Category: Travel

Australia! Land of kangaroos and aborigines and didgeridoos. A shell-shaped opera house. Pristine beaches, fish and chips, box jellyfish, breathtaking harbors and boomerangs. Oh, and we can’t forget the Outback! Australia’s own heart of darkness, a ghastly blank, wild, expansive and arid interior. The kind of rugged terrain only a well-rigged 4×4 should tackle. I hear there’s a large rock out there.

Australia is one of those countries that would take years to properly explore. As an American, exposed in my youth to the likes of Steve Irwin and Crocodile Dundee, I had my own idea of what Australia would be like. It wasn’t until I picked up Bill Bryson’s In a Sunburned Country that I realized how ridiculous/remarkable/under-appreciated a country Australia was. Did you know that:

• the aborgines have the oldest continuously maintained culture on Earth? They inhabited Australia at least 40,000 years before the first Europeans arrived.

• of the world’s ten most poisonous snakes, all are Australian?

• five of its creatures (the box jellyfish, blue-ringed octopus, paralysis tick and stonefish) are the most lethal of their kind in the world?

• no other nation lost more men in WWI as a proportion of population?

• Australia boasts the longest straight stretch of railroad track in the world, 297 miles without a hint of deviation?

I was exhilarated to visit such a fascinating country.

Perth

My first stop was Perth, capital of the Western Australia state and one of the world’s biggest exporters of minerals. Gold, nickel, alumina, iron ore, mineral sands, coal, diamonds–you name it. Also, due to its severely southwest geography, Perth is one of the most remote major cities in the world, over one thousand miles from Adelaide, the nearest notable city.

Perth is a city of suburbs. Fremantle and Cottesloe, Subiaco and Northbridge. This photograph was taken in the CBD (central business district). An entire outer-wall of potted herbs? Very cool.

While I didn’t have much free time in Perth, I snuck away one afternoon to Cottesloe, a western suburb famed for its pristine beaches, laid back atmosphere and fish and chips. On a Tuesday afternoon, there wasn’t much to see, but from what I’ve heard, Sundays are quite lively. I spent an hour or so on the beach, reading, listening to music, feasting on fish and chips like there was no tomorrow, eventually walking south to Fremantle.

Sydney

Sydney is, in a word, breathtaking. Certainly one of the world’s most impressive cities. With one third of its residents having been born in another country, Sydney is diverse in the finest sense of the word. All kinds of cuisine and people, neighborhoods and architecture.

Oh, and both Darling Harbor and Circular Quay offer two of the coolest vantage points I’ve ever seen. Bill Bryson says it best:

Life cannot offer many places finer to stand at eight-thirty on a summery weekday morning than Circular Quay in Sydney. To begin with, it presents one of the world’s great views. To the right, almost painfully brilliant in the sunshine, stands the famous Opera House with its jaunty, severly angular roof. To the left, the stupendous and noble Harbour Bridge. Across the water, shiny and beckoning, is Luna Park, a Coney Island-style amusement park with a maniacally grinning head for an entrance (It’s been closed for many years, but some heroic soul keeps it spruce and gleaming.) Before you the spangly water is crowded with the harbor’s stout and old-fashioned ferries, looking for all the world as if they have been plucked from the pages of a 1940s children’s book with a title like Thomas the Tugboat, disgorging steams of tanned and lightly dressed office workers to fill the glass and concrete towers that loom behind.

Just working out the principles necessary to build the opera house roof took five years.

I spent an afternoon walking through the Royal Botanic Gardens, just east of Circular Quay. The Dragon Tree (Dracaena draco), native to the Canary Islands, was one of the more interesting trees I saw. This particular one is over 100 years old and actually fell over in May 2008, hence the protective barrier.

This was also taken in the Royal Botanic Garden, looking back at Sydney proper.

The aquarium, one of the largest in the world, attracts around 55% of the tourists that visit Sydney each year. While I wasn’t particularly impressed–it’s old, cramped, dim and there’s not enough emphasis on Australia’s dangerous sea life–I enjoyed the one crocodile they had on display.

A Conversation About Super Geeks

My last night in Sydney, I met up with Steve and Scott, both relatively new to Sydney (one from the U.K., the other from Melbourne). We grabbed food and drinks, listened to live music and chatted about business, academia, blogging, travel and music. It wasn’t until Scott brought up Intellectual Ventures, a conglomeration of super geeks that try to solve the world’s problems, that I realized how much fun I was having. Sure, call me a geek, but to be halfway around the world, chatting with complete strangers, quasi-inebriated with both alcohol and atmosphere–something hit me. This is what travel is about. Exploring. Meeting people. Engaging with the world around us. Growing.

Already looking forward to my next trip in a few weeks. Stay tuned.

Situated in the southwestern Pacific, just north of Australia, lies one of the most culturally diverse and least explored countries in the world, Papua New Guinea. Sharing its western border with the Indonesian provinces of Papua and West Papua, Papua New Guinea boasts over 850 different indigenous languages, representing 12% of the world’s total languages. One tiny country, representing over 10% of the entire spectrum of language; pretty wild, if you ask me. It’s a place I never thought I’d actually be able to visit.

I flew from Wellington, New Zealand through Brisbane, Australia on a once-a-day Air Niugini flight to Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea’s capital, where I spent the next five days researching the cost-of-living, going in and out of supermarkets, car dealerships, pharmacies and the like.

At Jackson International Airport, the air was hot and sticky, much different than the cool and damp climate I’d grown accustomed to in New Zealand over the previous three weeks. I picked up a small booklet titled, “Welcome to Papua New Guinea,” flipping through various advertisements until I came to this:

Ours is a fledgling tourism industry within a young nation struggling with the dynamics of maintaining a truly free and democratic society around one thousand tribes in a rapidly evolving global society.

A lot of information packed into once sentence. With that, I became even more determined to learn as much as I could during my stay.

Pidgin English

When multiple groups that do not share a common language are brought together, a pidgin language typically develops as a means of communication. Due to Papua New Guinea’s incredible language diversity, a form of pidgin English, called Tok Pisin, has become one of the more dominant languages in Port Moresby. Below are a few examples. Try saying them out loud.

What is your name? Wanem nem bilong yu?
How are you? Yu orait?
How much is that? Em hamas?
That is/was bad. Em no gut.
Can you come with me? Inap yu kam wantaim mi?

And some personal favorites, which were displayed on my hotel door knob:

Please clean my room. Yu ken stretin rum nau.
Do not disturb. Yu no ken kam insait.

Betel Nut Economy

At first, I had no idea what was going on. Walking around, I noticed deep-crimson splotches on the sidewalks and streets, the teeth and gums of roadside locals stained the same color. Dark red and thick. I had read about cannibalism in Papua New Guinea, but seriously? That couldn’t be right. Not everyone could be feasting upon human flesh so openly. I was nervous.

I soon learned that it wasn’t meat causing the redness. In a trip to Ethiopia, I had read about and eventually sampled qat, a tropical evergreen plant whose leaves are chewed as a euphoric stimulant. It kept me up until 4am, wide-eyed, temples buzzing. Papua New Guinea has a similar–and equally as addictive– commodity called the Betel (or Areca) nut. Driving around Port Moresby, it’s hard to miss the myriad of Betel nut stalls. They’re everywhere.

John, a Budget driver who I had employed to help with my research, urged me not to try it. I heeded his advice. Wikipedia states:

According to Medline Plus, “Long-term use has been associated with oral submucous fibrosis (OSF), pre-cancerous oral lesions and squamous cell carcinoma. Acute effects of betel chewing include asthma exacerbation, hypertension, and tachycardia. There may be a higher risk of cancers of the liver, mouth, esophagus, stomach, prostate, cervix, and lung with regular betel use. Other effects can include a possible effect on blood sugar levels, possibly increasing the risk of type 2 diabetes.

While the price fluctuates with supply, one Betel nut typically ranges between 0.5 and 1 kina (about $0.25-$0.50). Some vendors can make as much as 200-400 kina/day, and I was told that it’s popular for university students to sell them during their school breaks to cover tuition and book fees.

In an economy where a third of the population lives on less than $1.25 per day, I ask myself, why do so many people spend their money on the Betel nut? I guess I should have tried one to find out.

Port Moresby Golf Club

With my work complete and a half-day left, I wanted to wrap up the trip with something adventurous and recreational. Due to a cholera outbreak, it was recommended that I stay away from snorkeling and any other water-related activities, and while it probably wouldn’t have been an issue, I didn’t want to take any chances with a few weeks of travel remaining.

So I decided to sneak in a round of golf. I visited the Port Moresby Golf Club, paying $50 for 18-holes, clubs, balls and the company of John, a personal caddy. After the first hole, I asked John to play with me, not knowing how amazing a golfer he would be. He crushed me.

It was beautiful out there. The course has been played by Nick Faldo and Greg Norman, two professional golfers, as well as numerous foreign dignitaries. Crocodiles hide out in the bushes on water holes, yet despite the numerous warning signs, I noticed a few locals bathing and fishing in the water.

I spent most of my afternoon chasing balls into the woods, dodging fire ants and struggling to maintain my short game. For those of you that speak golf, I shot a 109 and had two pars. Not one of my best rounds, but boy I had fun.

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While Port Moresby is routinely ranked as one of the worst capital cities in the world to live in (due to high levels of rape, robbery and murder), I have to say, I had a fairly decent time there. As a foreign traveler, there’s not much to do, but most people I spoke with were incredibly friendly and interested in chatting. Certainly one of the tamer, more amicable countries I’ve visited.

I’m alive!

And quite embarrassed. I’ve spent a regrettably long time away from the blogosphere. Seven weeks and some change, if you hadn’t noticed. While friends of mine were busy dodging bullets in Thailand, creating new businesses, even losing their jobs—and finding time to share their experiences—I’ve somehow managed to put my Internet life on hold. As my father says, intermittent hiatuses from technology are healthy, yet I feel like I’ve been missing out on some amazing stories and discussions in the travel and lifestyle design community, a group of folks I’ve worked so hard to become a part of over these last few years.

Thanks for sticking with me.

So, without further ado, let me jump right back in and tell you about my most recent trip to New Zealand. It’s a doozy of a post, so feel free to skip around.

Auckland: Sky Tower, Auckland Domain and Livability

As winter approaches the Southern Hemisphere, hundreds of yachts dominate Auckland’s Westhaven Marina. Auckland, nicknamed the “City of Sails,” has more yachts per capita than any other city in the world, more than 135,000 if you can believe it. An even more revealing statistic: one in three Auckland households owns a boat. But I wasn’t interested in the water. Flying in from Sydney, quick-eyed and anxious to stretch my legs, I thrust my head against the cabin window. Where are the mountains?

I imagine many first-time travelers to New Zealand (that route through Auckland) are thinking the same thing. Little did I know that the New Zealand stereotyped in the U.S.—you know, Lord of the Rings, epic mountainous landscapes, etc.—that’s all on NZ’s southern island. Auckland, and the two other cities I visited for work, are in the north.

Lack of mountains aside, Auckland has a lot to offer. According to Mercer’s Quality of Living Survey and The Economist, Auckland is one of the most livable cities in the world. With my work done and a day of sunshine to be enjoyed, I put on Vibram FiveFingers and hit the town.

I walked up Victoria Street, through Albert Park to the University of Auckland campus. Just past the campus lies the Auckland Domain, New Zealand’s oldest park. I chose my path, opting for the Centennial Walkway (over the Lovers Walk), meandering my way through wildly named forest ferns like sickle spleenwort and perching pittosporum, both of which would be great additives to any Harry Potter potion.

Because it was ANZAC Day, a national day of remembrance for Australian and New Zealand troops that fought in WWI, the War Memorial Museum inside the park was bustling with people. Three floors of New Zealand history, a nice gift shop and café, definitely worth checking out if you’re in the area.

I spent the rest of the afternoon walking through Parnell, a chic and homey suburb of Auckland proper, populated with antique jewelry shops, art galleries, paper/wool stores, a chocolate boutique and a handful of restaurants. Needing a drink, I sat down at Village Café, a Russian-owned eatery tucked under the shade of a large tree. My table is next to three people, and as I opened the menu noticed that they had already downed two bottles of wine. It was three in the afternoon. Moments later, a few sips into my cappuccino and they ordered shots of vodka, first one round, then another. They were tanked. I left them to their inebriation, giggling as I heard one of the women laugh, “they need a dessert vodka!”

I spent the evening at the Auckland Sky Tower, a 328 metres (1,076 ft) observation and telecommunications tower that houses a casino complex and several high-end restaurants. Nothing particularly “New Zealand” about it, but some great people watching. Especially at the Black Jack table. Many an Australian pissing money away that night. Many an Alan doing the same.

Auckland is increasingly cosmopolitan and, from what I gather, has a growing urban socialite scene. If you’re planning a trip to New Zealand, there’s a chance your flight will route through Auckland. Instead of immediately jetting down to the south island, it might be worth staying a few days to scope out nearby wineries and take a few walks through the park.

New Plymouth: Brownie Points, Taranaki and the Coastal Walkway

My next stop was New Plymouth, a sleepy coastal town on a piece of land that juts westward, toward Australia. Directly toward Melbourne, actually. I landed just after sunset, the city shrouded in a dull and rainy grey. I hopped into a taxi.

The driver, Rosie, was a riot. The way she phrased things, her accent, her approach to answering my questions. She either represented a different NZ vernacular or was a little nuts. Maybe a little of both. At one point, she said, “brownie points again, put them in the frying pan,” and I lost it, literally started cracking up right there in the front seat. What the heck was she talking about?

The conversation shifted to New Plymouth, also called Taranaki. Nearby, just south of the city, is Mt. Taranaki, one of the most symmetrical volcanic cones in the world. Because of its striking resemblance to Mt. Fuji, Mt. Taranaki provided the scenic backdrop for many of the scenes in The Last Samurai. While it’s a relatively easy mountain to climb in the summer, taking 6-8 hours to get up and down, it’s proximity to the coast causes rapid changes in weather. Both days I tried to climb it, I was strongly advised to stay at sea level. When I learned that 60+ people have died trying to summit, I was glad I heeded the park rangers’ advice.

With only a couple of main streets running through the center of town, New Plymouth lacks the vibrancy of larger cities like Auckland. On Devon Street, the main drag, you’ll find small cafés, restaurants and art galleries featuring the work of local artist Lee Russel. A few streets north and you’ll find the ocean. I spent a lot of my free time there, running the Coastal Walkway, a 7km sea-edge promenade, stretching almost the entire length of New Plymouth. It’s a fantastic path, and I only wish the weather was a little more pleasant during my hour-long escapades. Nothing beats running next to an open ocean. Well, maybe running in the mountains, but the Coastal Walkway was quite spectacular.

 

Also, for all you golf nuts out there—there are twenty golf courses within an hour’s drive of New Plymouth. Not bad for a small town. I briefly considered trying to play every golf course in New Zealand, possibly writing a book about it, but realized it would take way too long. New Zealand has oodles of golf courses.

Rosie, at the end of my five days, gave me a lift back to the airport. Questioning me about my experiences, I’ll never forget her closing remark. “For such a little place, Taranaki sure has a few wows.” I couldn’t agree more.

Wellington: Botanic Gardens, Te Papa and Beer

Wellington! What a city.

It reminded me a lot of Seattle. Cozy cosmopolitanism, hilly, totally walkable, with a friendly and funky atmosphere. One highlight was visiting Te Papa, the national museum with the only colossal squid on public display in the world. I spent an hour or two in the museum, learning about the origins of New Zealand, its wildlife and incredibly diverse ecosystem.

I also spent an afternoon running through the Botanic Gardens, a small and steep expanse of land just northwest of the city center. It’s the kind of picturesque verdant landscape I expected from New Zealand, and after spending so much time surveying prices in the heart of dense urbanism, I’m always looking for various forms of nature as an outlet. This particular botanic garden served as a pleasant oasis in that regard.

At night, I would walk up and down Cuba Street, sampling New Zealand’s various microbrewery selections. For such a small country, New Zealand has a ton of beer. I went out one night with Kenny, a geological surveyor based in Wellington, eager to show me a good time. We must have drank 6-7 different varieties at 4-5 bars. I, er, don’t remember much, other than Macs Gold, Monteith’s New Zealand Lager and Speight’s Gold Medal Ale were particular favorites. Hat tip to Kenny. Good on ya brother.

Christchurch: Networking Awesomely, Lamb Pizza and Air New Zealand

Speaking of showing me a good time, I had spoken with Colin Wright of Exile Lifestyle about trying to meet up at some point during my time in New Zealand. For those of you who don’t know Colin, he runs a boutique design and branding company from his laptop, traveling to a new location every four months as determined by his blog audience. Buenos Aires was his first stop, and I caught him at the tail-end of his time in Christchurch. When he’s finished romping around the U.S. this summer on an epic road trip, he’ll continue his jet-setting in Bangkok.

I flew down to Christchurch, my only stop in the south island, bussed into the city center and met up with Colin in front of an impressive Anglican cathedral. He toured me around town, past places like the Bangalore Polo Club and through Hagley Park.

A couple of months ago, Colin had included me in his Networking Awesomely eBook. Nathan Seaward, a Christchurch native, was also featured, so I was stoked to hear that he and a few others would be joining Colin and I for pizza and drinks at The Bicycle Thief.  Nathan, interestingly enough, is the youngest pilot ever to fly for Air New Zealand, and considering how much I enjoy that particular airline, I enjoyed hearing about Nathan’s various experiences. Between the drinks, the exceptionally delectable lamb pizza and company, it was a great night. Big thanks to Colin, Nathan and everyone else I met for showing me a good time. You all are welcome in Boston anytime.

That goes for any of you readers out there.

When I travel, I rarely gallivant–you know, wonder aimlessly, jazz around with no particular purpose in mind.

Weeks before a trip, I look up specific sites, research what languages are spoken, what foods to expect. I try to familiarize myself with a location’s particular history and culture. By doing this, I can travel more optimally. I can have a more fulfilling trip.

Yet many of the elements in a city, in a country, are often overlooked or simply cannot be researched beforehand–things like air and road quality, perception of foreigners, smells, small and subtle cultural innuendos. Do I shake hands? Do I nod my head up and down to signify “yes?” Do people…smile here?

It was with these thoughts that I entered Algeria.

Ten minutes into my first taxi ride, my driver, teetering through the wide-laned rush hour traffic of Algiers, was flagged down by a policeman.

C’est le dérangement! Un barrage police.

An inconvenience, annoyance, or disorder–a police roadblock. Oh to be speaking French again!

The driver and policeman exchanged a delicate combination of French and Arabic. I picked up the word “Michael Schumacher” and looked over at the policeman. He was laughing hysterically. I guess the roadblock wasn’t as serious as I had originally made it out to be. The driver displayed his paperwork, smiled, waved, and drove off like nothing had happened. C’est le dérangement, he repeated.

Known for the flickering white of its seaside buildings, Algiers is often called Alger la Blanche, or Algiers the White. The city, a series of potted one-way roads that meander up and down hills, past mosques and minarets and small shops like Alimentation Generale and Fruits et Légumes, is the second largest city in the Maghreb, an Arabic term for the five countries–Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia, Libya, and Mauritania–that compose North Africa.

The port of Algiers, situated on the west side of a Mediterranean Sea bay, is the most important port in North Africa. Perhaps this explains why it’s also the most expensive city in North Africa, and interestingly enough, the 50th most expensive worldwide.

Unfortunately, a combination of work, weather and serious jet lag prevented me from properly exploring the city. In my one free afternoon, eager to escape the hustle and bustle of central Algiers, I spent an hour walking through the Jardin d’Essai, a nearly 200-acre park/garden with exotic plants from all over the world. I walked through bamboo groves, past towering fountains, looking at plants from Australia, Mexico, Brazil and Southeast Asia. It was pleasant and serene, just what I needed after a hectic schedule of road-darting and price-scribbling.

I let my mind wander. Signs in Arabic, like the one below, took on wild, dangerous meanings. Man-Eating Dandelions! Stay on Path! Folks, this is what happens after traveling alone for so long. You start to…lose it a bit.

I think there’s a reason that Anthony Bourdain hasn’t filmed his travel show, No Reservations, in Algeria. Besides several roasted chicken stands like Le Roi de Poulet, Algiers’ gastronomic culture leaves much to be desired. Street food, at least in my short, week-long experience–and that’s what travelers do, we draw conclusions on limited observations–consists of roasted chicken, burgers, kebabs and fries. Typical fast food fare–here, the McDonald’s is Quality Burger.

Though I must say, after a bit of research, I found a couple of restaurants worth writing home about. El Djenina was fantastic–the best cous-cous I’ve ever had. And they even served Tango, Algeria’s only local beer! Another restaurant, Le Taj Mahal, was completely empty when I walked in. I wish it werent, because the Indian food was sumptious and spicy and all kinds of good. If you ever find yourself in Algiers, craving Indian food (am I the only one?), Le Taj Mahal is your place.

Algiers is an interesting place–certainly not a hub for tourists like Casablanca or Tunis, but I predict that they’re on their way. Give them ten years. Lots of exciting new development projects in the works, and plenty of culture and good-natured people. I hope to return!

I’ll leave you with a short clip of Algerian television, brought to you from room 630 at the hotel El-Aurassi.

Camel tricks! Enjoy 🙂

https://youtube.com/watch?v=M-cZOBEVqgI

I was aflutter.

It had been almost three years since my academic semester in Kathmandu, and I was coming back. I was really coming back. Would the city look the same? Would I remember my homestay neighborhood? How would the family dog, Jenny, greet me? Probably with a growl. Definitely with a growl. For whatever reason, Jenny and I were never on the best of terms.

From Tribhuvan International Airport, my colleague and I arranged a local taxi and flitted through Kathmandu’s streets with chaotic gusto. Well, until we hit traffic. Two and three and four-wheeled vehicles contending for space with people and pushcarts, stray dogs and large, lethargic cows. Kathmandu’s congestion pockets were hustling and bustling away. It smelled the same—like diesel, mostly. I rolled down the window. That particular afternoon, the air was just crisp enough to flaunt the distant Himalaya.

It all felt so natural. The ethos of Kathmandu was within my grasp once again, and the feeling of dislocation that I often experience when hopping from city to city was gone. I was finally returning to a place I called home for nearly four months. A place where I discovered a passion for travel, a love of culture and a newfound understanding of world citizenship.

A lot had changed in the past three years. Nepal had abolished its monarchy. A ten-year Maoist insurgency—scattered with four cease-fires—had finally seen its end. King Gyanendra, before leaving the palace and retreating to the outskirts of Kathmandu, handed in his scepter, peacock-feathered crown and royal yak hair. Buildings rose and restaurants opened. Dense became denser, and urban survival masks became the new fashionable accessory for the pollution-conscious populace.

Of course, much stayed the same. Thamel, a bubble of tourism, was still Thamel. Lonely Planet trekkers, Europeans and Israelis and Australians, buying tiger balm, knock-off (and sometimes kitschy) media, clothing and outdoor gear. Banks, image developing centers, countless tourist agencies – it’s all here. You can book flights to Lukla, the launch point for all Everest-bound trekkers, or buy bus tickets to Pokhara (flying is safer!), a popular destination just west of Kathmandu. You could be an ice axe wielding mountaineer, neophyte Buddhist or substance seeking nomad and find a way to blend in. Thamel’s cramped streets will satisfy your every tourist need.

My colleague and I powered through work and spent the latter half of our week living Kathmandu to its fullest. We sipped hot ginger coke and raksi, a traditional millet (or kodo or rice)-distilled alcohol, typically brewed at home. We stuffed ourselves with samosas, lentils, and buffalo momos, Tibetan dumplings that cost about a dime each. At the Everest Steak House, a Thamel restaurant that offers 33 different styles of steak, we drank Gorkha beer and cheap apple brandy. We listened to music at Jazz Upstairs, met a professional photographer and made friends with a British girl working for Save The Children. We traveled to the Pashupatinath temple complex, to Boudhanath stupa and to Swayambunath, the temple where wild monkeys run amok.

It was a memorable week. The last morning, we rented mountain bikes and joined a group of eleven foreigners and locals, many of them working for the World Food Program. We biked to the edge of the Kathmandu Valley, past goats, chickens, dogs and cows, some tethered, most wild. Past burning piles of trash, steel welders and motorcycle mechanics, brick layers and momo-filled pressure cookers. It was so nice, after nearly a month of city-based work to travel outside of Kathmandu. To smell clean air and see rice paddies. To stretch my legs and cycle away. The ride was tough—my homestay brother watched me tumble off a one-lane track—but well worth the experience.

Returning to Thamel that afternoon, I felt spiritually renewed. The nostalgia and comfort of Kathmandu had officially set in, and I knew, I just knew, that I would be back again.

Nepal, until next time.