2018’s grand adventures
Anthony Bourdain said it best. ‘‘Travel is about the gorgeous feeling of teetering in the unknown.’’ It’s also about discovering new places, sights, cuisines, experiences, and cultures. It’s about that feeling of realising you only occupy the smallest space in the world, and how much of it is still left to explore
This year Stuff’s team of travel writers and contributors travelled thousands of kilometres to some of the world’s most remote locations. We also journeyed back to some all-time favourite spots, and discovered amazing experiences right here at home.
We tried our hands at cooking in Morocco, tracked tigers in India, made life vows in Ireland, ventured towards the North Pole, and saw 500,000 king penguins on a subantarctic island off Argentina. Along the way we all rediscovered our love of travel. We’re looking forward to another year.
It’s all perspective Lorna Thornber
You have great expectations when you visit somewhere with a name like the Grand Canyon, particularly when it’s been designated one of the Natural Wonders of the World but, having visited briefly in 2016, I knew it would deliver.
If you’re having a fat day, there are plenty of ways to remind yourself you’re actually tiny – and visiting Arizona’s (rock)star attraction has to be one of the most fun.
Inching across the glass-floored walkway that juts out over Grand Canyon West, red and ochre walls sculpted over millennia stretching as far as the eye can see, it’s impossible to ignore the fact you occupy just a fraction of a canyon that occupies just a fraction of a desert that occupies just a fraction of a state ....
To get a really good gander without taking a hike, it’s best to take a helicopter ride, and this year I was lucky enough to do just that.
Setting off from Las Vegas, the massive entertainment complexes and suburban sprawl of the desert city soon gave way to actual desert.
We zipped over Lake Las Vegas with its mansions that are home to pop stars with residencies in the city, and a Hilton posing as Florence’s Ponte Vecchio, the US’ largest reservoir Lake Mead, and the deceptively barren ridges and dried rivers of the Mojave where – if you’re lucky and have good eyesight – you might just glimpse a mountain lion, bobcat, jackrabbit or wild horse.
Cresting the rim of the canyon, we followed the Colorado River through mile-high walls to a remote ledge, where we had 20 short minutes to enjoy a Champagne picnic (more like sparkling wine and snacks) and take snaps. As my nana might say, it was a grand day indeed.
The tiger that came to me Trupti Biradar
Safaris were never my thing. I’ve always been a food traveller. My strongest memories of exploring new destinations centre on the edible – that stillwarm-from-the-oven custard tart from Belem in Lisbon; a Delhi belly-inducing, spicy and flavourful bhel puri from a streetside stall of questionable hygiene in Mumbai; a heady, delicious concoction of brandy, coffee, sugar and whipped cream in the little German town of Rudesheim; or burning myself while learning to make Okonomiyaki in Harajuku, Tokyo.
So I found myself a little overwhelmed as I clung to the side of a 20-seater Canter in Ranthambore National Park. We’d driven through scrubby bush and wide open grassy plains for hours, steadily losing hope of glimpsing the great bengal tigers that roam the region.
But then she wandered out of the trees. A wild amber beauty. So much power. So much grace. She sauntered by us, lazily gave chase to a peahen and strolled off, back into the trees. She was gone in a matter of minutes, none the wiser to her affect on me. Suddenly everything else was insignificant. I was a wreck and already planning my 2019 African safari. I have always wanted to try bunny chow (no rabbits included – it’s simply a curry in a hollowedout loaf of bread).
A culinary lesson Sharon Stephenson
Most visitors come to Morocco with a few must-see places – Marrakesh’s honeycomb of narrow souks, the blue-on-blue buildings of Chefchaouen, maybe Casablanca’s Mosque, the third largest mosque in the world. Few make it as far as Essaouira, a former fishing village on Morocco’s most westerly sticky-out bit. That’s a shame because this coastal spot, a two-hour drive from Marrakesh, is charmingly laid-back, a respite from Morocco’s heat and occasional chaos.
Founded by the Romans, colonised by the Portuguese and adopted by the tune-in, drop-out generation of the 1960s (Jimi Hendrix was a fan), Essaouira’s rough edges have long since been smoothed over. That could explain why the place is awash with art galleries, trendy eateries and surfers drawn to the gleaming crescent of butterscotch sand.
I fell in love with Essaouira’s Medina (old town) with its walkable beachfront and friendly locals who don’t seem as determined to separate visitors from their dirhams as they do in larger cities.
But mostly, I fell in love with the food – the freshest seafood, steamy tagines and platters of pillowy couscous. And what’s not to love about a country that has a national drink of fragrant mint tea, sweetened with too much sugar?
I met Adil, a local chef, at the souk where we shopped for ingredients for a cooking class. I had to avert my eyes when a chicken was killed in front of me. But I happily filled bags with olives, dates, cumin, and bright-red harissa paste, before climbing the stairs to the home Adil shares with
his wife, mother-in-law and baby daughter. Eight of us chopped, chatted and lounged on brightly coloured cushions drinking mint tea, while Adil cooked.
Then we ate, congratulating ourselves on finding 2018’s happy place.
The people of Palestine Ashleigh Stewart
Now, don’t get me wrong, I know there are issues at play in considering this a tourist destination. And believe me, I’m well aware of the Israeli occupation that’s put a strain on resources and infrastructure in the West Bank. But the simple fact is, the people there are desperate for tourists. After all, the West Bank is home to one of the world’s most historic cities – Bethlehem and, in turn, the Church of the Nativity where Jesus is said to have been born.
So put aside all you’ve heard about the Israel/ Palestine conflict and ignore what you’ve heard in the media (not all media, keep reading).
The Old City of Bethlehem is a stunning, stoneladen labyrinth of marketplaces, delicious falafel shops and friendly faces. The Hosh Al-Syrian Guesthouse, run by chef Fadi Kattan, is a beautiful old collection of buildings with a restaurant that could rival any in London, Paris or Rome. Fadi is a well-known figure in Bethlehem, and the morning walkabout he took me on around the market, forcefeeding me cheese and wasabi-flavoured herbs as we met locals, was one of the most special experiences I’ve ever had.
Bethlehem is also home to the hotel opened by elusive street artist Banksy. It’s beside the imposing Palestinian ‘‘security wall’’. These days, the wall is a stunning patchwork quilt of works by famous artists, local artists, and amateurs just wanting to leave a message of hope. The art gallery inside promotes local artists, there’s a fantastic museum, and Banksy has designed a series of art only available to guests to view. There’s a metaphor in just about everything – the hotel’s British-colonial aesthetic is intended to point out the UK’s failures in the Middle East.
I don’t think I’ve ever left a place with a heart as full as I did when I left Palestine, and although the random Israeli fighter jets overhead can be unsettling, to the locals they’re white noise. ‘‘They’re just reminding us they’re there,’’ Fadi said. So in turn, I’m here to remind you that Palestine is there, and it’s incredible.
Where goats do roam Neil Ratley
High in the lush emerald alpine meadows I’m surrounded by majestic mountains and a surly herd of clanging goats. The blooming wild flowers are bursting with colour as spring begins to loosen winter’s grip in the Italian Dolomites.
These Unesco-listed groups of mountains cover about 1500 square kilometres. The groups form a labyrinth of rock walls, valleys, forests, alpine pastures, meadows filled with wildflowers and raging rivers. I spent a week exploring the area on two feet and two wheels – scaling summits and exploring plateaus, and riding over passes and through small villages in this geographical and cultural crossroad between Italy to the south and Tyrol to the north. It’s where pasta meets strudel.
A week – especially with your own transport – is ample time to get a taste for the groups of jagged spires that Italian mountaineer Reinhold Messner (who was born under the natural stone cathedrals of the Dolomites) described as ‘‘pieces of art’’. The best part about exploring the Dolomites is that you don’t need the abilities of Messner to feel like you are on top of the world.
The region saw fierce fighting during World War I. To help troops move about at high altitude in very difficult conditions, permanent lines were fixed to rock faces and ladders were installed so troops could ascend steep faces. These are the vie ferrate, or iron paths. Today, the precipitous routes – equipped with steel cables, ladders, wooden walkways, and suspended bridges – are a magnet for alpinists from near and far. The exposed high ways are accessible even to inexperienced climbers with a guide or knowledgeable climber.
If you suffer from vertigo, there are plenty of well marked trails on terra firma that allow you to get up close to some of the Dolomites’ most famous highlights, including Tre Cime di Lavaredo, PuezOdle National Park, Lago di Sorapis, and the Sella Massif. Linking all of these are winding and twisting passes that lead to small villages rich in history and culture dating to Roman times.
Arctic exploration Jill Worrall
Whoever named a flat outcrop of snow-capped rock Dead Seal Island was a very literal sort or an explorer devoid of inspiration. It might have been one of the least prepossessing of names and geographical features in the Franz Josef Land archipelago on the Russian Arctic but it provided
me with the most remarkable moments of my travelling year.
Aboard the expedition ship, Sea Spirit, we’d been exploring the island group for some days, including reaching its northernmost tip, a mere 900 kilometres from the North Pole. We’d already encountered polar bears and dozens of walruses but nothing could have prepared me for what we saw one afternoon on board the ship’s fleet of inflatable boats.
Our helmsman brought us to a halt just metres from the island’s shore as a mother polar bear and her cub began clambering down from the island’s interior to the water’s edge. After a brief pause to sniff the air in our direction, the pair began to move along the shore. We puttered alongside until the bears reached the island’s tip where ice, studded with walrus mothers and babies, stretched into the sea.
While the mother bear watched, her cub leapt from ice floe to ice floe until he could go no further. He then sat down to watch our boats bobbing at a distance determined by the armed Russian national park rangers who accompanied us. Then, at a call from mum, he began to return to dry land. We watched him consider a jump across a narrow channel, take a flying leap but miss his landing with his back legs. Powerful claws and front paws helped him haul himself on to the ice. Wet-bottomed, he then lay on his back and rolled around in the snow.
Dodging the dungeon Brook Sabin
I get lost a lot – it’s one of the best parts of travelling. I’ve ended up in the wrong city, homeless for a night, and even in a dungeon. The latter was my favourite experience of the year.
New Zealand’s oldest building is a mere 200 years old, so walking over a bridge to the 1000-yearold Castle Hotel Schoenburg filled me with childlike excitement. We were in Germany’s Middle Rhine Valley, a fairytale stretch of river that has 40 castles, palaces and fortresses perched atop narrow cliffs.
The hotel is regarded as one of the most romantic in all of Europe, after the castle was meticulously restored to its full Middle-Age glory. We were greeted in period dress and handed a scroll with instructions on how to find our way up the turrets to our chamber.
I kid you not, our suite had a hidden room. It took us a few minutes to figure out that it was behind a bookcase. Inside, we found a throne, of the porcelain variety.
The castle had a porch overlooking the Rhine – accessed through a dramatic archway – where a Champagne breakfast was served on fine china. There was also a magical garden – complete with a towering tree house – that had a hidden library. Then there was me: completely lost, trying to find the Knights’ Room for a bite to eat. Instead, I ended up in the bowels of the castle where I stumbled across the dungeon. It’s been given a luxury makeover, and now serves as a place smokers can retreat to. I like the subtle message.
Life isn’t about money or assets, it’s about moments. And travelling delivers those like no other. Stumbling across a dungeon, imagining the untold treachery it’s seen, is a moment I’ll never forget.
Engaged in Ireland Alan Granville
I was the one who was going to pop the question. Although I hadn’t got down to the nitty-gritty of organising a ring, a time or place, I knew that in 2019 I was going to ask him to marry me. Three years together, our relationship had survived a major illness and a change of city, so I knew this was the one.
As it turned out, it’s lucky I wasn’t well prepared ... because he was. It was a trip back home to Ireland – he was meeting my family for the first time. In fact, it was his first trip to Europe.
We had spent the day adventuring around the remote Achill Island in County Mayo when he asked if we could do one last stop, a mountain he had heard I loved the view from.
So there we were, alone, on a desolate, windswept peak on the edge of the world. It was freezing, and the clouds were swarming over us. It was still a majestic view nonetheless and as I turned to take a photo, he was there, on bended knee, a half-opened black box in his hand, and he uttered those words that will live with me forever: ‘‘You know I’ve always loved you, will you marry me?’’
There was only one word that was appropriate: ‘‘yes’’.
Living Lebanon’s best life Siobhan Downes
Beirut probably isn’t at the top of many people’s bucket lists. But it should be. Lebanon’s capital is a vibrant destination that refuses to be defined by its brutal past.
I’m not going to lie – the food won me over first. My education began with a Beirut Bites walking tour organised by local food tour company, Taste Lebanon. Founded by Lebanese food blogger and cookbook author Bethany Kehdy, the company arranges culinary journeys all over the country. My lovely guide, Iffat, introduced me to hole-in-thewall Armenian bakeries, the city’s best shawarma joints, and Arabic icecream so heavenly it almost brought a tear to my eye.
But it was so much more than just a food tour. Between bites, Iffat talked me through the city’s tumultuous history, pointing out once-grand mansions that were caught in the crossfire during the country’s 15-year-long civil war, and still bear the scars.
What struck me most was how much Beirutis believe in the future of their city. You can see signs of this on the walls – street artists have transformed crumbling stairways and bulletridden structures with beautiful murals and cheerful splashes of colour.
The locals also love to party, and Beirut is considered the nightlife capital of the Middle East. One of the most iconic haunts is B018, a subterranean nightclub set in what looks like an old bomb shelter, with a retractable roof that lets revellers dance beneath the stars.
Yes, there are still armed soldiers on the streets. And yes, war is sadly still raging in neighbouring Syria. But Beirut is no longer shorthand for conflict. It’s moved on from its heartache and is living its best life. To visit this city is to learn how to live – or at least how to travel – in the moment.
Sea’s the day Justine Tyerman
The little painted stone was lying beside the track on the way to a remote beach on the Coromandel Peninsula. The simple message had a strangely profound effect on me ... despite the fact the punctuation wasn’t quite right. It read ‘‘Sea’s The Day’’, which reinforced a cluster of voices in my head following the premature deaths of a couple of friends. I usually grizzle incessantly when hiking up steep hills or steps in the heat, but my whole perspective on life had undergone a radical sea change.
The stone was like a talisman, urging me on, silencing the negatives, encouraging me to rejoice in the fresh air, sparkling sea, bright sunshine, and clear skies. I felt so privileged to be alive and well, with legs and lungs that still worked, I was unstoppable. And, despite the heat and gradient, I
uttered not a single complaint. Had the tracks we hiked not come to an end at a sheer cliff or headland, I would probably still be walking.
We spent a blissful week free-wheeling around the Coromandel in a motorhome in late spring, before the crowds descended on the peninsula. Our motorised hotel suite was so plush and spacious, we nicknamed it Ritzy Britzy. The flexibility and convenience of travelling in a self-contained motorhome with no fixed itinerary gave us a heady sense of freedom to wander at will during the day and park up overnight at dreamy locations. At Simpson’s Beach, Tapu and Onemana, we slept within spray-drift of the sea.
The highlights were our hikes to remote little beaches we discovered by accident. Jewel-like, sickle-shaped, golden and white-sand bays locked within rocky headlands that define the Coromandel and make it so dramatic and photogenic. Tranquil bays named Octopus, Te Karo, O¯ tara, Lonely, O¯ pito, O¯ tama ... Octopus Bay was fringed with po¯ hutukawa about to flower. Ours were the only footprints in the sand apart from a lone oystercatcher.
One day we hiked seven hours and only stopped when it was no longer safe to negotiate the cliff-top track. My hiking-mate/husband Chris had to entice me back to Ritzy Britzy with the promise of bubbly at sunset. ‘‘Sea’s The Day’’ was our toast. It’s now my daily mantra.
Antarctic glamour Pamela Wade
The best day of 2018 for me was January 1. That did, inevitably, mean it was downhill for the rest of the year – but it was worth it to have had that one perfect, exciting, glorious, beautiful day. I was on a Silversea cruise to Antarctica and this was our last full day before heading back towards Ushuaia.
We began by cruising into Neko Harbour on the Antarctic Peninsula for a hike through knee-deep snow up to a view across to a crevasse-fissured glacier that calved with a low rumble as we watched it fall in slo-mo into the turquoise sea. Gentoo penguins provided comic relief in their rookery – waddling, squabbling and stealing pebbles from each other’s nests. The Silver Explorer glided as we ate lunch on the deck, interrupted by an encounter with a pod of orcas hunting, a long-awaited first for me.
We arrived at magnificently spectacular Cuverville Island for another hike to the summit or, my choice, chilling out in the sunshine on the stony beach watching penguins clowning on dazzling icebergs: blue, white, striped, smooth, textured and sculpted, some draped with crab-eater seals. Later, the afternoon’s lectures were interrupted by the captain’s announcement about a pod of humpback whales bubble-net feeding, and we watched, fascinated, as he circled around them, the crew escorting us through their quarters for a lower, closer view.
That night butler Ivy served us dinner as we watched March of the Penguins in our suite, periodically pausing it to step outside on to our veranda to admire the icebergs, glaciers, mountains and deep blue sea, in the golden light of a slowly-setting sun. We drank Champagne. Nothing else would do.
Cowboy country Debbie Griffiths – TV3 presenter
Marion is a rugged New Caledonian cowboy with an endearing habit of gently murmuring to his horses and kissing their velvety noses. His ranch is beside our luxury accommodation, Sheraton Deva Spa and Golf Resort. It’s no surprise the five-star complex has been constructed here.
The Bourail region’s enduring stockman culture, the stunning aquamarine ocean, white sand beaches and rolling hills are expected to make it the next hot spot for visitors to the French territory. For the moment, though, it feels very far from the tourist trail. Marion’s guided tours are the best way not just to see the landscape, but to become part of it.
He introduces me to Johnnie, my horse for our one-hour trek. ‘‘Are you feeling stressed?’’
I had been nervous. But suddenly I’m not. He nods, satisfied that his beloved horse runs minimal risk of being injured by an inexperienced rider. Marion guides my hands to correctly hold the reins and encourages me to pull myself up into the saddle.
Then he simply says, ‘‘follow me’’.
He whistles to Johnnie and my mount obediently touches his nose to the rump of Marion’s horse and we set off. The sedate pace allows me to relax and soak in the warmth of the sun and the impossibly stunning scenery. The hill behind the ranch gives a sweeping view of an ocean that’s at least four shades of blue, with a white ruffled line marking the surrounding Unesco-listed reef.
When we emerge from trees to the stark white of the sand, it’s a moment of pure delight. The ocean is so clear I can see the seagrass wafting in the current and fish darting amongst it. New Caledonia’s Bourail region is sheer perfection.
A tale of two favourites Yvonne van Dongen
This year I visited two countries – one a bucket-list special, the other not-so-much. The bucket-lister was Alaska – empty, epic and cold; the other was Mexico – warm, colourful and unexpected. Alaska was just too big, too chilly and too grand for this
little human. But Mexico, well, darling Mexico was simply huggable.
My favourite place in Mexico? My son and I play this game a lot. It’s one way of reliving the trip. He runs through the luchadores (theatrical wrestlers), the mescal tours (an agave-based alcohol), and pretty much always ends up in Oaxaca city. It’s the big pedestrian square in the centre that pulls him back. Sit on a glass of 47 per cent proof mescal at a cafe at dusk and watch the various players strut their stuff. The tiny Mayan girls, arms weighed down with hand-embroidered shawls and shirts drifting from table to table; the urchins selling intricate handmade flax crickets and flowers; the lugubrious hat seller balancing a tower of sombreros; the booted and buckled mariachis with their sappy songs and over-sized guitars; the electric marimba band; the beloved orphan dog; and the dancing locals of all ages.
Yes, I protest, but it’s the same every night. That’s the point, he agrees, though the point is lost on me. Nah, I say, it’s the Yucatan every time, which is unfair since it’s a state and not just a city – but it has everything. Merida, the prettiest pastel Spanish colonial city in a country of pretty pastel Spanish colonial cities; pink flamingos; red lakes; black and white raccoons; blue cenotes (freshwater swimming holes); dancing shows featuring balanced bottles of beer; and a fantastic square with mariachis and even horse-drawn carriages. Touristy, says my son of the latter. And cruel to the horses. Also the square isn’t as big as the one in Oaxaca. No, I agree. It’s smaller and more cosy. Huggable even.
Beautiful Norway Tim Warrington
‘‘We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.’’ TS Eliot’s narrative seemed somewhat prophetic about my time in Norway.
I journeyed from Oslo to Oslo over eight days. I came across the dog-eared copy of Eliot’s poems at a hotel in Lom, a small town capturing the essence of the Scandinavian countryside. Surrounded by grass-roofed log cabins, mountains and cascading streams – across from the 12th-century wooden Stave Church – I half expected a hoard of marauding Vikings to appear.
We took a boat trip on Geiranger fjord, considered one of the most beautiful in the world, Unesco-listed since 2005. Cascades of thundering water from almost vertical mountainsides broke the still of the glassy ocean below. The Seven Sisters waterfall shimmied airily on one mountain while the Friaren waterfall (The Suitor) gazed wistfully from across the fjord. We were mostly silent aboard the vessel, awestruck, a time for quiet reflection. Norway’s like that – visual impact at every turn that steals your breath, as epic landscapes, sculpted by ancient ice and wind, unfurl before you.
From the fjord we ascended more than 1.5 kilometres to Northern Europe’s highest and arguably most striking mountain pass, Sognefjellet. Pitched among a symphony of jumbled stone, innumerable glaciers snaked through the otherworldly landscape in one of nature’s most stunning spectacles. Even superlatives pale when describing Norway’s ancient landscape. Surrounded by so much beauty, and again lost for words, there remained only one logical thing to do: jump for joy.
By Georgia, what a racket! Liz Carlson
The spray of the icy sea whipped our faces as we bobbed up and down approaching St Andrew’s Bay, South Georgia, a remote subantarctic island more than 2000 kilometres off the coast of South America. Each time our little Zodiac boat was lifted up on a swell, we would get a glimpse of spiked, snow-capped mountains in the distance, their glaciers trailing to the water and moraine below. Uninhabitable is one word to describe it. The salty air carried the smell of seals, an unmistakable scent once you’re familiar with it.
South Georgia is known for Ernest Shackleton, a dark whaling past and, today, its wildlife population. St Andrew’s Bay has only be visited by the few travellers hardy enough to endure several days’ hard sail due east from Argentina, through some of the toughest seas on Earth.
But the 10-metre swells and big dent to your bank account are worth it. Over the drone of the Zodiac motor on approach, you will hear the loud chorus of birds, caw-cawing in unison – so loud it’s deafening, just as Captain Cook once described New Zealand’s birdsong. Riding a wave ashore, and climbing on to land, you’ll find the locals are out in droves to welcome you. A mighty 1m-high, the King Penguin is the second largest penguin in the world and, here in South Georgia, they thrive. Not afraid of humans, they carry on with their daily lives, occasionally stopping to give your boots a peck as you wander. There is only one thought that crosses your mind, ‘‘this is the most incredible place’’.