South America Travel Archives - Page 2 of 4

Back in the Saddle

August 25, 2014 by Cate Brubaker

I grew up on the back of a horse and I mean that in the literal sense of every word. When I was six years old my family moved to a farm in rural Oklahoma. The post and rail fences that surrounded our property soon contained a multitude of horses. There was Betsy, Charmin, Okie, Carrot, Honey, and all of the others that came and went over the years.

I was that girl. The horse girl. I was the one who spent every unscheduled moment of every day in the saddle. I was the one who got up at 4 am to prepare for a horse show, or to ride in the dark, often in my nightgown, during the early hours of July days, before the oppressive heat of an Oklahoma summer sent every living creature scurrying for shade.

Me and Honey. If the glasses are any clue this is circa 1982.

I spent rainy days when it was too muddy to ride scrubbing tack and cleaning stalls. I learned about thrush and laminitis and birth and death. I learned about patience and control and quiet strength. I learned about bravery and fearlessness, and that fences meant nothing when jumping them was the fastest way between point A and point B.

I fell, I crashed, I broke bones, and I was knocked unconscious. I screamed, I cried, and I lost my temper. Throughout it all, I never failed to get back on, and my horses never failed to forgive me for being human.

Most of all, I learned about love.

Charmin and myself with our spoils from a local horse show.

My life changed, as it is wont to do, and the farm was sold. I watched the horses travel away to their new homes, victims of a circumstance they never understood but one that still haunts me to this day. Life is never fair.

My life took me in various directions over the next several years, but I was the one who still had riding boots and a box full of Black Stallion books. I was the one who refused to obey the no cantering rule on a trail ride. I was the one who attended horse shows, fidgeting in the stands because I knew I could have done it better. I was the one who never really stopped being that girl.

As I began my world travels I had more opportunities to ride than I had in the previous twenty years. I trained at a dressage barn in Kaohsiung, Taiwan where, despite my decent Mandarin skills, I needed a translator for my lessons. I rode a champion Peruvian Paso stallion through the Moche ruins of Chan Chan in northern Peru. I galloped a feisty Arabian mare along the road to Petra in Jordan. I drooled over the fancy stables in the United Arab Emirates and I regretted that the prices were too high for me to take lessons in the air conditioned arenas.

Riding through the ancient Moche ruins of Chan Chan in Trujillo, Peru.

Then we moved to Panama.

I met Jess on our first trip to Boquete in 2011. As we rode in the taxi from the David airport to the little, mountain town 45 minutes away I spotted the barn on the side of the road, the outdoor riding ring set with a jumping course. As soon as the niceties were exchanged with my husband’s friends who we were there to visit I asked who owned the stables. I rode with Jess on that visit and again a few months later, just prior to our move to the UAE.

When we made the final decision to settle in Boquete for a while I knew that I had to make riding an important part of my life. It wasn’t about anything other than claiming a passion that had been on the shelf for too long. You see, I need to ride, I need to fill my head with the scents of hay and horseflesh, I need to recognize that my life will always be intertwined with that of a horse.

It’s not always that I allow myself to be so reflective. There are too many portions of my past that I’d really prefer to forget. However, years spent in unfamiliar places around the world have taught me to relax and live in the moment. Through travel I’ve discovered a strength and resilience that I hadn’t seen since those days when I was that girl, the skinny blonde on a horse.

And through horses I’ve learned that, in very unexpected ways, it is absolutely possible to go home again.

A Flight Over the Andes: What Could Possibly Go Wrong?

July 28, 2014 by Cate Brubaker

Get a bunch of travelers together and you’re bound to hear stories. While the uninitiated might expect to be regaled with tales of museums and monuments, exotic food and even more exotic locales, what you’ll often hear is a whole lot of bitching, and most of that centers around transportation.

Of course, I’m always game to join in these types of conversations. There was the seven hour bus ride from Phnom Penh to Siem Reap that was a fun-fest filled with puking children, 100 decibel ring tones, and a driver who honked the horn relentlessly at the empty stretch of highway ahead of us. It was as if the road was full of ghosts that needed to be loudly reminded to give way.

Then there was the night train from Bangkok to Chiang Mai. As I lounged in my terribly uncomfortable seat beside a half open window that coughed sporadic puffs of humid air, a beetle the size of a healthy 4 week old kitten flew in and landed on my chest. My literal knee-jerk reaction was to flail my feet wildly, and I made solid contact with the seat ahead of me and knocked it loose from the bolts that fastened it to the floor, which unceremoniously dumped its sleeping occupant in an unflattering sprawl.

I typically don’t include air travel when I complain. Despite my morbid fear of flying I can’t really find fault with air travel itself, save for the random time when I’ve been seated next to someone of questionable size, or I’m right in the middle of a toddler party in the back of the plane. If I have a particularly terrifying flight I usually just keep it to myself.

Until now.

On July 3 we left Boquete, Panama for Montevideo, Uruguay. This involved an all day bus ride to San Jose, Costa Rica then a flight to Montevideo with a connection in Lima, Peru. The bus ride was uneventful, as was the flight to Lima. After a brief layover we boarded our last flight and took off.

I don’t remember crossing the Andes Mountains on that flight. It was pitch dark so I couldn’t see the mountain tops at all, nor was there any turbulence, at least until we hit the Argentinian plain. The plane began to shiver and shake, and the lights flashing out of the corner of my eye weren’t attached to the plane’s wings.

I alternated between fascinated glances out the window at the lightning storm that raged around us and clutching the armrests and moaning. As I fought and lost a battle with tears I told myself that this couldn’t go on for two more hours, but it did.

When we successfully made the bumpy landing into Montevideo the passengers erupted in applause, as some are wont to do. The last two hours of terror faded quickly as my mind became newly occupied with exploring another country. My last thought was simply to assure myself that it couldn’t be that bad on our way back.

I was so wrong.

We arrived at the airport in the stupid early hours of July 22, ready to reverse our course back to San Jose. The sky was dark and clear, and a few stars twinkled overhead as the plane barrelled down the runway. As we began to climb and the light from the sun became slightly visible through the clouds, the bumping started. Then the lightning started. Then it all went to hell.

As I methodically picked apart the rubbery omelet and tried to maintain some sort of sanity through the turbulence, the pilot’s voice clicked through the intercom. I tried to decipher as much of the Spanish as I could, impatient for the English version that would follow. I got nothing.

While he droned on in Spanish, the flight crew had sprung into action. They frantically gathered breakfast trays in carefully balanced stacks in their arms and hurried to the galley. My fellow passengers were scrambling for seat belts and securing bags.

“Passengers, this is your Captain. We are now entering the turbulence zone. Please fasten your seat belts tightly and remain in your seats. I regret to inform you that we will not be offering duty free shopping at this time. We apologize for the inconvenience.”

I cinched my belt as tight as it would go, and marveled at what I had just heard. The captain apologizes profusely for the lack of duty free shopping, but not for the turbulence zone? What is the turbulence zone, anyway?

Then it started. The flight crew buckled up behind me. I glanced past the Japanese woman sitting in the window seat and spied the peaks of the Andes looming out the window, almost close enough to touch. The plane began the first of a long series of lurches, and my seatmate grinned widely and held her hands up, roller coaster style.

I wanted to punch her.

The plane continued on, like a meth-addled Pegasus gleefully bucking and leaping on big, silver wings that flailed through the air. Muffled shrieks and gasps echoed through the cabin, and I think I added my voice to the chorus once or twice.

As the plane maintained its predetermined course to hell, filled with sickening dives and sways from side to side, I just knew it was the end. I found myself in a terror-induced trance of sorts, unable to move a muscle save the ones in the hand that had a vise-like grip on the armrest. I tried to recall if the film Alive had any practical tips on surviving a plane crash in the Andes, outside of eating my fellow passengers.

The plane would level off occasionally and I would find myself at the brink of a relieved sigh, but then another nose dive would take place and my hopes were dashed. I kept glancing over my shoulder at the flight attendants in their seats, deep in some funny conversation and oblivious to the fact that we were all teetering on the edge of disaster.

I wanted to punch them too.

This nightmare continued for almost an hour. When I had the courage to glance out the window I could still see the Andes, taunting me with their beautiful, snow capped, turbulent glory. Shouldn’t they be long behind us by now? It’s been an hour! How big can a mountain range be, anyway?

When the skies quieted down and the flight crew left their seats I finally allowed myself to relax, which translated into an only slightly decreased level of vigilance. I kept looking out the window at the rapidly retreating Andes, going over my South American geography carefully in my head. Nope, no more mountain ranges. We should be okay.

As we broke through the perpetual cloud cover that shrouds the city of Lima, I breathed a sigh of relief. The wheels gently touched down onto the runway and I was poised to join the round of applause that I was sure would follow. You see, I placed these pilots on a pedestal reserved for those who manage not to kill themselves or the people around them while in the line of duty; people like doctors who perform experimental surgery during a power outage or day care workers.

The applause never came. Just the typical grumbling and shoving, as if it were any other flight.

Really? Those pilots just saved us from certain death and none of you fucks can clap for them?

Then it occurred to me…

They never got their duty free shopping.

Road to the Amazon: Part Four

April 24, 2013 by Cate Brubaker

There’s not much to do on a cargo boat. There’s no swimming pool, no bar, no shuffleboard on the Lido deck. The cabins are tiny and stifling hot, and while “rustic” may be the current trendy way to describe simple, ethnic dishes, it doesn’t even begin to describe the simplicity of beans, rice and lard. If we hadn’t brought our own wine aboard, our first night on the river, watching bats catch insects around the boat’s bright lights and listening to the cattle stagger about below, may have gone down as one of the most anticlimactic experiences of all time.

We had no idea how long it would take to reach our destination. Some accounts that we’d heard mentioned trips of as long as five days, especially during the dry season when boats can be stuck on sandbars for weeks. Maps can differ wildly, so we had little knowledge of what lay between Yurimaguas and Iquitos, but almost 250 miles of river can’t be completely desolate.

I woke the next morning to a beautiful sunrise which morphed into a brutally hot morning. The day wore on, and as the boat made her way downriver, lone houses and small villages slipped by. Without warning, we’d slow and stop at certain outposts, and villagers hustled to unload and load cargo, climb aboard to hawk fruit and fresh bread, a few girls tried desperately to sell baby caiman crammed into dirty two-liter bottles. Huge bundles of bananas were slung on board, and the local children frolicked and swam in the diesel infused water at the muddy banks.

That afternoon, we exchanged the Huallaga River for the mighty Marañón, once thought to be the source of the Amazon. The boat seemed to ride a little higher and pick up a little speed, as the distance between the banks widened significantly. Another magnificent sunset signalled an end to the day, amid rumors that we would arrive in Iquitos the next day. After clearing my cabin of a wayward bat, I fell asleep.

I woke the next day to noise, commotion and a crazy story. Will had slept in the hammock on the deck, and woke to the majority of the passengers preparing to disembark in the early light of dawn. As the boat made contact with the bank, a horde of people rushed the boat, clambering over the cattle in the their corral, crushing each other to climb the stairs, and, when that didn’t work, scaling the sides. This mass of people was there simply to vie for the opportunity to assist the passengers with their things in the hope of picking up a few neuvo soles in return.

The words amongst the staff that day was that we were making good time, and would reach Iquitos by mid afternoon. The villages became larger and more frequent. Despite the fact that this part of Peru is accessible only by water or air, these villages were vibrant and thriving, one even sporting massive oil tanks and a helipad.

Around noon, with little fuss and no warning, there it was, the Amazon. We made the smooth merge with the Ucayali River, and all of a sudden it was the Amazon. Virtually indistinguishable from the river we were on five minutes ago, but the Amazon nonetheless. Will, myself, and a lone Kiwi girl whose cabin was next to mine stood at the front of the boat to see it. No one else seemed to care.

This meant that we were nearing Iquitos, and the end of the line for us. The boat made one last stop on the outskirts of the city, where the majority of the local passengers got off, leaving the three white people and a group of Peruvian students from Chiclayo who were going to Iquitos for a dance festival. One of the luxury Amazon cruise boats passed us, complete with air conditioners and satellite dishes.Those passengers took pictures of our boat, the cattle and chickens crowding the stern. We must have looked rustic.

We reached the port of Iquitos and our dock, and the thing we’d all hoped to see during our entire trip appeared. A pod of pink Amazon River dolphins played at the mouth of a small tributary. My trip was complete.

Almost.

Next time: I swear we’ll get to the crazy coke dealer, and all of the other weird things that happened in Iquitos!

Road to the Amazon: Part Three

April 22, 2013 by Cate Brubaker

As our crowded, slipshod taxi pulled into the dusty town of Yurimaguas, I saw them. They were lying in wait like lions near a watering hole. And they saw us. They were the moto drivers who would be our best friends, or something just shy of it, for the next few hours.

When we did our research before we left on this epic journey, we discovered that we wouldn’t be riding a cruise ship down the Amazon. On the contrary, we would be hopping aboard a cargo boat that takes passengers. They offer a few cabins with meager amenities, bust most of the passengers prefer to sling hammocks on the deck, and sleep shoulder to shoulder, because it’s cheap. Two complimentary meals are served daily, lunch and dinner, and there may or may not be snacks for sale. A personal supply of water is critical. As is wine, don’t forget your wine.

We had decided that we would procure our supplies in Yurimaguas, then board the boat around noon. As we exited our taxi, and the eager moto drivers descended, I took the initiative, locked eyes with a young man and said “Vamos”. I said some other things in my halting Spanish, but he knew why we were there, and what we needed. And he knew just where to take us.

His uncle’s shop, of course.

We barreled into the heart of town, which was very much like most other small Peruvian towns we’d visited over the last few days, and screeched to a halt in front of a store. We were ushered in, and just like the pros that they are, our driver and his family began gathering all of the things we’d need for our journey. Hammocks, raincoats, mosquito netting, eating utensils and rope joined a pile of other stuff quickly towering on the counter. Then something strange was placed beside the stack.

An electric kettle? ¿Qué? ¿Por qué?

Para el café o té.

Will and I looked at each other and suppressed a laugh. I don’t really see us finding a place on a Peruvian cargo boat to plug in a kettle and enjoy a quiet cup of morning coffee. Plus, we’d already decided on buying a few cans of Red Bull to stave off the morning headaches. I thanked the lady kindly, but refused the kettle.

Our fearless young leader helped us gather our things after we’d paid what seemed like an insultingly meager price, and we were off to the market. As we rumbled along the dusty streets, I instructed Will to pick up some fruit, some non-perishables, Red Bull, water and wine. Don’t forget the wine! I stayed behind in the moto with our driver, while Will went into the market.

The shopping done, we sped downhill to the river. Finally, our first sighting of the confluence of the mighty Paranapura and Huallanga Rivers, which came together in a wide, muddy boil. Gone were any last vestiges of hope I might have had for any luxury on this trip. As thin, wispy men rushed to have the honor of carrying our things onboard, for a small fee, of course, I got my first view of my chariot for the majestic river adventure I’d soon be on, the Eduardo VI. Really? This is a boat?

As I dodged mud and piles of cow shit, and navigated 2×4’s serving as gangplanks while trying to keep up with our scrappy porter, we scampered up and over and around and he deposited Will and I at the man in charge. We decided to get a cabin, which also allowed us to hang hammocks on the deck. This was perfect, as the cabins could be locked, thus relieving us of the constant need to watch our things. We paid for our journey, about 80 USD for the both of us, then our porter hung our hammocks, we were shown to our cabin, and that was that.

Except the boat wasn’t leaving until 5pm, and it was currently 1pm. And hot. So very steamingly, swelteringly hot. What to do?

Well, make sure our things are locked in the cabin, and head off for a beer and look around the town, of course.

And that’s exactly what we did.

We returned a few hours later, and as Will settled in his hammock to read, I began to arrange things in the tiny cabin. I placed the netting over the jalousie window, shoved the box of water under the bunk, and stacked our cans of Red Bull and boxes of snacks along the wall. As I’m maneuvering things around, I notice something. No. It can’t be!

A socket. A goddamn electric socket. IN MY CABIN!

We should have gotten the electric kettle.

As the cattle and chickens and bananas jockeyed for position below deck, I stood at the railing, near the captain’s cabin and tried to ignore the pornographic poster on the inside of his flung open door. The engines rumbled to life as the sun began to set in the most impressive display of force I’ve ever seen in my life. It was as if pink, purple and gold light sabers were intent on slicing the sky into shreds, to display the inky blue lurking in the shadows.

And just like that, with no confetti, no fanfare, and no champagne bottles popping, we left the last place in northeastern Peru accessible by road, the boat swinging wide into the current and off into the night.

Destination, Iquitos.

Next time: Crazy cocaine dude (I promise), Iquitos is kind of weird, alligator in a bottle, and pink dolphins.

Road to the Amazon: Part Two

April 18, 2013 by Cate Brubaker

Continued from Part One.

We left Chachapoyas in a taxi, bound for the little town of Pedro Ruiz. We were early, very early, for the bus to Taropoto, so we walked the length of this one-donkey town, stopped at a restaurant for something fried and delicious, and settled into the bus station to wait. And wait.

Most of our experiences with Peruvian busses had been good, with an on time accuracy airlines should envy, but this one was late. We lounged in hard plastic chairs, watched something horrible on the news, and smoked cigarettes while we waited.

At one point, as I stepped outside, yet another ciggie in hand, I looked up into the hard, bright sky and saw something I had never seen before. It was a rainbow around the sun, and I called Will out to see it. He called it a “sun dog” and I was entranced, risking my eyesight to stare it down.

Soon after, the bus arrived, and the passengers began to file off to eat their lunch in the small bus stop cafe. However, this group of passengers was riled up, one woman in particular. She shouted, in Spanish, that a group of men seated behind her on the bus has stolen her mobile phone. A lacquered pink, long fingernail jabbed the air and she shouted for justice. Other passengers rolled their eyes, but when the police arrived, people began to get pissed. We were going to be REALLY late now.

The police spent almost an hour, searching the passengers, searching the bus, and just when things were about to blow sky high, the woman’s sister comes running in, holding the bright pink phone. “It was under the seat!”, she said, laughing. No one was laughing when we finally boarded the bus, and the woman who had laid the accusations came up the steps. She was booed and cursed, even as she tried to apologize. I just wanted to get on the road.

As we had boarded the bus midway on its journey, Will and I did not have seats together. I sat next to a young Peruvian man, and Will was a few seats behind me. As the bus lumbered out of town, and wound its way higher and higher into the green mountains, I noticed a smell. Was it coming from the toilet at the back of the bus?

As the man next to me began to squirm in his seat, and turn away from me to fiddle with the waistband of his pants, I began to suspect he was having a problem. He tried very hard not to meet my eyes as he continued to fuss with his clothing, then he stood up to move past me, and I realized what was going on. He had a colostomy bag, and it wasn’t working properly. He clutched his hands to his front as he rushed to the lavatory at the back of the bus. I felt so badly for him, since he spent most of the rest of his portion of the ride at the back of the bus. When we stopped for a bit in Moyobamba and braved the hordes of people selling everything from sodas to endangered species, I did not see that young man get back on the bus.

We arrived in Tarapoto with just enough time to eat and sleep, and hurry through the next morning to catch the collectivo to Yurimaguas, where we would board the boat bound for Iquitos. Will, myself and several men and bags were jammed like sardines into a small station wagon, trailing trucks with people perched precariously in the beds and on the sides. As we made our way higher, it became evident that the landscape was changing, as it became much more lush and tropical. The road was twisted and terrifying, but as we descended from the highlands into the town of Yurimaguas, I knew our adventure was just beginning.

Next Time: La Vaca!, we should have bought the electric kettle, and crazy coke dealers.

Road to the Amazon: Part One

April 15, 2013 by Cate Brubaker

We were only on our second bottle of wine when we decided to go to the Amazon. It was an easy decision to make. Our Aussie friends were there to watch the house, and we didn’t have anything else to do, as was most often the case during our time in Peru. Two days later we were on a bus, rumbling north. First stop, Chachapoyas, home of the Cloud People.

We left the balmy beach of Huanchaco and, after an overnight bus ride, we arrived bright and early, and with a Gatorade soaked camera, into chilly Chachapoyas. However, as is usual at Peruvian bus stations, we were soon in a taxi, on our way to the hotel. Although it was not yet 7am, we were ushered into a gorgeous, old colonial-style hotel, given a room, and directed to breakfast and the all-important coffee.

Showered and fueled, we made our way to the town square, home to a gorgeous cathedral, and stopped at the first tourism office we found. Most tours highlight the ruins of Kuelap, but I noticed another tour that offered a visit to the sarcophagi at Carajia, and a tour of a cave. A cave! I adore caves! Forget that most people refer to Kuelap as the “Machu Picchu of the North”, and that we only had one day. I wanted to see the cave.

With a swiftness that still surprises me after all this time, we were loaded into a rickety Toyota and began our journey into the mountains. The roads quickly deteriorated from asphalt to gravel, and the lack of guardrails made me shiver. But as we wound higher and higher toward Quiocta Cave, the stunning views took my breath away. Strange plants dotted the landscape, and I marveled at everything around me.

About an hour later, we stopped in a little village, and with our broken, but improving Spanish, we ascertained that we would rent tall, rubber boots for our time in the cave. Boot in hand, we continued through lush green farmland to the area of Qiocta cave. We met up with another tour group and made our way down the steep stairs.

Once at the entrance to the cave, the guide began to fiddle with a backpack and a car battery. Next thing I knew, he’d connected a spotlight to the battery, donned the backpack, and we entered the cave. I understood little of the Spanish narrative, but the cave was beautiful and haunting, with gorgeous stalactites and human bones scattered throughout. We waded through the mud until we could go no further, then turned around.

We returned our boots to the shop, had lunch, then journeyed onward to the sarcophagi at Carajia. As we arrived, we noticed several Peruvian women and children, holding saddled horses. We emerged from the car to offers of the use of the horses for the ride down to Carajia. The asking price for the one kilometer ride was 60 Peruvian soles, or about 20 USD. We shunned the offer, agreeing that one kilometer was not at all far. And it isn’t, when you’re going downhill.

What began as a gentle slope turned into a downward scramble, and as I looked at the sarcophagi perched on the cliffside, the 600 year old resting places of the elite of a long gone civilization, all I could think about was the climb back up. The altitude was definitely a factor as I began the slow trek and the need to stop every few minutes to catch my breath worried me. But then I rounded a corner and met my salvation.

A few of the young girls had followed us down, horses in tow. I almost sobbed with relief, as I handed Soles to two of the girls, claimed one horse, and told the other girl to save her horse for Will, as he was still behind me admiring the view. As this lovely girl led me up the hill, her younger brother cavorted behind my horse, asking repeatedly, and without gasping for air, “¿Estás cansado?” “¿Estás cansado?” Yes, I’m tired. And your cardiovascular system is freakishly impressive.

At the top of the hill, I sat in the grass with the girl, her brother now joined by a litter of puppies and they all bounced around me. The view was incredible, and I sat in silence, waiting for Will’s horse to bring him to the top. I felt that I could have waited there forever.

Will arrived and we returned to Chachapoyas for dinner, a beer, and bed. We were in for an early wake up the following day, and the road to the Amazon would continue.

Next Time: Sun Dogs, la policía, and colostomy bags.

Sunsets Around the World

December 24, 2012 by Cate Brubaker

“Soon it got dusk, a grapy dusk, a purple dusk over tangerine groves and long melon fields; the sun the color of pressed grapes, slashed with burgundy red, the fields the color of love and Spanish mysteries.”
― Jack Kerouac, On the Road

I am a sucker for a gorgeous sunset. Who isn’t? There is something so stupendously satisfying about seeing another day race off to be tomorrow in some other part of the world. A setting sun is one of those moments that can be experienced anywhere in the world, even your own backyard.

Sunsets have sometimes been the definition of beauty as I judge a place and compare one to another. I realize that can be unfair. Each place in the world has its own identity, and its own signature sunset.

These are some of my favorites.

Kaohsiung, Taiwan

This is one of the places in the world where my favorite sunset did not necessarily involve an ocean view. Taiwan lies on almost the same latitude as Hawaii, so it has similar tropical weather and high humidity. These combine to create skies filled with marshmallow clouds and the golden and pink colors that I love. I loved to climb to the roof of our 27 story apartment building and spend an hour taking one photo after another as the sun set behind the buildings and the busy shipping port. It was truly one of the most spectacular views in the city, and it was all mine.

Kapua Bay, Big Island, Hawaii

It goes without saying that Hawaii has spectacular sunsets. Virtually any place on any of the islands has an evening view to melt your heart. However, I was fortunate enough to visit the beach house of my friend, photographer Sandi Child, on several occasions. This rustic cottage, located at the end of a long, 4×4 only, lava road through a macadamia nut and honey bee farm will always be one of my fondest memories of the Aloha State. Sunsets were spent on the lanai just a few feet from the water, with cocktails in hand, and abundant laughs. If we were lucky, dolphins or humpback whales would pay us a visit as well.

Huanchaco, Peru

Before we made the journey from Kaohsiung to Huanchaco, I asked Will if there were sunsets. He immediately showed me photos from his time there a few years before. I was satisfied, but it wasn’t until I witnessed one for myself that I realized just how gorgeous they truly are. Whether we were ensconced on the patio of our little casita with a bottle of wine, or we carried said bottle down the street to perch on the breakwall above the Pacific Ocean, sunsets in Huanchaco are one of those wide awake in dreamland moments that made it so hard to live that perfect place.

Amazon River, Peru

Not to be outdone by her Pacific coast, Peru serves up some spectacular sunset vistas in the interior as well, particularly in the jungles surrounding the Amazon River. I’m no meteorologist, but I have to assume that it’s the steamy, humid air that coaxes the amazing colors out of the sky as the sun sets. Beautiful pinks and magentas merge seamlessly with royal purple and midnight blue and tint the mighty river with their hues. Dark always seems to come too quickly in the tropics, but while the color and light show is going on, there’s no better seat in the house than the deck of a cargo boat on it’s journey to Iquitos.

Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emirates

I have developed a love/hate relationship with the sun since I arrived in Abu Dhabi. On one hand, the often dusty haze that hangs in the sky contributes to stunning, blood red sunsets, and on the other hand, the sun is actively attempting to kill me. However, as the inhumane heat of the summer has faded to the deliciously pleasant temperatures of winter, a cocktail or dinner outside is an actually feasible endeavor. Whether it’s a luxury hotel’s rooftop lounge, or the deck of our villa, Abu Dhabi sunsets are some of the most unusual I’ve seen. Reds shift to orange and orange morphs to purple as the sun settles into the Arabian Gulf, all of it heralded by the sometimes otherworldly ululation that is the call to prayer . It’s an incredible sight to see.

No matter where I am in the world, I will usually drop what I am doing and run outside to catch the sunset, and I am grateful that I have seen yet another day to its close. Maybe at some point in the near future I’ll wake up early on a regular basis to do the same with the sunrise.

Until then…

Where in the world are your favorite sunsets? Let us know in the comments section below!

Our Five Most Memorable Trips

December 3, 2012 by Cate Brubaker

If there’s one question I get more than any other it’s this one: What’s your favorite place that you’ve been? I love that people are interested enough to ask, but I hate the quantification and limits that an answer requires. Each and every place that I’ve been has made the favorites list in one capacity or another. Some are more “favoritey” than others, but if I couldn’t find something amazing in everything, then I probably shouldn’t be traveling.

Will and I have discussed this topic, as well. Since many of our trips were made before we even knew each other, we have our own favorites and our mutual favorites, and some that fall somewhere in between. For the sake of argument, we have whittled down a list of the five most memorable trips that we have taken together.

Here they are, in no particular order.

1. The Panama Canal

Cate’s Take: Our trip to Panama did NOT go as planned. It was supposed to be visa run from Peru combined with a visit to Boquete to see friends and a cruise to the San Blas Islands. The Boquete portion was amazing, but when we returned to Panama City to start our journey to San Blas, things went horribly awry. Suffice it to say that we got up at 4am for nothing, but we did get our money back. On the plus side, that left us with nothing to do in Panama City on the one day a month when a tourist cruise through the entire Panama Canal is available. What an incredible sight to see! It’s a full day of locks and lakes, huge ships and engineering awesomeness that is not to be missed.

Will’s input: The San Blas Islands are my bucket list item that almost happened. We could have gone anywhere for our visa run, but we had the time & resources to go to Panama. The motivation came in the promise of free drinks in Boquete and the possibility of going to San Blas. When San Blas obviously wasn’t going to happen for us, it caused us to explore our options. We decided on a full transit of the Panama Canal. The Canal is one of those things that has had a huge impact on the world as we know it and to have the pleasure of seeing it up close and personal is an experience I will never forget.

2. The Peruvian Amazon

Cate’s Take: I just love how this trip was “planned”. We were sitting on our lanai in Huanchaco drinking wine with friends and it just popped up, “How about we go to the Amazon?” Two days later we were on a bus headed northeast. We made a few leisurely stops before we boarded a cargo boat, complete with bananas and livestock, in Yurimaguas. The river was high so the trip to Iquitos only took forty eight hours, but the sunrises, sunsets and stops in the little villages along the way were some of the most wonderful hours of my life.

Will’s input: This trip was very unique in that the journey itself was the destination. The vast expanse that is the Amazon region remains mind-boggling to me. We really just surrendered ourselves to the trip and let things happen and everything went very smoothly. The interactions that we had with others along the way really make this trip stick out in my mind.

3. Chernobyl, Ukraine

Cate’s Take: We booked tickets to Kiev simply because they were inexpensive, and it’s a direct flight from Dubai. It wasn’t until a few days later that it dawned on me, Chernobyl is near Kiev! It did take some leg work and a change of date on our plane tickets, but we got permits and went on a tour of Chernobyl and Prypiat, the abandoned town nearby. I was simply speechless the whole time. The beauty of the landscape really belies the disaster that occurred there just twenty five years ago, and the ghost town of Prypiat is haunting and compelling to look at. I feel very fortunate to have seen that place. And Kiev is a spectacular city as well!

Will’s input: When you think of ruins, you usually think of ancient structures abandoned for whatever reasons the inhabitants had for vacating them. The reason that Prypiat was abandoned is something that I witnessed on television. The thing that really sticks out in my mind though is that my expectations of scorched earth were completely shattered. Our visit to these modern ruins was a truly unique experience.

4. Angkor Wat, Cambodia

Cate’s Take: Cambodia was one of the places I had visited long before Will and I met, and I was beyond excited to see it again with him, especially as this was something of a honeymoon, kind of. Regardless, Cambodia will always be a very special place to me, and sharing the hikes through the temple complex with my favorite traveling companion was a delightful experience. Plus, it was our first trip together that involved something other than resorts and room service, and I think we worked as a team really, really well.

Will’s input: Angkor Wat was the first place that we visited together that Cate had been to before. She got to fill the role of destination expert and I got to enjoy it without putting too much thought into the logistics. Beyond the grandeur that is Angkor Wat though, this trip occupies the front of my mind because it was both a honeymoon and where our engagement became official when I presented Cate with her ring. Of course she said “Yes”.

5. Sihanoukville, Cambodia

Cate’s Take: This could have been combined with the above post and simply labeled as “Cambodia”, but Sihanoukville was a very different part of the same trip. We took a death-defying cab ride from Phnom Penh to get there, then the shenanigans began. Those few days were a booze-filled extravaganza and I wouldn’t have had it any other way. From a drunken walk home in the torrential rain with a gigantic “borrowed” beach umbrella to our own personal booze cruise in the Gulf of Thailand on a boat that later capsized (we weren’t on it, of course), Sihanoukville reminded me why it’s so important to be with someone that makes me laugh. Uproariously.

Will’s input: The tension caused by getting there (I’d recommend against being on Cambodia’s roads in the dark) followed by the relief of being there are what I remember most about Sihanoukville. This seaside town is a bit off the beaten path and I’ll always remember it fondly for the rustic beach bungalow, the golden sand beaches and the aforementioned “borrowing” of the beach umbrella during a violent deluge.

Rustic Beach Bungalow, Sihanoukville, Cambodia

So there you have it. Will and I don’t always agree on everything, but we do agree that these five journeys were memorable and important in so many ways. I look forward to updating this list frequently.

What are your favorite trips? What makes those journeys special to you? Let us know in the comments section below!

The Sport of Travel

October 31, 2012 by Cate Brubaker

I’m no sports enthusiast. Not in the slightest. I’ve simply never seen the appeal. However, I have, at times, been persuaded to attend a pro basketball or American football game and found myself enjoying the competitive, carnival-like atmosphere. It’s infectious. People all over the world crave the competition, whether it’s an alley football match between groups of kids, or an international event with a production level that rivals Hollywood blockbusters.

Additionally, more and more travelers are either including international sporting events in their travels, or making a certain event the main reason for their trip. With major events, and minor ones, held in virtually every corner of the globe, it’s easy to tailor a trip to include as much, or as little, sports action as you like.

Formula One

Abu Dhabi F1 Grand Prix 2009 — Photo: Powwow

I’m from the United States, and car racing in the USA is something completely unique, and very different from the car racing events held in the rest of the world. Had I been more of a fan, I might have been aware early on that Formula 1 is considered to be far superior to NASCAR. As it is, I never watched or even paid attention to either. Until we moved to Abu Dhabi, that is.

Yas Marina Circuit is the location of the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix, held this year on November 3,4, and 5, and is just minutes from my house. I have walked the 5.5 kilometers of that track, which is open to the public on most Tuesdays and Sundays, and marveled at the absolute splendor of it. Add to that the concerts and other events that are held on race weekends, and I definitely see the appeal.

Throughout the season, races are held in places all over the world. Monte Carlo, Shanghai, Budapest, New Delhi and Sao Paolo are just a few of the cities holding fabulous race weekend events. If those events are even half as lavish as the one on order for Abu Dhabi this weekend, I consider Formula 1 to be one of the ultimates in a sports vacation.

Horse Racing

Easily one of the oldest, and most loved, of international sporting events, horse racing enthusiasts and gamblers the world over look forward to annual races as they might look forward to the birth of a child. The glitz and glamour of race meets are legendary, as is evident by the star studded photos that turn up in the tabloids after a race is over.

While many countries hold local “bush” events, the big races offer millions of dollars in prize money and the finest and most carefully bred and trained horses in the world. The most famous of these races are carefully orchestrated events designed to appeal to a broad spectrum of people, and include parties, concerts and other activities.

Each of the top races prides itself on being the best, but each also has something unique to offer. The Dubai World Cup, held in Dubai, UAE in March, is the richest horse race in the world with a ten million dollar purse. Sheikh Maktoum, Dubai’s ruler, enters his own horses in the race, and the well-known opulence displayed in the UAE is increased tenfold for this fabulous event.

Royal Ascot in England is held over five days in June. Attended by the Royals and with a strict dress code enforced, this is one of the most attended racing events in the world. The Gold Cup is the most prestigious race held during this event, and the aristocracy and the rest of us turn out in droves of over 300,000 strong, making this one of the best attended race meetings in the world.

The Kentucky Derby in the United States is undoubtedly one of the most iconic races in the world and epitomizes the Sport of Kings. Held each year in Louisville, Kentucky on the first Saturday in May, this race, the first in the Triple Crown series, showcases the best 3 year old Thoroughbreds in the world. Additionally, the legendary mint juleps and the ostentatious hats and costumes worn by the attendees and the festive atmosphere combine to create one of the United States’ most loved sporting events.

Boxing

Boxing has always been a popular sport around the world, and famous fights have garnered international attention. After all, who can forget the Rumble in the Jungle held in then Zaire in 1974 between Muhammad Ali and George Foreman? Since then, and with the rise in popularity of the UFC, boxing has become an international phenomenon, with fights held in cities around the world.

Las Vegas may always be synonymous with the prize fight, but international destinations such as Macao, Dubai, Rio de Janeiro and Stockholm have all offered up great fight cards this year, with thousands of people attendance, and many more paying hefty fees to watch on television.

Additionally, Thailand, where the mother of UFC, Muay Thai, originated, also sees a significant number of tourists arriving solely to experience the sport. Whether actively training for their own fighting career or as a spectator, thousands of travelers seek out the best trainers and fighters that Thailand has to offer.

Whether making an elaborate trip for one of the four-year extravaganzas like the Olympics or the World Cup, or taking in one of the yearly events, sporting event travel is something that travelers from all walks of life are experiencing more and more. Sadly, I’m not going to be in attendance at the Formula 1 Abu Dhabi Grand Prix this weekend, but I may climb to the roof with a pair of binoculars to see what I can see.

After all, it’s not NASCAR, people. It’s Formula 1.

Have you traveled solely to take in a sporting event? What would be your dream sports-themed trip? Share your ideas and experiences with us in the comments section below!

Lost City of the Incas

May 5, 2012 by Cate Brubaker

Machu Picchu conjures dreams. A lost Incan city nestled high in the Andes Mountains, it was virtually unknown outside of Peru until 1911, when American archaeologist and historian Hirum Bingham was taken there by local residents. Today, intrepid travelers by the hundreds of thousands make the journey to this Andean fortress each year.

Construction is believed to have begun around 1450 CE, at the height of the Inca Empire. It was abandoned 100 years later, during the time of the Spanish Conquest, however there is no record of the Spaniards ever having reached the site, almost 8000 feet above sea level. This fact alone renders Machu Picchu a very important and intact cultural site. Machu Picchu was named a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1983 and was voted one of the New Seven Wonders of the World in 2007 via worldwide Internet poll.

My visit to Machu Picchu in November 2011 was the culmination of five months spent exploring Peru’s many other treasures. I had been amazed by the ancient ruins of the Moche people in the north of Peru, the headwaters of the Amazon river near Iquitos, and the vibrant city of Lima. I was unprepared for the magnitude of this Andean citadel.

We arrived shortly after sunrise, and the peaks were obscured by clouds, which is common. What is uncommon is that the clouds parted and burned off within an hour, displaying the ruins in unparalleled splendor. The verdant green of the terraces combined with the blue of the clear sky present a view that I feel to be unmatched in the world. Despite the thousands of people that poured onto the mountain, I was utterly and completely and joyously alone.

Machu Picchu can be accessed by the average traveler quite easily. Typically one travels by train from the city of Cusco to Aguas Calientes, and then by bus to the entrance of the site. Tickets cannot be purchased at the entrance, so it is mandatory that you purchase one in Aguas Calientes before boarding the bus, or in Cusco. Additionally, only 2,500 visitors are allowed to enter per day, so tickets may need to be purchased well in advance. Climbing Huayna Picchu, the iconic peak located within Machu Picchu itself, requires an additional purchase of a timed ticket, and only 400 of these are sold per day. Despite the seemingly strict rules regarding ticket purchases, I was able to purchase my ticket in Aguas Calientes the day before with no issue.

For the more adventurous traveler, a journey along the famed Inca Trail is an option. Only 500 people per day are admitted onto the trail, with over half of this number being guides and support staff. Advance booking is a must, and in some cases, such as the May to October peak season, a 12 month advance purchase may be necessary. Information regarding travel to Machu Picchu via the Inca Trail and regarding entrance ticket purchases can be found at the official Peru travel website, www.peru.travel

Traveling is an intensely personal experience, with destination selection reflecting the choices of the individual. That being said, Machu Picchu may not be on every traveler’s list. However, the relative ease with which one can journey to this iconic place and the reward for having done so is monumental.