with close to a million tourists every summer. There are ample reasons for that. The fjord’s rocky walls are steep and decked with scenic waterfalls. We stopped at the most famous, the Seven Sisters (where just four streams were flowing) and at other photogenic spots on our way to the top of Mount Eidsdal. At 4,500 feet above sea level, it’s decorated with rock cairns built by tourists and snow in mid-July. The cruise ended in Bergen; we started out early with a ride on the funicular to the top of Mount Floien, where there are cheeky goats and scenic views. (By the time we descended, the line to ride up was out the door.) After strolling through the fish market, we explored the 14th century wooden buildings of the Unesco-listed Bryggen wharf. That included the historic museum of the Hanseatic League, the medieval merchant powerhouse with posts around the Baltic. A final expedition took us to Fantoft Stave Church and the home of composer Edvard Grieg. Stave churches, with post-and-lintel construction and distinctive roof lines were common here during the Middle Ages; only 30 remain. Dragon-headed Fantoft was one of several burned down in 1992 by Norwegian black metal musicians; it’s been reconstructed. Our next stop was the best of the day: Troldhaugen, the beautiful lakeside summer home built by Grieg and his wife, Nina, in 1885, now a museum with a concert hall, where we heard a recital by pianist Joachim Carr. The tour of the house included a wonderful surprise: one of the guides spontaneously sat at Grieg’s short-legged piano and performed. The Griegs are buried nearby; down a steep hill is his composing hut. The next day we took a scenic train ride to the capital, Oslo. We started our final day in Norway at the popular Viking Ship Museum; it was worth being crowded. We rode the ferry across the harbour to the Fram Museum, where the ship used by polar explorers Fridtjof Nansen, Otto Sverdrup and Roald Amundsen is housed. After a tour of playwright Henrik Ibsen’s house, we strolled through the gardens of the royal palace and back to the harbour to the Opera House. Completed in 2008, it’s a massive white structure on the waterfront, with a unique design that invites passersby to ascend from ground level for several stories to enjoy a grand view of the harbour, and a perfect place to end our tour. –St. Louis Post-Dispatch/TNS

It was 6:01am when we heard them barking, an insistent “huh-huh-huh-huh” floating through the rain forest canopy and over Pacuare Lodge. “Howler monkeys,” said Steve, squinting at his watch.  Then a toucan weighed in, two long, raspy “screeches” close to our deck, in the Rio Pacuare Forest Reserve, in eastern Costa Rica’s Barbilla National Park. Up in a flash, we grabbed the binoculars and dashed outside, where a chorus of honks, chirps and whistles ushered in the dawn. “Shhhh!” Steve said, hopefully, peering over the railing into the underbrush. “Listen! Was that a growl?” Wildlife on parade is a predictable event at most Costa Rican eco-lodges. Coatis, capuchin monkeys, birds and butterflies lead off, followed by sloths, bacillus lizards and green frogs, with howler monkeys, tapirs, armadillos and tarantulas at the rear. But big cats, ocelots and pumas? Once in a green moon. “Jaguars? Maybe, but don’t count on it,” said travel planner Alison Carey, three months earlier when she called to talk about our trip. A Latin America specialist with Scott Dunn Personal Journeys, Carey and her colleagues research and book custom, personalised adventures for individual travellers. We’d been to Costa Rica before, but just briefly, on a cruise ship stopover. This time would be different, we agreed. Hence the call to Scott Dunn Personal Journeys, a leader in the growing trend toward custom travel. “You’ll like Pacuare Lodge,” said Carey. “It’s on the river, an easy, four-mile raft ride downstream,” she said. “It’s known for wildlife, and wild cats, too, though they’re rarely seen. It’s isolated, but that’s part of the appeal. You know what they say: Costa Rica is one of Central America’s safest countries.” Was it? Sporadic upheavals have plagued Central America for decades, from corrupt governments and armed insurrections to civil wars and more recently, drug trafficking. What makes Costa Rica different? Then our itinerary arrived in the mail, a spiral-bound notebook listing dates, places and our contacts at each, with blank space for notes. The last three nights would be on our own, joining well-heeled friends for a reunion at Villa Manzu, a palatial mansion on the Papagayo Peninsula. But the question lingered. “Is it true? Is Costa Rica Central America’s safest country?” I asked Abel, the Scott Dunn driver who picked us up at the Juan Santamaria International Airport, in San Jose, the capital. “We think so,” he said, heading for the Finca Rosa Blanca hotel, north of the city. “It’s because we have no military,” he continued. “The money pays instead for schools, high school and college, and for health care and doctors. And it’s all free,” he said. “Of course, there are always people who don’t want to work and are tempted to steal. But most people here have jobs,” he added as we reached the hotel, a restored, 14-suite Spanish Colonial house and coffee plantation, with a pool and a popular open-air restaurant. On time for the day’s coffee plantation tour, we thought we’d learn about coffee.  But the two-hour uphill walk with naturalist Manolo Munoz was as much about sustainable farming as it was about a good cup of joe. Guiding us among the coffee trees, planted in volcanic soil between banana and poro trees in a mixed-species forest, Munoz explained that “trees add important minerals” to the soil. “A mix of sun and shade grows better ‘cherries’ (coffee beans) than the big commercial farms do,” he said. That evening, as the sun slipped between the palm fronds and Miguel, the hotel waiter, came around with menus, I decided to see what he’d say. “Uh, Miguel, why do people say Costa Rica is Central America’s safest country?” “Because we don’t have an army,” he said.  “After the civil war, in 1949, the government decided that paying for education, hospitals, culture and parks was more important than guns and soldiers.” Local police handle regional crime and a national government-supported 70-man team of “commandos,” a trained “security and intervention” group, is available for extreme emergencies. But beyond that, no army. In Costa Rica, we learned, education, health and the environment are more than a campaign promise. They are the framework for a peaceful future. No wildlife conversation lasted more than 10 minutes before the topic turned to Costa Rica’s many species, and how they have adapted to the country’s 12 climate zones, each at a different altitude, from sea level to the summit of frosty, 12,533-foot Cerro Chirripo Volcano. Rafting through the Pacuare River’s narrow gorge, to Pacuare Lodge on the river bank, we could see the difference between the trees along the river gorge and those on the mountain side above, where the howler monkeys live. Alone in the forest, Pacuare Lodge is both self-sustaining (electricity is limited to several hours daily), rustic and luxurious. Candles light the upstairs hall, and the dining room downstairs and adjoining deck, where all meals are served.  Most of the bungalows have some screened walls, bringing the outside in. The first group were built along the river; the luxury suites climb the hill, each a five-star treehouse. Our days were busy with discovery hikes, wildlife prowls and trips to the nearby indigenous village, with an occasional plunge pool dip and nap in our hammock. Leisurely dinners with like-minded guests made the rain forest silence that much more serene. A startling contrast, indeed, to our next destination, Nayara Springs Resort, on a highway near Avenal Volcano National Park, in central Costa Rica. Greeted by a uniformed bell boy, we thought we’d made a wrong turn. But this popular vacation village and honeymoon retreat only masquerades as a hotel. In fact, it offers urban sophistication in a rain forest setting. With its sumptuous suites – and swimming pools, shaded patios, a spa and gym, restaurants and shops – connected by a maze of heavily landscaped serpentine paths, each is hidden from the next. A five minute walk beneath the trees – with resident birds and 30-odd sloths overhead – was a stroll in the woods. As our Scott Dunn-planned trip ended, we said goodbye to our driver, Andreas, who delivered us to Villa Manzu. And there was the mansion, overlooking the ocean, a modern, sandy-coloured stone building flanked by grassy lawns and trees, pools and patios. Art and artefacts lined the corridors and walls. The kitchen-plus-barstools adjoined the living and dining rooms; the theatre, party room and eight luxurious bedrooms with bath completed the luxury. A path to the cliff-side barbecue circle faced the sunset. With a staff of 12, including butler and three chefs, this luxurious hideaway, on five acres, guarantees privacy for those who can afford it: celebrities, tech-company millionaires, movie moguls, industry titans and sports greats. For us, being there was dumb luck. “Make yourself at home,” said our hostess, with a warm hug. “Take in the scenery,” or join us in the pool; it’s heated. “Meet our butler, Luis Morera, who makes the most marvellous juices.” Sit at the kitchen counter and “talk ingredients,” with the chefs. Borrow a kayak or fishing gear and “walk down to the beach.” Take a car, to visit the Beach Club or play golf. “Villa Manzu has guest privileges.” Arrive by yacht and tie up in the harbour. Or fly: “The driver will meet you at the airport.” The Villa sleeps 20-plus adults and/or children. Because this is your house, everything’s included: Meals, juices, snacks, sports equipment, fishing gear, a car, guides, and as always, Costa Rican hospitality.  - TNS

With over 500 million reviews, more than 390 million unique visitors and above 136,000 destinations, Tripadvisor members know a thing or two about travel! Last year Baku, the capital city of Azerbaijan, was included within the top five ‘Top Destinations in the World on the Rise’ in the 2016 Tripadvisor Travellers’ Choice awards. So if you are looking for a path less travelled by hordes of tourists (so far) head to Baku! Since hosting the Eurovision Song Contest in 2012, the unveiling of its recent Shopping Festival and the welcoming of international guests to the 2017 Azerbaijan Grand Prix, Baku is emerging from its reputation as a leading Caspian Sea oil and gas exporter to be regarded as a city steeped in cultural heritage and a modern travel destination. Located less than three hours from Doha, what can an intrepid traveller pack into a weekend in this relatively undiscovered destination? The Maiden Tower Symbolising the city’s long history, the legendary Maiden Tower is built in a cylindrical form on a great rock, sloping towards the sea in the old city of Baku.  While historians cannot agree on a confirmed date when the Maiden Stone was built, recently researchers have suggest that the tower was built in two sections with the bottom section, reaching to almost 14 metres. Possibly dating back to the 6th century and may have been used as an observatory or a watch tower. The second section was added several centuries later in the 12th century. At just under 30 metres total height, the observatory theory could easily be validated with the spectacular views from the top of the tower. Views that stretch over the neighbouring ancient rooftops, tiny alleyways and minarets of the old city. Today, this Unesco World Heritage monument houses a museum presenting the history and progression of Baku.  While in the area, pay a visit to the Palace of the Shirvanshahs. This 15th century site, another Unesco World Heritage site, is so revered in Azerbaijan the palace is depicted on the past and present-day banknotes. It is located at the highest point of the ancient part of Baku, within the walled city, the palace complex houses many items including the main palace building, burial vaults, a mosque and remnants of a bath house. This popular area for visitors is also well served by many close-by restaurants serving traditional and international cuisine. The Old City No visit to an ancient city would be complete without a walking tour of the Old Town, locally known as “Icharishahar”. Within the old town walls is the historical core of Baku with over 50 historical and architectural monuments. Knowledgeable tour guides bring the city to life with tales of everyday life throughout the ancient empire, sharing the city’s rich legacy of historic mosques, palaces and markets. Get your comfy shoes on and explore! Heydar Aliyev Center  Devised as part of the redevelopment of Baku, the 57,500 m2 Heydar Aliyev Center’s flowing curved form and distinctive sharp angles, have ensured that since opening in 2012 it has become one of Baku’s signature architectural landmarks.  Designed by the late Iraqi-British architect Zaha Hadid and built over eight floors the centre includes a 1000-seat auditorium, conference centre facilities, workshops, a museum and exhibition spaces. The centre was presented with the Design Museum’s Design of the Year Award 2014 making Dame Zaha Hadid the first woman to win the top prize in the competition’s history.  In addition to the centre’s architectural significance, it has become a hub for local events and entertainment activities. Check out their website and time your visit. This year some key highlights in their entertainment calendar have included: the Azerbaijan Automobile Federation Vintage Car Rally where over 150 cars produced before 1980 were on show; The ‘Dance of the Wind’ International Kite Festival, held for the first time in Baku, featured 10 artists whose painted kites adorned the skies of Baku, also known as the ‘windy city’, and; The Modernism and Fashion exhibition featuring garments and gems of the 1960s.  Baku has one foot in the past and the other is firmly stepping on the gas revving up to the future… now is the time is now to visit Baku. l Book your next holiday with Dana Travel – your local travel consultancy – specialists in arranging your tailor-made package of flights, accommodation and car hire.  Call the Dana Travel team on +974 4491 6111, +974 5076 7978 or visit  www.danaqatar.com

Our two rows of camels rested in the darkness before dawn near the circle of tents in the towering Erg Chebbi dunes, a few miles from Morocco’s border with Algeria. The cool air carried the aroma of coffee brewing as the sky began to lighten. To the west, a guide was leading three camels and their passengers on a dawn ride. To the east, a few of my travel companions were climbing to the top of a huge dune. As the sun’s rays broke across the dunes, the colour of the sand seemed to change from dark terra cotta to light orange. It was dawn in the Sahara Desert. You can’t help but feel a sense of wonder and magic in this place, one of the most fabled deserts in the world. The chance to spend a night in the desert was one of the experiences that drew us to Morocco. But so much of what we did on our 13-day trip was totally unexpected. Morocco’s Atlas Mountains are nearly as high as any in the Alps – and so are their ski resorts. In spring, the verdant green valleys and broad pastures look like rural Wisconsin. Driving through the mountains, we stopped to see the stunning rock formations at Todra Gorge, a canyon popular with climbers and hikers. Farther north, archaeologists are excavating the Roman town of Volubilis, established by pioneers sent from Rome to create an olive oil industry. In modern contrast, the tonier parts of the capital city of Rabat and Casablanca could be mistaken for any big city in southern Europe, complete with an Ikea store and Land Rover dealership. And yes, we made a stop at Rick’s Cafe, but it’s as inauthentic as a Hollywood movie set. In the foothills of the High Atlas Mountains south of Marrakech, we sipped by the turquoise-blue swimming pool of Auberge Chez Momo in Ouirgane, a hotel made up of stucco bungalows with a lake view that could just as easily have been in Provence. In other words, we found a lot more in Morocco than deserts and casbahs. In Fez and Marrakech, the narrow alleys of the mazelike markets, or souqs, sell everything from cheap tourist trinkets to fine, hand-woven carpets. They’re as captivating for the pieces on offer as for the people watching. Fez is more traditional and seems more authentic. Marrakech is a short getaway for Europeans, and it’s not unusual to see women in skimpy bathing suit cover-ups shop alongside locals in long hijabs. Morocco’s recorded history begins with the Phoenicians and Romans who colonised a region that had been inhabited for thousands of years. Arab armies from the east brought Islam in the seventh century, reshaping the culture, which led to ethnic tension with the indigenous Amazigh people – a tension that remains to this day. The Amazigh are better known as Berbers, but that’s actually a pejorative name, derived from the word barbarian. The French put down stakes here in 1912 as Europeans carved up Africa and remained in control until 1956, bequeathing at least two things that are rare in the Muslim world, one of which is a Monday-Friday work week, unlike the Sunday-Thursday schedule common in Muslim countries. One day during a drive through the mountains, we stopped to speak with an Amazigh family that lives in tents not too far from a road. The 3-year-old son and 6-year-old daughter were quiet but curious. The mother and father showed us their tents and, through a translator, answered questions about their lives. Another extended Amazigh family runs Hotel Awayou, a rustic inn in the M’Goun Valley of the High Atlas Mountains. (The hotel, where our room was secured with a padlock, was a good place to stay in an area with few options; just don’t expect many amenities.) We took part in traditional afternoon tea and learned that men dominate the tea-making rituals in Morocco. The usual way to serve the Chinese green tea is loaded with sugar and mint, a bit too sweet for most Westerners. We watched women washing laundry at the side of a river, while local men cruised around town on motorcycles. On the path of the casbahs, the mud-brick fortresses that dot the landscape and were stopping points along the caravan routes, we visited the walled city of Ait-Ben-Haddou, where scenes from Lawrence of Arabia and Game of Thrones, among others, were filmed. Indeed, it looked familiar, and a climb to the top gave a good workout and a good perspective. But back to our sojourn in the desert. Getting there was a big part of the experience: 90 minutes on a camel; rucksacks with overnight necessities strapped to the saddle, cameras flopping from straps around our necks. Riding a camel is not like riding a horse. You’re higher off the ground, and it’s much more wobbly. But after a while, we settled into the journey knowing that even with some discomfort, we were lucky to be on this once-in-a-lifetime trek. Shortly after arriving at camp, our group gathered in a canvas-topped common area and refreshed ourselves while cooks prepared our meal in the dining tent as the sky grew dark. After a fire and some music under the stars, we set off along a carpeted pathway to our tents with beds and full bathrooms. I doubt I was the only one pinching myself before dozing off. -TNS

Discover the myths and mysteries that are part of mermaid folklore around the world. Here are five places in the US where you can learn to swim like the legendary aquatic creature during National Mermaid Month: Hyatt Regency Huntington Beach, Calif Every Sunday, youngsters staying at this 517-room, California coastal resort can tap into a little Mermaid Magic. During the 90-minute experience, kids can don their mermaid tail, learn swimming skills from a certified mermaid, play water games, and take part in underwater story time. With direct access to the beach as well as an expansive pool area with three water slides, there is plenty to keep the family engaged should mom want to find her way to the Pacific Waters Spa. Contact: https://huntingtonbeach.regency.hyatt.com Sanderling Resort, Outer Banks, N.C Venture to the Outer Banks and wonder what it might be like to splash your tail in the Atlantic surf just off shore from this seaside resort.  As a student in the resort’s Mermaid School you and your family members can learn a variety of techniques while outfitted in a Fin Fun tail (including how to put it on and take it off). You’ll work on the dolphin kick, breath control, pearl diving and the all-important mermaid pose. Take a break from seafaring school and enjoy spa time, two dune-side pools, golf, tennis, a wild horse tour and yoga. Contact: http//www.sanderling-resort.com/explore-land.php Monterey Tides, Monterey Bay, Calif This beachfront boutique hotel will be celebrating the Siren of the Sea throughout the month of September. In the spirit of the seafaring creature, hotel guests can expect mermaid-themed hair brushes, a jar of mermaid tears, the popular mermaid tail blanket, and themed colouring books and crayons for kids as part of the package. A specially created Mermaid beverage welcomes guests upon arrival. Bonfires and s’mores on dry sand may not be mermaid-style but they are among your options while guests of the resort. You may also want to visit the nearby Monterey Bay Aquarium to learn about different sea creatures. Contact: www.jdvhotels.com/monterey-tides Hawaii Mermaid Adventures, Maui, Hawaii  On this island, dreamers of all ages can take the first step toward becoming a lifelong steward of the ocean. And a mermaid. Sign up for this salty adventure and your guides, all of whom are CPR, lifeguard and marine naturalist certified, will demonstrate proper water etiquette (stay 10 feet away from turtles), teach youngsters how to identify native fish and highlight important conservation issues. Young adventurers will also learn about the legends that surround mermaids from their sustainably minded guides. Contact: https://hawaiimermaidadventures.com/ocean-steward/ Omni Rancho Las Palmas Resort & Spa, Rancho Mirage, Calif  Aspiring mermaids, ages 6 to 13 with strong swimming skills, are invited to pull on their tail and enjoy a day of swimming through hoops, diving for sea pearls and learning from expert Mermaid Instructors. Once kids tire of the tail, they are reinvigorated by the possibilities at Splashtopia. Two 100-foot waterslides, a 425-foot long lazy river, unique water play zones and a cliff-side Jacuzzi will keep the clan cool for the day. Contact: https://www.omnihotels.com/hotels/palm-springs-rancho-las-palmas/wellness/pool/splashtopia - TNS * Lynn O’Rourke Hayes (www.LOHayes.com) is an author, family travel expert and enthusiastic explorer.  Gather more travel intel on Twitter @lohayes, Facebook, or via FamilyTravel.com

I felt like I was lying. For months, I’ve told friends I’m going home to Vietnam. But “going home” isn’t exactly right. I’ve never been to Vietnam. I’ve wanted to visit my mother’s country for as long as I can remember. But life happens and the next thing I know I’m a 35-year-old mixed-race Asian guy who hasn’t experienced the culture outside of eating pho on University Avenue and listening to my mom tell her old stories. Home for me is Minnesota. I look a bit like my mom, but my dad’s strong Scandinavian blood shows through in my height (6 feet) and my complexion (a little pale). He was a soldier in Vietnam during the late 1960s; she was a peasant girl working on the army base. They met, fell in love and made a life back in Minnesota starting in 1973. My half-brother, who was 6 at the time, came with her. Fast forward to 2017. Our parents are long divorced. My big brother, Van, and I are on a plane to Vietnam – my first time and his first since leaving as a child. Our mother, Ninh, has only been back twice in 44 years, the last time to see her dying father. I prepare to feel like a stranger in a strange land. Looking out the plane as we touch down at the Ho Chi Minh City airport, my mom yells out: “It doesn’t look the same. It looks bigger. It looks like America.” We spill off the plane and into the embrace of my aunt and cousin. They don’t speak English, so my mom translates through the tears. The first thing my 63-year-old aunt, Kim Anh, says to my brother: “You look like your father.” His dad, a soldier in the South Vietnamese army, died from friendly fire when my brother was only a baby. Kim Anh and her daughter, Hoang Anh, 39, both work in cramped, open-air markets, selling children’s clothes. They are going to travel with us on this 13-day trek north as we explore the entire country. My brother, who is 14 years older than me, is funding much of this trip, which includes hosting our long-distant relatives. Travelling with us is his wife, Heather, and her parents Carol and Dennis. My wife (bless her heart) is staying back in Minnesota to care for our two small children. On the rooftop of Hotel Majestic, the city’s first five-star hotel managed by Vietnamese (only $120 a night), we see glass skyscrapers growing right on top of the metropolis’ old colonial architecture. Ho Chi Minh is the south’s former capital and still the country’s largest city at 10 million people. Most call it by its former name: Saigon. Below, mopeds and scooters rule the streets, zipping by with a symphony of honks and beep-beeps. My cousin tells me to quit taking so many photos, for fear someone might run up and steal my iPhone. She teaches me the easiest of Vietnamese words, mostly to describe the delicious food we’re eating. In fact the word delicious, or ngon in Vietnamese (pronounced “nong”), becomes a common refrain at every meal. Eating our first bowls of Vietnam’s famous beef noodle soup together, I ask, “Does it taste good?” “Ngon!” she responds with a smile. In stark contrast to slurping noodles with Hoang Anh is the War Remnants Museum, four stories dedicated to the “American War of Aggression” – and one of Ho Chi Minh’s biggest tourist attractions. Inside, the exhibit walls are covered with graphic photographs depicting Agent Orange’s aftermath. Outside, the machinery of war – old tanks and planes – cover the grounds. My aunt and mother seem numb to the whole experience. “I don’t like to think about war,” my mom says, “and how many people got killed. I don’t really care who is the good side and the bad side. They just killed people.” For The First Time On the ride to my mom’s hometown, I sit next to Nga, another aunt whom I’ve just met for the first time. We communicate with hand gestures and a little translation from my mom. Nga points at my forearm, then shows me her slim legs and arms. I think she’s saying I’m big, and she’s skinny. Soon we pass miles of rice fields. She points to them and then to her dark skin, making a harvesting motion. My mom chimes in, telling me she’s been a rice paddy worker for years. Tay Ninh is 60 miles northwest of Ho Chi Minh, home to massive, ornate temples and a small concrete house where my grandparents lived. The highway is lined with an unending number of storefronts, entrepreneurial businesses selling duck, electric fans, pho, Hello Kitty pillows, mobile phones and caskets. When my mother left more than 40 years ago, her father told her to never look back. When we arrive at the family home, two dozen of my relatives come rushing out, crying as they hug and kiss us. My mom, 66, is the eldest (with her twin sister) of her 10 brothers and sisters, but many of them look older than her. The house has no plumbing, and just three rooms – the largest dedicated solely to two wood-carved altars honouring my grandparents and great-grandfather. We all pose together, snapping photos. They are poor, but as is the case throughout Vietnam, everyone has a smartphone. Several of them even “friend” me on Facebook. My brother wants to take the whole family out to eat. So we dine on catfish, fried rice, salty shrimp, Heineken and whiskey at an outdoor banquet hall. They cook the fish right at our table in a hot pot. Hoang Anh looks to me for my take. “Ngon!” I yell out. For almost 30 people the bill comes to $100. Incredible. One of my uncles talks about postwar life under the communists and the re-education camps. As my mom translates, he holds her hand and places his palm on my brother’s back. He says he makes $3 a day. This will be the only day we spend in Tay Ninh. My mom has never seen the rest of her country, so we’ll travel north, taking Kim Anh and Hoang Anh with us. Enter the Ancient City A few days later, I’m bartering with a street vendor over a pair of sandals for my 3-year-old daughter back home. We’ve moved onto Hoi An, the ancient city of central Vietnam and a popular tourist destination. The rows of little red sandals are laid out on a mat at this night market. Hoang Anh insists she do the bartering for me; her sweet demeanour slipping away as the shoe seller becomes agitated with our offer. My cousin is persistent in her quest to protect us from getting overcharged. The woman swears at her: “Why are you helping them, they’re rich!” After a few more instances of these intense showdowns over $5 trinkets, I tell Hoang Anh she doesn’t have to barter anymore. We can afford it. Hoi An is a maze of mouthwatering street food storefronts, a comforting oasis without the incessant honking of the bigger cities. The relaxed nature of these cafes give my mom more time to reflect. She can’t help but reminisce about physical and emotional scars. At an ice cream shop, she tells a story of her father tortured by the Japanese in the 1940s. Over lunch, she tells the story of how Kim Anh wanted to be a doctor. My aunt adds to the story: the communists wouldn’t let her because my mom lived in the United States. My mom didn’t know that until this moment. “It’s very sad. But that’s life,” my mom says. Today the communists like that we live in the States, Kim Anh says, because we come back as tourists. They call us “Viet Kieu,” meaning Overseas Vietnamese. The Heart of Communist Vietnam Every day in this Hanoi alleyway, a 50-something woman sits on a tiny stool in front of a boiling vat of duck soup. She cuts the duck meat into small pieces with a scissors, dishing it all into bowls sold for $2 to an endless line of customers. It’s the best thing I’ve eaten here: “Ngon,” without a doubt. The alley packs in five other food stalls, a massage parlour and, believe it or not, our hotel ($50 a night). This part of Hanoi is called the Old Quarter, the oldest commercial district in all of Vietnam. People have been selling their wares here since the 13th century. Nearby is the Vietnamese Women’s Museum, five floors devoted to female war commanders who fought in the North’s guerrilla army (their personal pistols are on display). We’re surprised to see another floor dedicated to the country’s agricultural labourers: Instead of handguns, the harvesting blades of field workers hang behind glass displays. “My sister Nga said she could have been dead 100 times!” my mom says, referring to the danger of working in the paddies during lightning storms. We ask my aunt and cousin if they’d like to see Ho Chi Minh’s mausoleum, without a doubt the city’s busiest landmark. I expect them to decline, but they seem genuinely excited. (Uncle Ho is a bit of celebrity in modern Vietnam.) Arriving at 7:30am there must be close to 10,000 people gathered in lines that snake around the compound for blocks. Half of the crowd is grade-school classes. All this simply to see the venerated communist leader’s embalmed body. He died in 1969. Three hours later, we finally make it to the front of the line, his tomb an ominous granite fortress. Inside, the temperature drops and the line of people falls silent. Four armed guards surround his glass casket. You can even see his long, darkened fingernails. Paradise Lost The 220-foot boat glides through the teal-green ocean with ease, the winds of Ha Long Bay blowing through our hair. On Vietnam’s northeastern coast, these otherworldly waters are punctuated by thousands of massive rock formations rising right out of the sea – ancient lore says they were created by dragons to keep out foreign invaders. We’re capping off our two-week journey with an overnight cruise on a 24-cabin vessel called the Dragon Legend (the ship’s bow is actually shaped like the head of a massive serpent). This family-owned operation is impeccable, a true reflection of Vietnamese hospitality. The food is some of the best we’ve had – oversized prawns, succulent fish, and my mom swoons when they bring her extra sticky rice. With every bite, I look to my cousin as if for the last time: “Ngon!” At night, I stand on the deck as the ship rushes past those stone behemoths. The breeze is cool, the waves loud as they crash against the hull. Minnesota is my home, but Vietnam is – finally – a part of my soul. It’s a feeling realised not by this amazing boat, the delicious food or the beautiful hotels. It’s Kim Anh and Hoang Anh. It’s the joy of seeing my brother walk through the streets of the country that bore him. It’s hearing my mom speak her language with her countrymen. Driving to the airport the next day, we prepare to say our goodbyes. My aunt and cousin will take a domestic flight back to Ho Chi Minh City in the south. At the security checkpoint, my mom gives Kim Anh the last of her money. My aunt will go back to work at 5am tomorrow in the markets. Kim Anh asks my mom: “When will we meet each other again?” And they cry together. After a final embrace, my aunt and cousin disappear into the huge lines of Vietnamese heading toward the domestic terminal. We wave and then scurry off to our plane, walking in silence, back to America. – TNS

As the James Webb Space Telescope looks toward the farthest reaches of the universe, it will take direction from a glass-encased room of computer monitors that looks out on Baltimore’s leafy Wyman Park. The images the observatory beams back will be processed and shared with the world from offices just down the hall and up the street. As anticipation builds ahead of the Webb telescope’s October 2018 launch, Baltimore scientists are readying the facilities, equipment, software and personnel that will serve as its eyes and brain on Earth. Researchers at the Space Telescope Science Institute on the edge of the Johns Hopkins University campus will guide the process of deciding where to point the telescope and what to study, as they now do for the Hubble Space Telescope. Institute engineers will hold the reins, radioing instructions to the telescope 1 million miles away and downloading hundreds of gigabits of data every day. “Two minutes after launch, it’ll be the nerve centre,” said Joel Green, a project scientist in the institute’s office of public outreach. For the institute, operated for Nasa by the Association of Universities for Research in Astronomy, the responsibility is heavy but familiar. From 1999 to 2006, it ran both Hubble’s scientific endeavours and its operations. In 2006, the control room moved down the Baltimore-Washington Parkway to the Nasa Goddard Space Flight Center in Greenbelt. With less than a year and a half to go before Webb’s honeycomb-shaped mirror and tennis court-sized sun shield are folded up, loaded onto a rocket and hurled into space, preparations are accelerating. The telescope’s mirror and instruments, constructed at Goddard over the past few years, will head soon to the Nasa Johnson Space Center in Houston for the next phase of testing. A collaboration of Nasa, the European Space Agency and the Canadian Space Agency, the telescope is to be launched from French Guiana aboard a European Ariane 5 rocket. In Baltimore, some of the last equipment and software needed for the launch arrived on the second floor of the institute’s San Martin Drive headquarters in January. Scientists are busy testing them and learning how they will use them in the big moments to come. “We’re conducting rehearsals as though it was launch day,” said Rusty Whitman, flight operations system engineering manager. “We will do that over and over again just like rehearsals for a play. Everyone has a part to play, and everyone has to know their lines.” Webb is the next-generation telescope that has been in planning since Hubble’s earliest days in space more than 25 years ago. Where Hubble, launched in 1990, dramatically transformed understanding of the universe and its history, Webb is designed to see at far greater distances, and with greater sensitivity and clarity. Scientists are hopeful Hubble will remain operational well into Webb’s mission, so that when the new telescope discovers objects of interest, Hubble can follow along. Working together, with their complementary designs and strengths, the two telescopes are expected to again rewrite astronomy books. Astronomers around the world already are brainstorming the research they will be able to pursue — watching the formation of young galaxies, probing around black holes, searching for and exploring Earthlike planets. They are sharing their ideas with scientists at the Baltimore institute, which will co-ordinate the telescope’s order of observations. The start of that exploration is still about two years away. Once Webb leaves Earth, it is scheduled to take six months to unfold, reach its orbit, boot up and get aligned for operation. But given the complexity of the launch and the mission, crunch time is already arriving for the institute’s crew. About 150 people in Baltimore are expected to staff the launch. One hundred will remain based in the flight operations centre and adjoining control rooms 24 hours a day, seven days a week during Webb’s six-month commissioning, Whitman said. That requires training a lot of people. The institute employs about 700, spread across its headquarters, its offices at Hopkins’ Physics and Astronomy Building across San Martin Drive and at the Stieff Silver Building and the Rotunda in Hampden. “We cross-train a lot of people,” Whitman said. “We have at least one backup, if not more, for each role.” If anyone leaves their job, the scientists will have to get someone new up to speed quickly. But most are so dedicated to the long-awaited mission and eager to see it through, Whitman said, that “turnover is not usually a big problem.” Testing is already underway to ensure there is no difficulty communicating with the Deep Space Network, Nasa’s set of 230-foot-tall antennas in California, Spain and Australia. The network will be in constant communication with Webb during its commissioning. It will eventually cut that contact down to two four-hour exchanges each day. The institute is also readying for the masses of data Webb will send back, with plans to store the information in basement servers while exploring other big data solutions, Green said. It performed a similar function for Hubble from 1999 to 2006. This time around, Webb will transmit hundreds of times more data. Eric Smith, programme director for Nasa, said the space agency decided years ago to locate the primary mission operations centre at the Baltimore institute for reasons of efficiency. “The idea was to have the end-to-end missions operations within one organisation … to streamline things and reduce costs,” he wrote in an e-mail. The institute’s past leaders have downplayed the importance of hosting the control centre. When it was shifted south to Goddard in 2006, Bruce Margon, then the institute’s associate director for science, told The Baltimore Sun the move was of “essentially no significance.” Given the speed and ease of electronic communication, there is less of a case for combining Webb’s scientific and operational headquarters than there was with Hubble, said Robert Williams, the institute’s director from 1993 to 1998. But it is still easier when in-person meetings are required, he said. “We spend an awful lot of time on the parkway between here and Goddard,” Williams said. Other scientists said it will be valuable to have the engineers guiding the telescope and the astronomers using it in the same place. After all, for the engineers, Whitman said, “their whole reason to be here is to support the science.” And there is also symbolic meaning. “It feels like the heartbeat of JWST will be in the building,” Summers said. —The Baltimore Sun/TNS

My first trip on a Lake Michigan ferry was 25 years ago, and it didn’t go as planned. I was working a Saturday shift at The Chicago Sun-Times, facing a six-hour, late-night drive to Frankfort, Michigan, to meet my then-girlfriend/now-wife. There was a story in the paper about the SS Badger, a ferry between Wisconsin and Michigan. I’d read about crossing the lake by ferry in William Least Heat-Moon’s 1982 road-trip classic, Blue Highways: A Journey into America, and always wanted to give it a try. A plan was hatched. I’d book myself on the midnight boat, walk the decks a bit and maybe have a bite or two, then spend the rest of the four-hour crossing sleeping in my car. We’d hit the dock in Ludington, Michigan, at 5am, and I’d roll into Frankfort for breakfast, bearing tales of my trans-Great Lake adventure. Did I mention I’m not one of those people who reads the fine print? “Oh no,” the friendly Northern accent told me as I rolled up to the loading dock and tried to wave him off. “We load and unload the car for ya. No access to the vehicles during the crossing.” Thus did I come to lie out under a blanket of stars, slightly shivering on a more-or-less comfortable deck chair, lulled in and out of sleep by the thrumming of the steam engines beneath me, and the surging water all around. Don’t get the idea that this is a typical Badger crossing. Many people spend the extra $49 on a stateroom, which I did years later when travelling with my toddler son. Others curl up in one of the many warm and comfortable seating areas inside. And there’s only one overnight boat. Most people cross the lake during the day or evening. What they all share is the pleasure of turning a routine travel experience – the hectic drive out of Chicago, under the lake, and up into Michigan – into something memorable. You don’t need to take one of the two Lake Michigan ferries.  Neither will save you time or money. I’m here to tell you that you should, at least once. The aforementioned Badger is the elder of the two Lake Michigan boats, having operated daily, three-season service between Manitowoc, Wisconsin, and Ludington since 1953.  At slightly more than 400ft with a capacity of 600 people and 180 cars, it’s more like a ship than a ferry. And there is a pleasant sense of stepping back in time, to when travel was more of an event.  Passengers can walk the decks or sit out on the deck chairs. And there’s plenty of seating inside, along with a small movie theatre, a museum and a snack bar. The staterooms are spartan but more than comfortable enough for the few hours they’re needed. The high-speed Lake Express, running from Milwaukee to Muskegon, Michigan, is more like a typical ferry, making the trip in 2.5 hours. Launched in 2004, its passenger area is newer than the Badger, with comfortable seats and handy tables.  Screens overhead generally show a kid-friendly movie, with sound available on headphones, which is also helpful for those more interested in reading a book or getting some work done. It’s possible to walk on deck, but the wind and speed of the boat makes the experience more exhilarating than relaxing. Neither boat will save you money from Chicago. The Badger is $59 each way per adult, plus $59 for your car. A stateroom adds a single charge of $49. The Lake Express is $91.50 per adult, plus $101 for your car. There is a “premier” cabin aimed at business travellers, with a $113 one-way ticket getting you complimentary Wi-Fi, electrical outlets and other amenities. Both boats have discounted rates for children, with little ones under 5 sailing for free. Both also offer rates for trucks, trailers, RVs, motorcycles and bicycles. As for me, I’ll always remember that first trip, sleeping under a dark sky and being grateful for the big fleece pullover I fortuitously bought at an outlet mall on the drive up to Manitowoc.  A group of bikers next to me shared stories of their ride across the Great Plains from South Dakota. And a family of five hustled onto the forward deck and staked a claim, arranging deck chairs into a huge bed which they covered with sleeping bags and pillows for an epic family sleep-out. I haven’t pulled that one off with my brood yet. We travel to northern Michigan several times a year, and we usually drive because it simply makes more sense. Still, my kids have sailed on each of the Lake Michigan ferries at least once.  And while one never knows what lessons children truly absorb, here’s hoping they’ve at least learned that life is too short to always take the way that “makes more sense.” – Chicago Tribune/TNS

I never had a yearning to visit Atlanta. It just wasn’t a city on my radar. I’d flown through it a few times on my way to other cities, but hadn’t ever considered it as a travel destination. But when my mother, sister and I were trying to decide where to meet up for our annual girls’ weekend, we decided, why not try out Atlanta?  Flights to the city are cheap from Los Angeles and New York, our respective towns, and in February the weather was perfect for a visit. Much like Los Angeles, Atlanta is a sprawling metropolis. There’s not really one area where you can stay and walk to see the attractions, so our first challenge was finding a good location for our hotel. A friend in Georgia suggested Decatur, a charming suburb.  We booked a room at the Courtyard Marriott in downtown Decatur, a nice hotel for less than $200 a night within walking distance of the town square, restaurants, shops and Atlanta’s public transportation system, MARTA. There are three MARTA rail stations in Decatur alone, making it easy to hop aboard and get to many other spots of interest. Decatur is delightful. It has an old-time charm complete with historic brick buildings and lots of the lush greenery you find everywhere in Georgia. Even in late February, trees were beginning to flower. The afternoon of our arrival, we wandered the square, poking in a variety of shops, then had local drinks paired with chips and guacamole at a place on the square called Raging Burrito and Taco. After more lazy wandering, then resting up and fancying up back at the hotel, we had dinner at the Brick Store Pub, which had been recommended by several locals.  The interior is full of wood and cozy corners and the atmosphere was lively. Local food is the star here and our dinner was very high end for pub fare. I had pan-seared rainbow trout on a bed of spaghetti squash for $17, and I have to say it was one of the best restaurant meals I’ve had in a long time.  My sister tried the pan-seared duck for $22 and our mother went traditional with fish and chips ($13), which were crisped to perfection. After the meal, we caught an Uber to the historic Fox Theatre in midtown Atlanta, which was about a 115-minute jaunt in the car. There, we saw the Alvin Ailey dance company, which was gorgeous and moving, but it’s worth a trip just to see the theatre itself.  Built in 1929, the Fox has a Moorish design and feels like a strange and beautiful old castle complete with artificial starry sky. The theatre hosts a variety of shows, ballets and acts, from Chris Rock to “Hedwig and the Angry Inch,” and was the site of Prince’s final concert. Midtown is filled with bars, restaurants and swank hotels, and many visitors often stay in the area to see a show or shows, and dine. We, however, were tired and full and decided to take the MARTA back to the hotel. Cheaper than an Uber, but a bit more time-consuming, MARTA is fairly clean, safe and inexpensive. It delivered us safely. Day 2 The highlight of our trip was a bike tour we took on Saturday through several Atlanta neighbourhoods, hosted by a great little company called Bicycle Tours of Atlanta. Founded by a former building inspector named Robyn Elliot, this company puts on three tours. We chose “Fall in Love with Atlanta,” a three-hour, 8-mile adventure for $65 per person.  This jaunt took us and six others of varying ages through historic neighbourhoods including the Atlanta BeltLine, Inman Park (giant old mansions, including the home formerly owned by Coca-Cola’s founder), Little Five Points (the arts district), the Old Fourth Ward (Martin Luther King Jr’s childhood home is here) and Cabbagetown (a funky neighbourhood with murals and condos built in the glorious brick ruins of an old cotton mill). We also biked through the historic Oakland Cemetery, rode by the Jimmy Carter Center and the King Historic District, stopped at a bakery for treats, learned lots of fun facts about the city, and held a photo shoot on the overpass looking toward downtown, where several iconic scenes from the TV show The Walking Dead were filmed. I can’t say enough good things about this tour. February was a great time to take it because it was in the high 60s and sunny.  Our guides, Robyn Elliot and Tim Cordier, kept us safe, told great stories and had electric bike options for cyclists not quite ready for some of the city’s hills. It was a really fun way to see neighbourhoods and homes I would’ve missed by car, and it actually did make me fall in love with Atlanta. After turning in our bikes, we walked down to the Krog Street Market area and had Tex-Mex at Superica, a very hip place with great music and atmosphere but not the most amazing food. It was decent though, and worth it for the atmosphere. Day 3 Our last day in Atlanta, we drove to Cabbagetown and dined at the Carroll Street Cafe, an eclectic spot with giant windows and funky decor that our biking guide had recommended.  The waffles were amazing, as was the lazy, conversational vibe. On our way back to the airport, we had time to stop at Atlantic Station, an outdoor shopping and dining area on the northwestern edge of midtown with stores such as Ann Taylor, American Apparel and Dillard’s. As you can likely tell, the highlights of the city for us were bikes and food. But there was so much we didn’t have time to see.  On a second trip, I’d actually go inside the King and Carter centres; tour the botanical gardens, which are supposed to be amazing; and check out the aquarium. A tour of the Coca-Cola factory is also supposed to be fairly entertaining. From now on, Atlanta is definitely on my radar. – The Orange County Register/TNS

You may have read, or more likely heard, all kinds of things about Marfa, Texas. That it’s super cool. That it’s a foodie destination. That it’s right next to Big Bend. That it’s completely overrated. If you’ve been to the fabled West Texas town, you undoubtedly have your own opinion about it, perhaps a strong one. If you haven’t been, maybe you’re thinking of heading there one day soon. Plenty has been written on the subject, much of it pretty puffed up. I’m here to give you Marfa, unvarnished. First, a few things to get out of the way: The fake Prada store is not in Marfa. It’s 26 miles out of town, to the northwest, but ART (with a capital A-R-T) and artifice are everywhere in town. Even the tumbleweeds look curated.  Most people you see on the street (and in the galleries and boutiques and dining rooms) look wealthy. Bearded hipster dads and tattooed moms push babies in expensive strollers. Cool-looking older couples (she with beautiful long grey hair, he with fabulous turquoise jewellery) sip espresso in front of the new boutique hotel, the Saint George. Everyone over 60 has exquisite taste. As far as food goes, not terrible is generally the best you can hope for. As far as sleep goes, there’s a train that barrels through the centre of town every few hours all night long every night – blaring its horn! Does it sound like I hated Marfa? I didn’t. I loved it. Friends told me to stay a day and a half, two days max. After spending three days and three nights, I still felt there was plenty more to see and do. Marfa is remote, about 450 miles from Dallas, which is part of what drew the late American artist Donald Judd to purchase land there (with the help of the Dia Art Foundation) in 1979 and to create his Chinati Foundation. If you’re into art and attracted by Judd’s minimalist aesthetic, chances are you will love Marfa, as his sensibility informs the whole town. It also helps if you’re drawn to desert landscapes and enjoy hiking.  If that’s the case, set your pretension radar on low-sensitivity and plan a jaunt. If you’re not an art or hiking enthusiast and you find yourself in Marfa, this is how your visit will probably go. Arriving in the late afternoon, you’ll stroll down the main drag, admire the 1886 Presidio County Courthouse, poke your head into a trendy boutique or two, take a spin through the lobby of the historic Hotel Paisano (where the cast and crew of “Giant” stayed when the 1956 epic was filmed), browse in its souvenir shops, find a restaurant, have a disappointing dinner. Wherever you stay, you’ll sleep fitfully (darn that train!), and in the morning, glug weak coffee, stare down rubbery eggs and wonder what you’ll do today now that you’ve seen all the sights. Oh, lunch at Food Shark – the Airstream trailer you’ve seen pictured a hundred times. If you’re wondering why people make such a fuss about pretty good falafels and kebabs, consider this: It’s one of the few decent meals in town. Take your plate to the covered patio of the abandoned-looking house on the same property and enjoy. OK, you’ve done Marfa; you probably will not be back, especially as getting there involves a long drive, or a flight, a car rental then several hours on the road. But that’s OK: Your absence will help Keep Marfa Painfully Hip. If you are an art lover, Marfa is absolutely worth a voyage, and then some. Block out more time than you think you’ll need to visit the Chinati Foundation, where the emphasis is “works in which art and the surrounding landscape are inextricably linked.”  On the site of a former Army fort on the edge of town, on a stretch of the spare and beautiful Chihuahuan Desert, it is marvellously immersive. My friends and I played it (probably too) chill, opting for a self-guided tour. We breezed into the visitor centre at 3:40pm on a Saturday, minutes before the two artillery sheds housing Donald Judd’s untitled 100 works in mill aluminium closed, and had to rush through, which was a shame.  Happily, we were able to take our time exploring Judd’s 15 concrete works, blocks and boxes strung along a kilometre-long trail through the desert, gorgeous in the late-afternoon light. (Even in late October, we needed hats and water.) Next we headed to the untitled Robert Irwin installation a short hop from the visitor centre, which debuted last July on the site of what used to be the military hospital. Our timing was key, as the play of light is an important part of the controversial piece that bridges art, architecture and landscape. What’s the controversy? Its construction involved the demolition of a landmark. In any case, we couldn’t tear ourselves away from the installation, an experiential walk through a squared-off horseshoe-shaped hallway from darkness into light. We spent the better part of the next hour just sitting in the courtyard, enjoying the way the fading light played on Irwin’s basalt sculpture and graceful palo verde trees. Feeling elated and fulfilled – and in need of refreshment – we headed back to the Saint George, keen for an iced coffee in the hotel’s lounge, already a gathering place for Marfa’s People of Taste. Was iced coffee an unusual request? All the ice had melted in the glasses of watery, not-cold liquid we were served. You’d think a 7-month-old, super-chic boutique hotel in the desert would be able to manage simple iced beverages, but breakfast in the lounge that morning had been just as lame: heavy, dried-out pastries; weak coffee; scrambled egg on a breakfast sandwich cooked till it smelled like burnt rubber. The previous evening, dinner at LaVenture, the hotel’s tony restaurant, started out well: a nice carpaccio sliced from locally raised beef, spot-on handmade whole wheat garganelli pasta with chanterelles, roasted cauliflower and bread crumbs. But things fell apart. We sat for aeons as sauce congealed on our long-finished appetiser plates.  We had higher hopes for dinner the next night. Our plan was to hit a promising-looking new restaurant, Stellina, just across Highland Avenue (the main drag) from the hotel. I’d called earlier to ask about a reservation – not accepted, but we should be able to grab a table or a spot at the spacious bar, I was told, anytime before 9:30. First we wanted to check out Capri, a brand-new restaurant in a gracious, rustic space with a wild and lush garden across the street from the Thunderbird Hotel, from the same owner.. Instead we hurried to Stellina, only to be told we wouldn’t be seated, as the kitchen was closing early. On a Saturday night. “We do that sometimes, when it’s slow,” said the guy at the host stand. “But look,” I said, gesturing to the mostly occupied room. “You’re busy.” “We’re a small town,” he said, smiling wanly and looking frankly a little sorry for me. We should have returned to the Capri. Instead, we dined at Cochineal. Sad to say, the big-deal restaurant of yesterday has evidently passed its prime. Lovely patio, but the chicken plate tasted like a turkey TV dinner. Marfa being Marfa, the next day more than made up for it (and no, that little cafe and juice bar the locals frequent isn’t any better for breakfast than the Saint George). We drove about 25 minutes north, through Fort Davis to Davis Mountains State Park. There we took an invigorating hike on a 4.3-mile loop that climbed 900ft, leading to spectacular views of Fort Davis below and the mountains in the distance. (Start at the Interpretive Center, take the Skyline Trail and return via the Old CCC Trail.) Lunch was big, sloppy burgers at the old-fashioned Fort Davis Drug Store and Hotel – delicious in spite of the fact the kitchen won’t serve them medium-rare; everything within a 25-mile radius of Marfa apparently must be cooked well-done. There’s more to do in and around Fort Davis: We attempted a scenic desert walk at the Chihuahuan Desert Research Institute, but it was closed on Sunday. My trip wasn’t timed properly to allow a visit to McDonald Observatory, which regularly hosts star-viewing parties. There’s more I want to see in Marfa. We did stroll through a number of galleries, but missed some important ones. We spent a night in one of the teepees at El Cosmico, Austin hotelier Liz Lambert’s terribly chic trailer and teepee lodging. So I will be back. In fact, putting this story together is putting me in the mood to do so soon. Maybe I’ll stay at the Thunderbird Hotel, since I liked the vibe at Capri so much. Curious about it, too? Go to the Thunderbird website (thunderbirdmarfa.com) and click on the slideshow to see a photo of the hotel’s exterior, with its cool xeriscape garden. After a couple of seconds, a caption will emerge over the image: WE’RE OPEN WHEN WE’RE OPEN Duly warned. – The Dallas Morning News/TNS

“In Jomsom Bazaar, wind blows at noon.” These lines are from a popular song by the folk-rock band, Nepathya.  Jomsom is a spectacular getaway to tourist destinations of the Himalayas located in the western district of Mustang. One can move to Upper Mustang or Kagbeni or Muktinath on north, or step down south to Marpha from the bustling town of Jomsom, or Dzongsam (New Fort) in local dialect.  Jomsom, at an altitude of 2,760m from the sea level, sprawls over the bank of serene Kali Gandaki River. Dhaulagiri and Nilgiri mountain ranges form the background of the broad canvas of Jomsom.  Going to Jomsom from the southern town of Pokhara, one crosses tranquil villages, small forests, gentle waterfalls and Tibet-like topography. This trekking trail falls in a valley in-between kaleidoscopic Annapurna and Dhaulagiri ranges. This trekking site attracts more than half of the tourists who come to Nepal. The town of Jomsom leads to the Mustang Eco Museum on its northern border, showcasing its history and culture; some of the materials at the Museum date back to 800BC. Muktinath, a popular destination in the northeast, can be accessed by a two-hour jeep drive from Jomsom. Religious tourists visit Muktinath from as far as south of India and across the world.  Kagbeni village is 10km north east of Jomsom. Kagbeni is popular for its grey landscapes, and visitors can walk into it along the bank of Kali Gandaki River. In Kagbeni, one can visit a monastery built back in 1429. Marpha, south of Jomsom, is an old Buddhist settlement with an enlarged and time-honoured monastery. Jomsom is the destination point of Annapurna Circuit Trek – the most appealing mountain experience in Nepal. The trek takes around three weeks to finish and starts from Besi Sahar. One can go to Besi Sahar directly from the capital city of Kathmandu, or from Pokhara. The trek goes through Bhulbule, Ghermu, Tal, Chame, Pisang, Manang, Yak Kharka, Thorung Phedi, Muktinath and Kagbeni to Jomsom, and back to Naya Pul and Pokhara. There is vast climatic diversity within Nepal – from Gangetic plains in the south to the arresting mountains towards the north. The north of Nepal is the final destination for the mountain lovers from all over the world. There, tourists love the rush of adrenaline in their veins enjoying paragliding, canyoning, climbing, paragliding, mountain biking, bungee jumping and rafting.  Going further north is all about walking and climbing, and Jomsom appears at the crossroads of the two activities. The city of Jomsom is soaked with Thakali culture. One can rest with a bottle of local drinks, or enjoy authentic Thakali cuisine.  Many who go to Jomsom end up saying that going there once is not enough.

A naturally-lit, airy corridor flanked on a side by a thick growth of trees is an anomaly for a typical hotel corridor, which by default across the world is akin to a dimly lit alley. A pitched-roof pavilion open on all sides and surrounded by water, instead of the usual reception desk is also an out-of-the-box concept. So is a resort with waterslides and free-form pools spread out among landscaped tropical gardens. Gulf Times came across such sights and more in the enchanting province of Krabi in southern Thailand earlier this month during a familiarisation trip organised by Qatar Airways in association with the Tourism Authority of Thailand. The variety and diversity of hotels and resorts across Thailand is reflected in Krabi, highlighting the availability of a well-developed infrastructure that helps the country sustain and further develop its position as a premier travel destination. Sofitel Krabi Phokeethra Golf and Spa Resort, surrounded by a lush tropical garden, is a just a few steps from the quiet Klong Muang Beach and Andaman Sea. The gentle breeze from the sea greets guests as they enter the lobby, which is open at the front and back. The 10-year-old 5-star property has 276 rooms spread across three floors on two wings on either side of the lobby. A walk along the corridors is in itself a relaxing and rejuvenating experience. The green surroundings soothe the eyes. Chirping of birds during the day and crickets at night is a treat to the ears. Fresh air calms the mind and body. The views from the rooms are also full of lush greenery. Plastic bags or bottles are not used in the hotel. Drinking water is supplied in glass bottles in the rooms. The laundry and shoe bags are from recycled fabrics. In line with the policy of Accor Hotels, guests have the option to reuse their towels and bedspreads. The hotel group claims to plant one tree every minute with savings made on water and energy. Phulay Bay, a Ritz-Carlton Reserve in Krabi, is where the reception desk is replaced with a traditional Thai pavilion, surrounded by water. The debut Reserve property of the Ritz-Carlton Hotel Company, Phulay Bay is cradled by white-sand beaches below and limestone cliffs above. Thai for ‘where the mountains meet the sea,’ Phulay Bay is described as a luxurious hidden retreat, ‘designed for those who seek to escape the stresses of everyday life and immerse themselves into a completely bespoke and personally-tailored-to-suit vacation experience.’ Set on the shores of the Andaman Sea, Phulay Bay is a beautiful 54-villa and pavilion boutique hotel, a work of the noted Thai architect Lek Bunnag. Twenty ft high aubergine walls and ‘hedges’ made from indigenous trees create a sort of maze that secludes guests from the outside world. The ESPA villa at Phulay Bay is another avenue for relaxation and rejuvenation with stepping stones meandering through the spa leading to decked walkways and relaxation terraces surrounded by vegetation and reflection ponds.  Phulay Bay uses rainwater harvesting in addition to channelling the natural water flowing from the mountains, Puntip Cartlidge, director of business development, told Gulf Times. “We have significantly reduced the amount of plastic bottles in the last three months and plan to replace all plastic bottles from the guest-rooms with glass in 2017,” she explained. Currently, the plastic bottles used are recycled. Plastic bags have given way to those with recycled fabrics. Tapping solar energy is next on the agenda. “This is something we are currently investigating,” the official said while revealing that more environment-friendly measures are in the pipeline for 2017. Phulay Bay also has an organic chef’s garden on property.  “We have a spa garden which is utilised by the spa for treatments and a nursery on our land which partly supports our in-house decoration,” she added. Holiday Inn Resort, Krabi, Ao Nang Beach is a green haven within walking distance of the main shopping and entertainment centres. A total of 173 rooms and suites are spread across wings dedicated to couples and families, some with private balconies and direct access to the pool. The views on offer include that of the resort pool, a natural mangrove patch or the scenic Ao Nang Bay. (Qatar Airways flies from Doha to Krabi and back on Monday, Tuesday, Friday and Saturday. Flight QR824 departs Doha at 5.30am and arrives in Krabi at 4.20pm. Flight QR825 departs Krabi at 5.20pm and arrives in Doha at 8.45pm. Krabi, GMT +7, is four hours ahead of Doha).

It is incredibly quiet on the little canal. To the right, a heron stands motionless in a field. A huge muskrat peers inquisitively through the dense verdure of the river bank. The branches of the trees on either side meet above the water, earning the Marais Poitevin marshlands the somewhat lofty nicknames of “cathedral of nature” and “green Venice.” To anyone who comes here for a boat trip, both descriptions immediately make sense. The 100,000-hectare wetland region, which stretches to France’s Atlantic coast, is a natural paradise, a unique ecosystem, and a tourist attraction. Boats are the most popular means of exploring the Marais Poitevin. In the past, these were fashioned from oak, while today many are made of fibreglass. Until around 1960, several places here were only accessible by boat, with animals, straw, and building materials also having to be transported in this way. There are plenty of boat tours on offer. One of the most popular spots to embark is the Embarcadere Cardinaud in Magné, a short way east of Coulon, which boasts several snug hotels and restaurants, and a great number of canals. This is as scenic a spot as any in the region. In places, the marshy landscape takes on an almost surreal quality. During the peak season in summer, boats set off by the minute from this part of the Marais. But once you enter the seemingly endless system of canals, they are soon only visible in the distance. You can explore the Marais alone, by following the signposted waterways in your boat, or as part of a tour, with up to 10 passengers perched on narrow benches. The boatman stands at the stern, punting ahead with his paddle, and pointing out features that would surely otherwise just pass the passengers by. Those who are busy limit themselves to an hour, although longer tours are available. Some families stay the whole day — including lunch at one of the picnic areas. The water in the canals flows very slowly. Often, the trees stand so close to the banks that you have to duck your head to avoid their branches. The area abounds with wildlife. Muskrats — called “ragondin” in French — are prized in the region for their meat. They have to be hunted to control their numbers. Pate de ragondin is considered a specialty and is sold in jars at several locations. Deer, wild boar, martens, bats, and otters also live in the Marais. And eels of course — another culinary classic. The marshland around Coulon, Sansais, Le Mazeau or Maille also lends itself extremely well to exploration by bike. Traffic is generally light, even on the small roads. An extensive network of signposted cycle paths, some 850 kilometres in total, connects the many small towns and villages. Some follow the river Sevre or the canals. Pedalling along the narrow forest paths, the smell of leaves in the air is accompanied by a deep silence, broken intermittently by a cow mooing in the distance. On the cycle paths, you are alone for kilometres at a time. At one point, you have to dismount to cross a narrow, steep wooden bridge over a canal, the grey-brown water of which seems hardly to be flowing at all. Another time, a pheasant struts across the forest track. In Village de Sevres, however, there are a surprising number of cars right on the bank. And in front of them sit men in weatherproof clothing on folding chairs, holding their long fishing rods in the water, over which two coots practise synchronised flying. These are the moments when it is worth stopping and parking the bike, just to take in your surroundings. —DPA

With his grey top hat, red waistcoat and watch chain, Juergen Schmidt has evidently dropped in from a different century to guide tour groups through Wittenberge, a former industrial town halfway between Berlin and Hamburg. Today he is playing the role of Salomon Herz, a Jewish entrepreneur who traded in grain and rapeseed oil and helped turn this insignificant town on the River Elbe into a thriving manufacturing centre. Herz established Germany’s first oil trading company and ensured that a rail link to Berlin was built. The building housing the press is now a hotel, with one of the old tanks converted into an indoor climbing wall, while the other is a plunge pool. The old tower for loading and unloading the riverboats is now the hotel’s “Beach Bar,” from where the new promenade along the Elbe can be viewed with its joggers and cyclists. As he leads his tour party through the streets Schmidt recalls the days of communist East Germany, when Wittenberge had a population of 32,000 and was home to industrial concerns. Today that population has dwindled to 17,500. A factory making sewing machines was originally set up by the US company Singer in 1902, with the company insisting that a river port had to be built. In the 1920s it was expanded, with a huge clock tower that remains the city’s best known landmark to this day. The factory continued under the Singer name until World War II, and after that production went on under a different name until 1992. “Look out below,” a woman shouts from above, and Schmidt’s group turns its eyes upwards to the top of the half-timbered house, where a head in an old-fashioned white nightcap looks out of the window as she empties a chamber pot. “Mr Salomon! I didn’t know you would be walking along here with your guests,” she shouts. Schmidt explains that this method of getting rid of the “night soil” was standard into the second half of the 19th century. “There was no sewage system,” he says. Right up to World War I few houses had indoor toilets or bathrooms, and a weekly visit to the bath house in Steinstrasse was routine for those who valued personal hygiene. “It was in use into the 1970s,” Schmidt says. The walls on the church square at the heart of 19th century Wittenberge still have the iron rings where animals were tied up. Livestock were traded here, the deal being sealed with a glass of local schnapps. At this point Hedwig, the pharmacist’s wife shows up offering the local brand of herbal liquor. “It’s purely medicinal,” says Hedwig. “You’re looking a bit pale. Have a glass.” Burkhard Genth is standing in front of the local museum in a black suit and bowler hat, playing the role of Karl Singer. The museum, a half-timbered structure, dates back to 1669. As a centre of the sewing machine industry Wittenberge is home to a large collection. At its peak the town was producing 300,000 sewing machines a year, many for export. “In the 1980s it was the town’s biggest employer with a staff of 3,200,” Genth says. The last model was developed in 1989 — the year the Berlin Wall came down — but never went into production. —DPA

How is it possible? How can they all be so jaw-droppingly, picture-perfect blue? The vast rivers and lakes beside the saw-toothed Canadian Rockies of central Alberta in Canada are an otherworldly, electric shade of turquoise. Staring at them makes you wonder if you walked out of reality and into a surreal Instagram. While visiting backcountry Canada was never high on my life list, several adventurous, outdoorsy friends thought otherwise. I’m grateful I joined them in June on a weeklong visit to Banff, the home of Canada’s oldest national park, one of its best known and most popular. I’ve taken trips expecting “good.” This was one of the most delightful I have ever had, an experience akin to falling completely in love. Some experiences were daunting. Hikes up the inexhaustible trails can be gruelling. With significant wolf and bear populations, this is not a petting zoo. It is worth the effort. It will help form your definition of scenic beauty. Canada has more lakes, rivers and forests than any other nation, and Canadians, not prone to hyperbole, call this its most breath-taking area. And how. If this panoply of beauty isn’t God’s country, there’s no such place. The epic mountains on all sides rival the Matterhorn majesty of the Alps. (In fact, it was Swiss and Austrian mountain guides who introduced skiing to the area in 1909.) Spending a week wandering the Continental Divide triggers the kind of joyful awe that we can all use more of in our lives. There’s a sheer beauty to its no-signs, no-graffiti barrenness. Everything feels unbelievably huge and unpopulated as if it didn’t exist on Earth, but on a distant planet far from people. The province of Alberta comprises 255,000 square miles, about three times the size of Minnesota; with 4 million people, it has about a third less population. Even the visitors don’t ruin the effect. Banff National Park deservedly drew 3.6 million visitors in its 2014-15 season, most of them Albertans and other Canadians. Back to those heart-melting azure streams and ponds. Geologists say their shimmering hues are caused by sunlight refracting against glittering silt-sized rock flour constantly deposited at the lake bed by thundering waterfalls. I’m not buying that explanation. I think it’s a gimmick hatched by Canadian tourism authorities to make the shores around Banff National Park some of the most photographed locations on the planet, just like they added the area’s ski resorts and four-star hotels. Or else it’s an iridescent miracle, like the Northern Lights, which I am convinced do not strictly stem from charged particles colliding in the Earth’s magnetic field. Elemental mysteries such as these deserve more than technical explanations. Our home base was Banff and its adjacent Banff National Park, a truly extraordinary institution about a 90-minute drive north of Calgary. It was the first national park designated in Canada and the third in the world. The area was settled at the end of the 19th century, having been “discovered” in 1883 by three workers building the Canadian Pacific Railroad who immediately recognised the commercial potential of its mineral hot springs. They offered rare swimming pools in a country whose lakes are eternally too cold to breaststroke. Its status as a sacred site to local First Nations people didn’t weigh heavily on the men’s conscience, so they built a fence around the Cave and Basin natural hot springs and started building a tourist cabin. Two years later, the prime minister created a 10-square-mile reserve around the area for the Banff Hot Springs, launching Canada’s national park system. Banff National Park, now a Unesco World Heritage Site, covers 2,500 square miles, very little of it scarred by human meddling. We spent every day of our stay meandering in beautiful serendipity. Stunning Lake Louise and baby blue Peyto Lake are a good hour’s drive north from Banff, and the Icefields Parkway, where you can walk directly up to limitless tons of pristine glacial ice, is a lot farther away. But we motored there along the jagged spine of the Canadian Rockies, seeing imposing mountain vistas that rewarded us tenfold. It was so scenic and filled with caribou that I would have been happy if we had crossed the route by dog sled. The tidy tourist sanctuary of Banff in the Bow Valley is the highest city in Canada, with an elevation just under a mile. It’s an environmental enthusiasts’ mecca, offering uphill hikers not prone to altitude sickness a splendid view of the surrounding countryside. If you prefer high-level trips without physical exertion, ride the Banff Gondola to the viewing decks and trails atop Sulfur Mountain. Climb a few thousand feet higher and you pass the tree line, proceeding to slippery snowfields that make June feel like a good time to be wearing ice crampons. That was the top mission for my companions, who decided that sightseeing from ground level was not enough. We would climb a mountain. Not with crampons and rope, but hiking shoes and sweat and shortness of breath and vertigo and group momentum. The average American walks about a flat mile-and-a-half per week. We’d show them. We went clambering up to the shoulder of nearby Mount Edith Cavell, a prominent peak considered the area’s second hardest to hike, and the loveliest. We marched up and down a total of about 6 miles along serpentine switchbacks, nearing its 11,000-foot peak, me following at my own glacial pace. Several high-profile grizzly attacks in the area this season were thankfully nonlethal, but they had me feeling like one of those unfortunate toddlers who wander through a zoo enclosure and into the lair of a carnivorous animal thinking about lunch. To keep hundreds of local bears away, we carried a noisy reindeer sleigh bell (I thought of it as the dinner bell) and a can of pressurised pepper spray (for me to carry and shoot as needed, although I have never squirted anything but bug spray). We did not encounter anything but mountain goats and enviably fast rival Alpinists, whose sudden approaches from behind made me as fidgety as deputy Barney Fife with his revolver drawn. Our nine-hour climb to the top and descent across the back was punishing at the start and terrifying at the finish, where we slid across sloping mountain fields of small loose stones, primed to avalanche away wherever a footstep encountered them. I expected to end the death march as broken as those rock fragments, with a small memorial bearing my name at the base of the crags. Did I mention the shoe-skidding snow bluffs? Having survived, I have to say the endeavour was awesome, lifting me above old fears and introducing me to new levels of confidence. If anyone invites you, the correct response is, “Sounds great! Let’s go!” Before peak tourist season, Banff is a charming town of about 9,000 inhabitants, cool enough that Sports Illustrated shot its annual swimsuit edition there in 2011. Its wide streets are home to art galleries, antique stores, a nice selection of eating establishments, pubs and a couple of late-night dance venues that crowd up even midweek. Just a pleasant stroll away is the extraordinary Fairmont Banff Springs Hotel, a castle-like grand hotel in Scottish baronial style almost too vast and beautiful to be taken seriously. Its gigantic reception rooms, huge foyer and panoramic dining-room vistas of the countryside were constructed of marble and stone 125 years ago by the Canadian Pacific Railroad for Victorian gents and golf course putters of comfortable means. “If we cannot export the scenery, we will have to import the tourists” to experience moose, mountains and Mounties, railroad baron Sir William Cornelius Van Horne reportedly said. The stately pile’s guests have included King George VI and Queen Elizabeth, Marilyn Monroe and Winston Churchill. My less-celebrated group stayed at a wonderful century-old Airbnb four-bedroom house directly facing the swift, scenic blue Bow River. It was pretty opulent, too. The closest relative to a mansion that you can hope to find in a village, it was the ancestral home of the prosperous family that founded the nearby Whyte Museum of the Canadian Rockies, one of the best collections of mountain art in western Canada. The galleries host a charming collection of old landscapes, modern art and community memorabilia such as moccasins and old-school camping tools, and offer guided tours through Banff’s most historic buildings. The museum even houses a vintage helicopter with a small bubble cockpit that visitors can climb aboard. The chopper is indoors and unable to take visitors up to the alpine zone, or I would have reserved it for an afternoon sightseeing ascent rather than wearing out my boots. I have warm memories of my toe-jamming, knee-pounding visit up Mount Edith, but I’m not nuts. —Star Tribune /TNS