Two months earlier, where we stood in Grand Teton National Park, a thousand tourists at any given time, dusk ‘til dawn, gathered under the summer sun, not only to observe wildlife but to take in the famed Grand Teton Mountain range that to me, thanks to the ominous wintery death clouds, existed only in theory.

While it was a thrill to enjoy the park’s resident moose and thunderous herds of bison and elk in relative solitude given the offseason, the idea of leaving without an actual glimpse of the craggy pinnacles felt akin to going to a movie theater only to experience the popcorn … Or at least that is what I thought until I ventured into the upscale neighboring town of Jackson Hole.

Located minutes from Grand Teton National Park and a two-hour drive from Yellowstone, Jackson Hole is often and inaccurately considered simply a tourist-trap gateway town to the National Parks or an exclusive second home destination for the world’s wealthiest and most famous. With an eclectic culinary scene and thriving art galleries and museums, a culturally immersive stay in Jackson Hole will enrich any nature lover’s experience of the National Parks far beyond the observation of snowy peaks, waterfalls, and gurgling geysers.

At Gather Restaurant and Bar, located just off Jackson Hole Town Square, you will find one of the most inventive menus and dining experiences in Wyoming. Gather’s menu, unlike any other, is entirely influenced and designed around the tastes and preferences of the clientele. While it is always open to the public, Gather also features a private Chef’s Table. Booked more than two months in advance, this unique experience allows guests to experience Jackson Hole’s finest kitchen staff unhinged as they work to create a beautifully plated, locally sourced and spectacular meal.

While the chef’s table is where Gather shines, where Gather becomes truly unique and interactive, however, is at its Tuesday Tastings. Each Tuesday at 12pm, owner Graeme Swain joins a table of 12 individuals who are invited to taste three newly created dishes. Each dish is prepared from scratch and presented by the chef to the room family-style. Guests are given sheets to rate each dish based on presentation, creativity, flavor and value. After voting on each for each dish, as customers sip wine waiting for the next course, Swain leads a lively culinary-driven dialogue about why each dish worked and how each dish might be improved. Upon completion, the chef joins the table to discuss the dish’s critiques in what is an enormously fulfilling and insightful dining experience. The successes and failures of the Tuesday Tastings are what ultimately shape Gather’s ever–evolving menu making it one of Jackson Hole’s premiere dining spots.

While Gather is the most unique, Jackson Hole’s downtown is booming with outstanding restaurant options. For other upscale trendy dining options, The Rose also features a strong regionally influenced menu and an outstanding chef’s table, this chef’s table is in the restaurant’s kitchen where guests watch the chef craft each course. The Kitchen is also not to be missed. For more casual dining, try Café Genevieve, Local, and Snake River Brewing are all outstanding options. For lighter fare and amazing coffee, Persephone with its baked goods and clean menu is hard to beat.

Jackson Hole’s culinary scene is indeed a lively one and is perfectly coupled with an ever-evolving arts community. Jackson Hole has long been a destination for artists of all kinds. The town square is lined with galleries from local and internationally known artists. Jackson Hole’s striking Public Art adds splashes of color and creativity to every turn through town from the information center to the library.

Jackson Hole’s creative hub is, without a doubt, the at The Center for the Arts. This 78,000 square foot campus houses 19 local, national and international artistic non-profits ranging from the visionary filmmakers of Jackson Hole Wild to theater and music groups to the public art office. The Center’s theater also regularly features intimate events and performances from international musical superstars like Ben Folds, readings from world-renowned authors like David Sedaris.

If the weather at Grand Teton National Park is keeping you from experiencing the great outdoors, one can experience said wilderness instead by way of The National Museum of Wildlife Art. This 50,000-square—foot building, designed after the Slains Castle in Scotland overlooks the National Elk Refuge and houses fourteen galleries with pieces from over five hundred artists.

The museum’s collection is centered on the big game wildlife paintings of German-born Carl Rungius and the entire collection features art from 2,500 B.C. to contemporary works from some of the world’s most famous artists. The subject matter ranges from explorer art to Romanticism; from realism to modernism. The Wildlife Art museum includes work from such artists as John James Audubon, Frederic Remington, Picasso, Rodin, Rembrandt, O’Keefe and Andy Warhol. The museum also includes a theater which regularly hosts documentary screenings and speaker series featuring explorers and adventurers from all over the world. A gift to see the natural world as seen through the eyes of the world’s greatest artists.

My last day in Jackson Hole, I set out once again into the park with Jackson Hole EcoTour Adventures, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Tetons. My guide picks me up from the Rusty Parrot Lodge just before sunrise and as we make our way into the park, there is still a low fog; this time blocking even any grazing wildlife from view. As we cut deeper into the park, though, slowly sunlight begins to cut through the fog. Slowly the mountains reveal themselves washed in a pink alpenglow. Again, moose, bison, horses and even a grizzly bear roam the foreground. Once again, we had the park to ourselves. It had grown colder since I had arrived. Winter was approaching. I think back to those ropey clouds and how they’d frustrated me my first day in Wyoming. I think about how I’d thought there was so little else to see and experience Jackson Hole… Full and inspired, I couldn’t help but think how badly I had been wrong.

All photos © Matt Payne.

The post Travel Wyoming: A Deeper Look Into Jackson Hole appeared first on Vagabondish.

With dozens of innovative eateries and craft breweries, the free-spirited Asheville has long been a national cultural and culinary hub. While I enjoyed many a meal and hoppy libation in many of these outstanding establishments, only at Market Place had I played an active role in procuring round one of my dinner twelve hours earlier. The starter course and I had an emotional connection …

“Ninety percent of everything you see around you is edible,” said the soft-spoken Alan Muskat, CEO and Chief Edutainment Officer of No Taste Like Home, holding up a small flower. A reasonable utterance in perhaps a convenience store, but I, along with six others including Alan, were not amid Slurpees and twirling taquitos. We were standing next to a babbling brook under the canopy of a dense North Carolina forest, a half-hour drive outside of Asheville. “Daffodils, however, are poisonous,” continued Alan. With that, the gentle man bit the colorful bloom off of its stem and began to chew. The contemplative corners of his mouth turned upwards as he studied the headless stalk. “Not these violets, though,” said Alan, swallowing. “They are delicious.”

Eating something unfamiliar that you’ve just yanked from the earth is imposing. It is not like plucking an adorable blueberry from a bush where you have the mental security of recognition, nor is it comparable to noshing on a carrot recently wangled from grandma’s garden. The forest is full of scary things and while the term “star chickweed” doesn’t sound particularly intimidating, when you first bite into it, death seems imminent and tastes like corn silk.

Thanks to Alan, who for twenty years, has been leading foraging excursions and wild food workshops in Asheville’s surrounding wilderness, that fear and discomfort begins to give way to curiosity as the forest floor is transformed from a daunting wilderness into a primal produce section.

Our motto is: there’s no taste like home.

“Our motto is: there’s no taste like home,” said Alan as his assistant handed each participant a small bucket and an old knife tied to a small shovel. Alan echoes my initial discomfort. “People believe mushrooms are deadly, plants are poisonous and people can’t be trusted. The goal at No Taste Like Home is to make the forest feel safer and more like home,” he says before bending over an old log and exposing a mushroom. “Lilac Tooth Polypore!” exclaims Alan. “Not too tasty but certainly not poisonous. The mushroom we are really looking for is the morel.”

At the word morel, the day’s objective became clear. The morel mushroom is the Stanley Cup of foraging: hard to come by, worth a lot of money and finding one makes you a champion. They are seasonal, found near old campfires and around apple, birch and ash trees. Usually buried by leaves, they look like an elongated brain, are about the size of an adult thumb, and taste best when sautéed in butter. An ounce will run you about twenty dollars. While it is fun foraging for things like the bountiful Solomon Seal and the wasabi-like cutleaf toothwart, seeking out the elusive morel turned foraging into sport. I had to find one.

Foraging for morels with No Taste Like Home is a paradox. On one hand, Alan broadens my horizons, giving identity and purpose to the hundreds of plants and fungus that to the untrained eye look like a sprawling inedible tangle of browns and greens. On the other hand, awareness of the morel’s possible proximity creates a singular focus inside me that seems to make all else disappear. No Taste Like Home’ aim is to bring us together and suddenly my fellow fungus foragers are my direct competitors.

I trace my way up and across a narrow stream, trying to create distance between the other foragers and me. I can hear Alan discussing the medicinal properties of Turkey Tail. Turkey Tail is another mushroom that looks similar to the aforementioned lilac-toothed polypore only this one mushroom cures cancer. Not interested.

I have to kick through the leaves gently so as not to decapitate the mushroom from its stem. It is as delicate a process as it is urgent. Looking for a mushroom is actually causing my heart rate to accelerate. I think about what it would be like to be a Smurf. Those guys actually lived in Mushrooms. Would they actually consider eating their home?

“I think I found one!” screamed the youngest of the foragers. She is a girl of maybe twelve and is the closest of the foragers to me. I splash back across the stream as she bends down to extract from the earth whatever it is she thinks she’s found.

“Wait!” I said, as if I get there before she picks it, I can somehow lay a co-claim on whatever it is. She looks at me, puzzled as I catch my breath.

“What is it?” I ask, heaving.

“I think it’s a mushroom.”

Sure enough, like an inch-high alien, peaking from the leafy forest floor, is a morel. This girl doesn’t even know what she’s found! I think to myself. I could just tell her its nothing and she might just walk away. Then I could pick it and it would be all mine. A twelve-year old’s palate lacks the sophistication to appreciate such a delicacy anyway. The morel’s robust flavor would bore her in the same way a symphony might bore a toddler.

The little girl bends over to pick the mushroom.

I consider stopping her but Alan’s words from earlier and the overall mission of Wild Foods Adventures begin to swirl in my head. “People believe mushrooms are deadly, plants are poisonous and people can’t be trusted. The goal, at No Taste Like Home is to make the forest feel safer and more like home.”

“It’s a morel,” I say to her. “You found it.”

She calls to her mother and then Alan and his band of happy foragers make their way up the hill. I look at my feet defeated, and there, like a beacon is a second morel. “Another one!” I say, and pick it up just before the crowd gathers.

“Look what we found, mom!” she beams.

Look what ‘we’ found, I think to myself. I suppose it takes a team to win the Stanley Cup.

An hour later, with our two morels in tow, we are back where we started. Alan thanks us all for coming but before we go, notes that we are standing under an apple tree among a thick grove of birch trees. Not too far away is a fire pit. It begins to click into place. We look down. All over the ground is a Smurf Village of beautiful, brainy, delicious morels; more than enough to take that night, to Chef Dissen at The Market Place where incorporating foraged food is one of their specialties. We’d hit the jackpot.

As I watch my fellow foragers go nuts picking morel after morel, I couldn’t help but take in the vast, beautiful, complex forest that surrounded me. Out there was Turkey Tail, Solomon Seal, Fiddler’s Fern, Cutleaf Toothwart and hundreds and hundreds of mushrooms that could do anything from make your mouth water to curing your cancer. The forest was good and it felt like home. A truly delicious, beautiful home.

The post There’s No Taste Like Home: Foraging Wild Edibles in North Carolina appeared first on Vagabondish.

Which is how we found ourselves aboard a helicopter sunset flight with Viator (yet another great tour that was part of our participation in Viator’s Ambassador Program). Last year’s flight over the Canadian Rockies was, in a word, unforgettable. Our latest flight provided an altogether different, but every bit as memorable, experience.

Pulling into the tiny Marathon Airport, we found it closed. Every day at six o’clock sharp, they lock the doors. There is no air traffic control tower. One can only surmise this is due to the lack of, ya know, traffic. Pilots instead rely on the skill and judgement of their fellow pilots to keep everyone abreast of their plans (fingers crossed …). All of which is to say: it’s small and pretty laid back.

But our pilot, Mike (no relation), met us at the reception area with his dog, Shane Dog. In keeping with the no-frills Florida Keys ethos, prior to our tour, there was no paperwork to fill out, no lengthy check-in process, no safety briefing … no real briefing at all actually.

From there, we walked a few hundred feet to our waiting chariot. The bright, canary yellow bird seated only four people, including the pilot, and was every bit as low-key as Marathon itself.

In-flight amenities included two cupholders, an ashtray, and seatbelts (“Please don’t let the straps flap around outside the door or they might dent the fuselage.”). There was no AC and there would be no in-flight meal service.

Fortunately, we had the chopper all to ourselves. Pilot Mike provisioned us with two fanny-pack-esque flotation devices, assuring us that we wouldn’t need them. I suppose, if you have to drown, there are worse places to do so than the Florida Keys. We hopped aboard for a three-minute intro that included rudimentary seat belt instruction and letting the engine properly heat up. And up we went …

Almost immediately, the view was stunning:

From the ground, the sea, the Florida Keys never disappoint. But, this was the first time either of us had experienced the island chain from the air.

In a few short minutes, we were gliding over the famous Seven Mile Bridge. Mike pointed out schools of eagle rays, a turtle, and either a manatee/dolphin/small submarine — we’re still unsure — all loitering around the bridge.

Circling over Pigeon Key, we spotted a tour group who couldn’t grasp why this tiny whirlybird was hovering so close above them. After a few quick twirls downward, we were close enough to wave and smile at them, which the group immediately returned. Because, really, who doesn’t like helicopters?

Even at low altitude (500-ish feet), it’s amazing just how far we could see. The Keys are a sizable archipelago but, from the air, they seem so compact as if you can capture the entire chain in a single photograph.

After a few more rounds over the bridge, we headed back for the airport. Thankfully, our “ground crew” (read: my aunt) spotted our chopper from the ground and snapped this X-Files-esque photo of us overhead in silhouette:

It’s easy to see why the Pigeon Key folks were apprehensive at first.

Time flies when you’re, well, flying and it’s amazing how quickly twenty minutes go by. Viator also offers a 60-minute flight and I think we’d opt for that next time. While it might seem like a once-in-a-lifetime bucket list experience, Kelsey and I would do it again in a heartbeat!

The post Bucket List Adventures: Getting (Pretty) High in the Florida Keys appeared first on Vagabondish.

Here is an open letter to Turtle Island for each day of my visit, recounting our courtship from the first impression stages to meeting the family to finally a genuine soul mate connection that I hope will last a lifetime …

Day 1: The Peacocking Stage

Dear Turtle Island,

You make an incredible first impression. The seaplane ride from Nadi to Turtle Island’s gentle shores was not just considerate in that it only took a half hour compared to the island ferry’s travel time of five, but it was also spectacular. As we splash down, your staff greets us with traditional, complexly harmonized Fijian song, dance, hearty smiles and handshakes that turn to hugs.

You were wise to let me sneak a peek at so many of the other islands during our flight from the mainland. You are without a doubt, the most beautiful of all with your crescent beach, spaced out bures, and powdery sand. As the bright-eyed Mama Sala introduces herself, not with a “welcome to Turtle Island,” but rather, the phrase “welcome home.” It is said so earnestly, it felt awkward but deeply familiar.

Once at spacious, airy two-room Grande Bure, Mama Sala runs down a list of activities that you have planned for us over the next five days, including scuba, snorkel, deep-sea fishing, village visits, sunrise horseback rides, and champagne lunches on private beaches, I can’t help but think we have something special together and I want this relationship to go further.

You impress me more when, shortly after our arrival, we have a seafood lunch on the sand made up of fresh fish, shellfish, octopus, and sea grapes that were taken from the surrounding waters just hours earlier. Not only are you resourceful when it comes to cuisine, you can cook. You invite your entire staff to join the guests for lunch and in our first hours together we aren’t “the served” and “the servers.” We are all one. As I spend the rest of the happy afternoon snorkeling among the stingrays and starfish of the reef right off of the shore of my beautiful bure, I find myself wondering if you could even be real.

Warmly,
Matt

Day 2: Getting to Know You

Dear Turtle Island,

So you can cook and sing and you are stunning, but today, I get to learn what makes you tick. I learn that you were once, in the early 70’s, an empty island whose vegetation had been stripped bare by wild goats. No one wanted you. But one man, your “father” as it were, Richard Evanson, saw more in you. He bought you, covered you in mahogany trees, imported iguanas and parrots and soon Hollywood came knocking to use your shores for the movie The Blue Lagoon. From there, he had a vision to turn you into a private resort island, to be called Turtle Island, where a lucky few at any given time could enjoy your exclusivity.

Next, I learn how you’ve grown into a mature, beautiful, responsible resort. All produce eaten by guests and staff alike, is grown on the island and all energy is solar. On the island is a woodshop where local craftsmen use wood from the island trees to make everything from the bed frames to salt shakers and souvenir photo albums. The flower arrangements that Mama Sala places on our beds, countertops, and even toilet tanks are always made with wild picked hibiscus and palm leaves.

Not only that, one can only be hired to work on the island if they are recommended by a current employee. The seventy-plus staff is made up of friends and of family and live in villages in the surrounding islands. Turtle Island keeps the villages running and keeps the kids of employees educated by paying for their schooling.

Given your namesake, it is only logical that you would be in the business of saving the sea turtles that populate your waters. You have a program where guests can bid for the right to write their name on the back of a sea turtle’s shell that has been inadvertently captured by local fishermen. The process, which is 100% humane, also raises money for sea turtle conservation and means that the shell is no longer valuable to poachers.

There is far more to you, Turtle Island, than reefs and ukulele songs. As I sit alone, on the wind swept beach where years ago, The Blue Lagoon was shot, I begin to have a new idea of what real beauty truly means and while I feel like I’ve known you forever, still we’ve just only met. And it’s a plus that you’re a movie star.

Affectionately,
Matt

Day 3: Meeting the Family

Dear Turtle Island,

Yesterday, you sold me on your soul and today you wine and dine me then steal my heart. I’m vulnerable to you now. I trust you and I believe in you. You might say, I’m circling the “L” word.

The day begins before sunrise. Horses roam free on Turtle Island and can be seen trotting through the woods, eating fallen coconuts or galloping along stretches of sandy beaches. Two of your horses, Deek and Nemo are tame and we ride them along your longest stretch of white sand facing east as the sun slowly rises and the beach comes to life with scurrying crab and cooing doves. We have pastries and sip coffee and champagne. By the time we are finished, it is only 7am and the day is long.

We’ve met your staff. We ate seafood with them and have laughed over drinks in your open-air bar. They’ve sung to us at sunset and no matter what, always greet us by name and a cheerful BULA, the Fijian greeting that has now become my mantra. This afternoon, we are leaving our island and going across the channel to the small village where much of the staff lives.

Life, we see in the village, is simpler than most of us have seen. Accessible only by sea, there are no roads into the village. There are no shops, no police, no hospitals, and not even doctors. The food comes from the sea. And while the houses, with their limited water and rudimentary outdoor kitchens are small, the soul of this town is enormous.

We watch as your kids play rugby. No one seems to wear shoes. You show us your church and talk to us about how much God means in village life. We share in the time old tradition of the Fijian Kava Ceremony. We gather around a bowl filled with water mixed with powdered, anesthetic Kava Root. The village elder hands each of us a hollowed out coconut shell full of the ashy water. As it goes down, we relax as the musically inclined of the village perform traditional Fijian dances. Life is how it has been for hundreds of years in that moment, and probably how it should continue to be forever.

That night, back at the resort, we have dinner on a floating platform out in the middle of the ocean. As the thousands of stars begin to reveal themselves in a way that only happens on remote islands, our eyes are drawn across the channel to the scattered lights of the village. Many have solar panels. Some don’t. As I bite into lobster, I can’t help but take an inventory of my life and be both humbled and grateful. With all of your beauty, ingenuity, talent, and culture, you are making me a better person.

With Love,
Matt

Day 4: Crisis

Dear Turtle Island,

I walk to the little gift shop outside the dining area and the only spot where there is Wi-Fi to check my email. I get some difficult news. No one had died, but the news is life changing in every way, none-the-less. I considered what one might do to feel better in such a circumstance and all that came to mind was to focus on breathing — go deep within and focus on what was good and beautiful.

Five minutes later, I was on a boat headed once again across the channel to one of Fiji’s most famous reefs to go diving. I could imagine no circumstance, where I would be without a choice but to focus on depth, breathing, beauty and the complexity of life. Giant stingrays, sea snakes, octopus, resplendent coral and an overall life-in-abundance, seems to be your way of telling me, that despite it all, everything is going to be okay.

That night, instead of joining the other guests for dinner and movie night, we sat on the balcony of our bure. This sudden change meant I’d be moving back to my home state where I hadn’t lived in fifteen years. As I sat there thinking about what exactly my home was, my mind wandered back to Mama Sala’s first words when I arrived to Turtle Island. “Welcome home.” Thinking about all that beauty you had revealed and the kindness you have extended, I couldn’t help but feel that home, as I was beginning to see, was far more than just a city.

Lovingly,
Matt

Day 5: Surrender and Farewell

Dear Turtle Island,

It is Sunday, our last day here. We could either go snorkeling again or go back to the village for a less “arranged” church service. The first time we’d been in the village, despite its power, we’d felt a bit like outsiders; separated from their simple world by our own privilege and a camera lens. There seemed to be something so raw and connected about going back and going to church, to visit not just as an onlooker but to participate in prayer and song as a fellow son of God. The church was sweltering hot and many of the villagers couldn’t make it because the night before, they’d had too much kava. Geckos crawled all over the ceiling and women in the choir fanned themselves as the preacher delivered an impassioned sermon in Fijian. The energy was palpable and just as the priest was building to something that felt certain to change lives; certain to make even the non-believers believe, something amazing happened.

There, in that tiny village with no roads, no stores and no doctors, as a preacher fired the gospel with divinely inspired island fervor … a cell phone rang.

A child sheepishly bolted for the door, his angry father behind him. You, Fiji … You Turtle Island, reminded me in that moment, that no matter where you are in the world, when you’re in the house of God, you make sure that your cell phone is off. And with all of your virtue, you no doubt have a wonderful sense of humor because the look of horror on that kid’s face was hilarious.

As we return to the island, I begin to feel emotional. I remember all the times I scoffed at people who say a beautiful experience changed them. I go to the gift store and want to buy a Turtle Island shirt, hat, stuffed animal and a pot with our names carved in it by one of the guys from the village. We’ve named a reef after ourselves and I have a relationship with the local stingray … When we learn Mama Sala had to take a ferry back to the mainland and didn’t say goodbye, we are crushed. It is time to go. The staff and even the island’s horses are on the beach as the seaplane arrives to pick us up and take us back home, wherever that winds up being. Once again, they sing and it sounds as good as ever.

As we take off, I look out the window at the island disappearing and I don’t see reefs, water, and palm trees. I see much more than that. I see true beauty. I catch my reflection in the window looking out with my new tan and think to myself … I look happy. I look in love.

Yours forever,
Matt

(All photos © Matt Payne)

The post How I Fell in Love with Turtle Island in Fiji in Just 5 Days appeared first on Vagabondish.

We drove the 45 minutes west of downtown Calgary to a small, unassuming check-in office near the Stoney Nakoda Resort & Casino. Mrs. Vagabondish was terrified. And that’s putting it mildly. She admits to nearly breaking down in tears in front of the woman who checked us in. But, this was to be her very first helicopter flight and she assured me that she wanted to do it, no matter what.

After check-in (and multiple trips to the lady’s room to shake off the nerves), a very competent instructor provided us with a brief list of essentials to bear in mind while we were outside near the chopper (it just feels cool to call it that). The gist:

• Keep your head down
• Follow your guide’s lead to avoid wandering too close to the tail rotor
• And, for the love of god, don’t wave to anyone while you’re near the helicopter because, well … you get it

With these common sense tips in mind, we stepped outside to the helipad. Even with Calgary less than an hour away, there’s a crisp smell and an impossible quiet that envelopes the Rocky Mountains. Slowly, the deep, recognizable thumpthumpthumpthump of helicopter blades grew louder as our ride approached. Less than a minute after landing, we were ushered aboard, harnessed into place, and fitted with headsets to chat, laugh, and scream amongst each other. Thankfully, aside from the pilot, we were the only two passengers aboard the five-person tour — a surprise private tour!

With the proper wind conditions and a pilot who knows what the hell they’re doing, the ride is surprisingly smooth. It’s a bit like flying in a small plane. However, the body of the helicopter actually “hangs” below the main rotor so, at times, there’s a noticeable sway. It’s totally normal, but it’s an odd sensation if you’ve never experienced it before.

As with anything, fear almost always extends from sheer ignorance — of simply not knowing what to expect. Once we were airborne, the look of terror on Mrs. Vagabondish’s face subsided almost immediately into one of sheer, childlike joy. I believe the technical term for her expression was “WHEEEEEEEE!”

Flying in a helicopter in any destination is a unique and exhilarating experience. Add to that the breathtaking landscape of the Canadian Rockies and you have the makings of a once-in-a-lifetime experience that’s impossible to forget. Our 20-minute ride was brief, but it was enough time for our pilot to relay the area’s highlights to us. In our short time aboard, we flew over the Bow Valley, Mt. Lougheed, and Wind Mountain and he shared the history of the area’s First Nation people. It’s easy to see why Banff is perhaps Canada’s most cherished National Park.

The predicted snow held off for the duration of our flight. Instead, a lingering, low cloud cover blanketed the surrounding peaks, creating a uniquely dramatic mood that made for some great photos! The entire experience is one we won’t soon forget and (not surprisingly) Mrs. Vagabondish is all too excited for our next helicopter ride.

Philosopher's Knoll in Bow Valley, Banff © Brendan Bell

The Bottom Line

We opted for the relatively brief, 20-minute “Rockies Flight” which was a great helicopter ride “sampler”. I highly recommended it for travelers who’ve never flown before and aren’t sure if they’re going to dig it.

But, Viator also offers extended helicopter tour options, including a 30-minute Signature Flight and a 55-minute Ultimate Flight. The latter allows fliers to travel deep into the Rockies to explore peaks and rivers (including the waterfalls at Mt. Assiniboine and a fly down the famed Continental Divide) that few on the ground will ever get to see.

The post Bucket List Adventures: A Helicopter Tour Over the Canadian Rockies appeared first on Vagabondish.

© Omni Hotels & Resorts

Because, honestly, who doesn’t love horseback riding? And horseback riding on the beach? With your best guy/gal? Forget it! The sun softly setting on an endless sea of crystal clear, turquoise waters. Sipping a glass of Champagne while your trusty steed traipses through the sand as the surf breaks gingerly over his hooves. Lots of wind and flowing hair. Two passionate hearts all aflutter and stuff. Exhale with me now: “Ahhhhhh …”

All of which is to stay: when Viator gave me the opportunity to take a horseback riding tour along a quiet, tourist-free beach on the Pacific Coast of Mexico, I said: “Hells. Yes.” Sadly, Mrs. Vagabondish would not be joining me on this trip. And, with only my Spanish-speaking guide, Roberto, for companionship, the romance factor dropped precipitously. Still, the ride was, in a word: amazing.

I was picked up at my Ixtapa hotel and whisked fifteen minutes away to a horse ranch near the sleepy, Pacific coast town of Zihuatanejo. Where Ixtapa feels like a canned, factory-produced resort town, the area in and around Zihuatanejo is more “real deal” Mexico. Here, it’s quieter, free of foreign tourists, and a little rough around the edges.

Zihuatanejo Bay, Mexico © Mike Richard

As is typical of many Mexico excursions, the ranch eschews any formality (read: training). Ten seconds after meeting my trusty horse, Cameron, I’m already in the saddle and ready to ride. Fortunately, I’ve ridden horses since I was a child so this is nothing new. Ten-year-old Cameron is friendly enough, although he seems a little weary of the entire experience. Clearly, the aforementioned Champagne, sunsets, and fluttering hearts are getting to be “old hat” for him.

Roberto Prepares the Horses at the Ranch near Zihuatanejo, Mexico © Mike Richard

Another minute later and Roberto and I are underway. We depart the driveway of the ranch and make our way down a rough dirt road, past the remains of a few crumbling buildings in a residential area. Ten minutes later, our path opens suddenly onto Playa Larga — a pristine stretch of sand, free of tourists, beach chairs, and even a single footprint. This is no Ixtapa.

Playa Larga, Mexico © Mike Richard

Roberto is a man of few words, which is fine because Cameron seems to know exactly where he’s going. With nary a signal from me, he lines up just below the tidal line, where the crashing water is only deep enough to cover the tops of his hooves. And steadfastly puts one hoof in front of the other. He tackles the wet sand effortlessly, as though he’s done this a thousand times before.

Roberto and I ride for roughly a mile in silence. At first, it’s eerie. But, after twenty minutes of listening to nothing but the slow, predictable crash of the ocean, wave-after-wave, it becomes meditative. Zen.

Horseback Riding Guide, Roberto, on Playa Larga, Mexico © Mike Richard

Roberto points out two small, boutique hotels along the shore. Both look clean but abandoned. He tells me this beach is Playa Larga.

I feign surprise and reply in my best Spanish, “Es muy bonita.”

We both quietly nod and continue on, mostly in silence.

View from the Saddle in Playa Larga, Mexico © Mike Richard

At the end of the beach, we break off into the woods amid acres of coconut trees. Land crabs and iguanas scurry about our feet. This is the way the area in and around Ixtapa used to be some thirty-five years ago before the government decided it was better suited as an all-inclusive resort town. It feels a little like stepping back in time to a purer, untouched Mexico. I only wish Roberto and I could’ve communicated so I could have put more of what we saw in perspective.

After roughly fifteen minutes in the woods, Cameron stops and performs an about-face mid-trail with no signalling from me. Roberto explains that this is the turn-around point of our ride. In short time, we make our way back to the beach to do the same trek in reverse. By now, several locals have gathered on the sand now to fish and play in the water. We ride on by, exchanging smiles and an Hola!

Horseback Ride on Playa Larga, Near Zihuatanejo, Mexico © Mike Richard

Back at the ranch, I de-saddle (is that a thing?) and take a minute to whisper a few encouraging words to Cameron. I think the old boy could use them. (I think we made a connection. Fingers crossed, he calls me …) Roberto flashes a subtle smile and we part ways.

This entire tour through Viator — from hotel pickup to drop-off — can take up to three hours, but riders are guaranteed around one hour of actual time on horseback. Because of the language barrier, the experience was more of a scenic, straightforward ride than a narrated tour. But, given the sub-$100 price tag, I’d say it’s well worth it, especially if you can take your significant other along with you!

The post Bucketlist Update: Riding Horseback on the Pristine Beaches of Mexico appeared first on Vagabondish.

Let’s be honest: with so much in the bush ready and able to kill a man, exploring the South African savannah with a bloody carcass in tow is just plain stupid. I turned to Cole with the obvious question:

“Is it not a little insane to be driving this vast open space full of hungry predators with a bloody animal carcass? Isn’t it possible we’ll attract the “wrong attention”?

Cole shrugged. “Not only possible … but likely.”

A victim of culling, this impala will fortunately not go to waste. We stop at a nearby boma that’s protected by a high, electrified fence. Inside, I’m advised to keep my head on a swivel and, for the love of god, do not get out of the truck. I do as I’m told. The carcass is dragged from the truck bed and tied to a tree to prevent theft by vultures.

This is all textbook, part of the thrice weekly feeding of Mkhuze Game Reserve’s two resident African wild dogs. And the dogs know it well. Our presence puts Zeus – the alpha dog – on high alert. He’s cautious, but confident. Ears perked, mouth shut, he has the look of a stray dog (a very large stray dog) who’s either going to lick or disembowel me. He hasn’t decided yet.

After the first attempt, Cole doesn’t seem pleased with his lashing job of the carcass to the tree. He fumbles with it some more, tugging hard several times for good measure. It’s during this lollygagging that I recall this fun fact (backed up from Wikipedia) from my first day at the reserve:

Nearly 80% of all wild dog hunts end in a kill; for comparison, the success rate of lions, often viewed as ultimate predators, is only 30%.

Wild dogs frequently kill larger prey by disemboweling …

Eight out of 10. Nearly three times as effective as a lion. I’m fully exposed in the back of this truck and our minutes-long visit feels like an hour. The dogs are slowly beginning to pace. They step towards us, then towards the carcass. Then back off and stop. Circle round once more and stare us down, sniffing the air.

Deep inside those canine brains, decisions are made in those few seconds that could gravely affect our future. I’m snapping photos with the voracity of the paparazzi, but I’ve had my fill. And it’s time to go.

With everyone in the truck accounted for, we lock the boma tight, and we’re on our way. I look back through the cloud of debris circling above our tire tracks. Within sixty seconds, the dogs are eviscerating the impala with an unbridled savagery seen only in chum-fueled shark attacks. The sound of gnashing teeth and tearing sinew is one I’ll never forget.

This isn’t the South African safari “vacation” most people envision.

Welcome to Mkhuze: This Is Zululand … NOT Disneyland!

But this is no vacation and no ordinary game drive. I’m riding alongside researchers from Wildlife ACT Project – a volunteer organization that works to conserve threatened and endangered species in several key reserves throughout South Africa.

Wildlife ACT is fond of reminding volunteers that “This is Zululand … NOT Disneyland”. Conservation is dirty work. Long, tedious days spent tracking collared animals morning and night, keeping a constant eye out for poachers, sleeping in open research camps with spotty electricity, and the ever-present wonder which animals will wander in.

News on the reserves changes daily, sometimes hourly. Animals are lost, killed, born, disappeared, and poached. Every day spent in camp can bring sheer elation or heartbreaking devastation for the folks here. And few experience it more fully than the onsite staff.

Cole du Plessis is an Endangered Wildlife Monitor with Wildlife ACT at Mkhuze. It’s a position that has brought him closer to the park’s wildlife (and its African wild dogs in particular) than he ever imagined. His Twitter feed is peppered with the emotional ups and downs of daily life inside the reserve. One day, this:

@wildlifeact Another close call for the #Mkhuze #wilddogs – got to Lihle just in time to remove snare from her leg

— Cole du Plessis (@ColeWildlifeAct) April 25, 2013

… then just this past Saturday:

Beautiful start to the morning. Saw all the dogs after not seeing them yesterday.also brown snake eagle catching a lizard:) @wildlifeact

— Cole du Plessis (@ColeWildlifeAct) November 16, 2013

For these reasons, Wildlife ACT brings in volunteers for an honest experience of daily life at their camps. It’s not for everyone. It’s not a “vacation” and it isn’t easy. It’s real and visceral and a life-changing experience for many. This company speaks and acts for these animals simply because they can’t do so for themselves.

Each camp primarily focuses on one or two species. In Mkhuze, they’re tracking, researching, and ultimately conserving elephants, black rhino, leopard vultures, and cheetahs. But more so than any other, they’re focused on a pack of rare African wild dogs – South Africa’s most endangered carnivore.

The pressing need to track this particular pack of Wild Dogs on Mkhuze Game Reserve, is due to the fact that Mkhuze Game Reserve suffers from an influx of poachers, since ¾ of the reserve is surrounded by local rural communities who consistently trespass onto the reserve to set snares with the intention of catching bush meat (mostly antelope).

Tragically, these snares have a large unintended by-catch, which includes any unsuspecting animal that walks into the snares — including Rhino, Elephant, and very often the Wild Dogs since they cover such large distances daily in search of food.

For this reason it is absolutely vital that the monitoring team locates the Wild Dog pack each morning and evening and ensures that all the dogs are accounted for and unharmed.

Estimates put the dog’s numbers around 400 in the whole of the country – a country roughly two-thirds the size of Alaska. Which means the likelihood of seeing a wild dog actually in the wild is slightly above spotting a pink unicorn.

Daily Life (and Death) at Mkhuze Game Reserve

Now more than ever, the health and well-being of the park’s lone pack of six dogs is a grave concern. Only three are collared and the batteries in one of those transceivers are dead which leaves only two active. The staff are waiting patiently on a vet to come and help collar the remainder of the pack.

What’s more: the alpha female is pregnant and expected to give birth any day now. The fate of the entire pack hinges heavily on these new pups. A healthy litter means the pack’s numbers could more than double overnight. And out here in the wild – under constant threat from other carnivores, poachers, and nearby farmers who don’t take kindly to the dogs stealing their livestock – there is great strength in numbers.

During my five-day visit in April 2013, we track the pack morning and night. Our group rises at 4:30 am every day. And, in the first four days, we catch only a glimpse of three of the dogs. Cole marks every sighting on a ledger, detailing critical tracking information including GPS coordinates, time of day, how many were spotted, and the tracking classification. In this case, an “A” sighting that indicated a full visual — the best we can hope for.

Cole’s tracking skills are impeccable and no one knows the pack’s daily ritual better. They typically head out early every morning, feed, then head back to the den where they regurgitate the food for the mother (and hopefully pups). Then it’s back out to feed themselves. He can almost set his watch to their routine and he takes great comfort in that. So just one sighting in four days is unnerving to say the least.

On Sunday – day five and my last in camp – we awake around 5 am (“late”) and I’m excited but tentative. The first rule of nature watching (or in this case tracking) is patience. We’ve had four days of near-zero activity from the dogs and I don’t want to set my expectations too high.

Suddenly, within the first thirty minutes of our early morning drive we spot the pack. It’s only five of the six dogs – the mother is presumably back at the den but we’re not picking up a tracking signal on her so we can only assume. The pack is on the dirt road heading towards us. Directly towards us and moving fast.

They travel in a tight-knit formation, stopping frequently to sniff the air and ensure the entire pack is still together. The lead dog breaks from the pack quickly to chase down an impala, probably unsuccessfully. Cole tells us that he’s the fastest and strongest of the group but unfortunately he’s a bit trigger happy. He’ll often chase prey for a kilometer or more away from the pack, get lost, then have to backtrack to find them.

Every dog in the pack has a distinct personality. The most curious – the alpha of the pack – stops suddenly at our truck where I’m perched (yet again) in the bed. The others continue past him, but he’s unaware. He’s seen something in us that’s piqued his curiosity. He moves around us in a slow circle towards the back of the truck.

Wildlife view vehicles as a single unit (regardless of how many individuals are actually inside) and predators in particular will attempt to get behind the vehicle. It’s a dominant position that allows them to attack from the rear if need be.

I flashback briefly to that day at the boma, when the penned dogs were so careful and cautious. Now, we’re in his space and he’s completely at ease. He steps closer, then closer still.

From inside the truck, Cole watches the alpha’s approach and whispers two barely audible words:

“Don’t … move …”

At less than thirty feet away, he stops. Our eyes lock and I’m completely still. With my camera resting on my knee, I’m pushing the shutter button and listening to it snap photos as fast as the memory card will allow.

He lifts his head to sniff the air one last time, before turning and darting away. The exchange lasts less than ten seconds before the entire pack disappears with perfect camouflage into the high grass all around us. And that was the last we saw of the dogs in Mkhuze.

Every day ends with question marks and ellipses … what will become of the pack in the coming months? Is the female denning? Or was she killed off by a local farmer? And, if she survives as a mother, what of her pups and what they mean for the pack’s survival?

It’s an ever-changing landscape and, for Wildlife ACT workers and volunteers, it’s clear that their work is never done.

Join Wildlife ACT for the Volunteering Experience of a Lifetime

Real Africa.
Real Conservation.

Wildlife conservation is an extraordinarily important topic in all of Africa. For many in the US, it’s often an issue that’s difficult to fully appreciate until you’ve witnessed it firsthand.

No company that I’ve worked with has ever shown the passion for their work and the compassion for the wildlife that they work with more than Wildlife ACT. Mine was a trip that left an indelible mark on me as a traveler and a human being. It was truly unforgettable.

If you’re interested in conservation, volunteering, wildlife in general, or are simply looking for a break from the “traditional” safari (and don’t mind getting your hands dirty), I can’t recommend Wildlife ACT more highly!

The post On the Hunt for South Africa’s Most Endangered Carnivore: The African Wild Dogs of Mkhuze appeared first on Vagabondish.

These are the words I enshrined in my journal in November on the eve of my long, boomerang-shaped chain of flights from Los Angeles to the East African nation of Uganda.

“Uganda? Why would anyone go there?” I was asked repeatedly by those closest to me, more times than I cared to answer, despite my eagerness to go.

For the past six years, I have been involved with an endearing charity called Sylvia’s Children. Founded 10 years ago by my dear friend Sylvia Allen, it was created as a way to improve the living conditions for over 1,000 children, one third of whom have been orphaned due to HIV/AIDS, in the small village of Mbiriizi.

Its ultimate goal is to create a self-sustainable economy for its primary school, which could then be shared with surrounding schools in sub-Saharan Africa. In this time, Sylvia has worked tirelessly to raise enough money to construct a clean well, housing, a library, a sewing building, a chicken coop, a corn milling building, and much, much more. And she is in the process of constructing an enormous medical clinic, which will serve not only the children, but the village itself. She has even enlisted the help of doctors and nurses, who have saved lives.

Each year, she organizes three volunteer trips to Uganda, and every year I flirted with the idea of going, but finances or anxiety got in the way. Last year, I finally got the chance, and the courage, to join her on the Christmas trip. Held every year in November, this particular trip is the more uplifting of the three. It’s the “Christmas trip,” where Sylvia throws a party for the children and gives them gifts.

There was no better and more appropriate way to mark the close of an eventful year, which took me to Asia, The Middle East, and throughout Europe and Scandinavia with another client on a top world concert tour, than to travel to one of the most remote lands on the planet.

© Swami Stream

Overcoming the Fear

Before I left, so many people pleaded with me to not go. They lobbed all sorts of dire warnings at me – of a recent Ebola outbreak in the nation’s capital of Kampala (which was quickly contained to a small number of people); of violence from militant sects (which is only in Northern Uganda and the neighboring Democratic Republic of the Congo); its horrific record against gay and lesbian people (not to be disputed); or just general fears of rare and scary African diseases — you know, the ones you see in summer blockbuster movies or on Dateline NBC.

Don’t get me wrong: I let some of these fears get to me, and did have second thoughts for a hot minute. Then I realized that every other time I was told not to do something, that something inevitably changed my life.

Getting There

So, off we went. After a connection in Amsterdam’s ultra-modern Schiphol Airport, we boarded a very different flight to Entebbe, Uganda — the same airport that housed Israel’s hostage-rescue mission of a hijacked Air France jet in 1976.

This jet was packed mostly with fellow Westerners, most of them with their noses planted firmly inside the cheeks of their bibles. The five of us — which consisted of myself; Sylvia; her son Tony; a friend of mine, Ken; and another Sylvia — were pretty much the only ones who did not.

After a brief stopover in Rwanda, we landed in Entebbe at night. What struck me was the fact that, for the first time in my traveling life, because of the lack of terrestrial lights, I could not tell when we were about to land on the runway until the bump and squeak itself happened.

Once we deplaned, my nose was greeted by an “interesting” scent – what I learned was the “scent of Africa”. It smelled of spices, fire and clay – not unpleasant but did require some getting used to.

The next thing that immediately struck me was the fact that, with zero light pollution, one could see every twinkling star in the night sky. It was serene and breathtaking. “I am in Africa,” I remember saying aloud, however inane and obvious as it was, but yet still in amazement. It had always seemed like such a completely foreign place to me, maybe one notch below Antarctica or the North Pole.

Sunset, Uganda © US Army Africa

Day One

The next day, after a light sleep and breakfast at the local inn, we made our way west, around Lake Victoria, to the village of Mbiriizi, in the Masaka district. We even stopped at the Equator and sampled one of Uganda’s popular street foods, Chapati chips and fresh guacamole.

It surely was, as they say, an assault on the senses. But I was glad to experience it, in all of its brutal honesty.

The four-hour drive was a Morse Code of long, protracted lines of rolling, green tropical landscape dotted with banana plants, and small blips of villages. Each one looked identical to the next, made only unique by the different sequence of painted advertisements on the front of its stores. I was told that large companies — many of which are mobile carriers or brands like Cadbury or Coca-Cola — do this as a barter deal with villagers. In exchange for the cost of painting their building, the brand receives infinite outdoor exposure.

I witnessed a small monkey climbing a tree; cows and goats chained on the side of the road; large, obnoxiously loud garbage-carrying storks; and small lizards. I experienced my first culture shock on the trip when I saw an infant girl urinating outside her home; butcher shops, which were no more than rows of animal carcasses hanging in small shacks; street vendors selling fried grasshoppers; and burning garbage in front of homes. It surely was, as they say, an assault on the senses. But I was glad to experience it, in all of its brutal honesty.

Day Two

The next day was the day we had been waiting for: our first visit to the school.

How can one put into delicate words the beautiful simplicity of pulling up and being greeted by 1,000 cheering children, jumping up and down, waving, and serenading you?

In fact, this became a hallmark of our next few days at the school: a constant celebration of spirit, of life, and of appreciation. It didn’t matter who you were, your background, or your material possessions – it only mattered that you were there. The genuineness of the Ugandan people I found to be pure, soulful, and unconditional.

On one occasion, after being welcomed into the local church, I met an elderly woman from the village, with a red dress and a walking stick. She spoke to me in Lugandan and told me that I was the first white person she had ever met. After I picked my jaw off the ground, we both embraced.

Children “Vogueing”, Uganda © Steven Le Vine

Settling In + Giving Back

For the next few days, we were regularly presented with song and dance, and enjoyed delicious homemade meals of local quality foods, from tilapia to stews, prepared by a special, always jovial lady named Betty.

The children were the real treat though, as they ran to us at every chance they got, grabbing at and holding onto our hands, our arms, or our legs, sometimes many at once, waiting to check out their newest pose in an iPhone photo, or running their fingers over our arms to feel our “different” skin. They were all so well-behaved and so happy!

On one occasion, which brought many laughs, a few children and I played a game of “Copycat.” I would do a sequence of moves, and they would copy it. On the third one, I decided just for the hell of it to do Madonna’s signature “Vogue” move as a joke. They made a decent effort, swinging their hands in all different directions around their face. Hours later, when we were getting ready to leave for the day, I was met by two separate boys, perfectly vogueing from across the schoolyard. I nearly died.

But the most cherished moments of the trip were when we were able to give back to them. On one occasion, we presented every boy and girl with their own Christmas gift bag, which included all sorts of goodies from candy to little toys like bouncing balls and finger puppets, to brightly colored sunglasses and Mardi Gras necklaces. All were donated to the charity by local businesses and friends of Sylvia.

We also gave every boy a new shirt and every girl a new dress. The real joy was seeing over 1,000 children parading around and showing off their beautiful new outfits to each other.

On another day, we all worked as a team to serve every child a hot lunch of either beef or groundnut sauce over rice and beans. It took a little while, but was well worth it to see the smile on every child’s face.

Christmas Bags for the Children, Uganda © Steven Le Vine

Graduation Day

The last day was Graduation Day when Top Class (similar to American Kindergarten), moved to P-1. They all donned graduation uniforms and their parents came from around the village to witness their special day, decked out in the most beautiful of African garbs and dashing suits, while Sylvia presented each child with a diploma and a photo.

Sylvia stated to all of the parents, “Your child’s education is so important, because it’s the one thing that can never be taken away from them.”

At the end of this ceremony, the children once again presented us with song and dance. One of the original songs sung often had lyrics about the children simply appreciating us because of our love for them, not because of what we could bring them. It brought me to tears every time.

They also brought us on stage, and asked us to speak. I thanked everyone for making us feel so at home and for their constant outpouring of love.

Then the school’s headmaster, Geofrey, bestowed me with an honor I will never forget — my own African name, Opio. The literal translation is “the oldest of twins.” I think they were referring to me being the older brother to them.

Despite the fact that it was dry and sunny that day, upon leaving the gates of the school and waving one last goodbye to the children, it still rained!

Children of Uganda © Steven Le Vine

Returning Home

When I finally made it home, after hours of passing through Kenya, Paris, and New York, it finally hit me what was so significant about this experience. It was seeing people who had practically nothing, in terms of the material possessions or basic living amenities we take for granted, who were still so willing to give everything they had.

We were all equal, because of how we treated one another, not by what we had or didn’t have.

The post Journey to Africa: How 1,000 Ugandan Children Changed My Life appeared first on Vagabondish.

Brazil is paradise for two-footed carnivores: the serving sizes are gut-stretching and nearly every dish features something that was recently alive. There is no way I (or any mere mortal) could ever eat a full Brazilian meal””they’re designed to fill two (or three … or four) people. And even if I wanted to plow ambitiously mouth-first into a massive mound of meaty delight, I could never afford it.

Because Brazil is expensive. According to an Economist article about the Big Mac Index, where the price of McDonald’s Big Macs across the globe are analyzed and compared, the Brazilian real was the most overvalued currency in 2011. I’m sure this means something significant on a global economic scale, but for me it just meant everything in Brazil cost more than I wanted to pay for it.

Picanha, Brazil © Arnold Gatilao

Brazil’s Meaty Prices

Although using the Big Mac Index to examine purchasing power around the globe has its flaws, let’s stick with burgernomics for the moment. In the United States, a McDonald’s Big Mac costs $4.07. In Brazil it costs $6.16””over 2 dollars more. In Peru, where I’ve lived for the past two years, the same burger is a mere $3.65, according to the 2011 Big Max Index (while according to my wallet after a 2 a.m. slightly-sober fast food stop the other night, the 2012 on-the-ground price is even cheaper). In fact, the only countries with Big Mac prices more supersized than Brazil’s are Norway, Sweden, and Switzerland.

If that’s the markup for fast food, just imagine the prices at a proper sit-down restaurant. For the average backpacker, the overwhelming combination of size and price of Brazilian meals can only be overcome by splitting the dish, as well as the check.

Dealing with the Veggie Situation

But traveling with a life-long vegetarian throws a wrench in that plan, and my tendency to linger and salivate in front of churrascarias””Brazilian steakhouses that smell of heaven””while also bemoaning the exchange rate wasn’t appreciated and did not result in the desired steak-based meal.

So for a while, we ate a lot of pizza. Pizza, as far as I can tell, is as beloved in Brazil as everywhere else in the world””although the locals seem to scorn those who order it plain (no expensive or meaty toppings) and then ask for chili pepper or tobacco sauce for seasoning.

We also kept full by filling our pockets with extra pieces of bread and cheese from breakfast (expertly wrapped in napkins and slipped away when no one was looking). And I must admit, Brazilian breakfast is a quite enjoyable affair. Most pousadas provide a generous breakfast spread of fruit, juice, bread, cheese, and sliced meats (as well as a suspicious dish that looks like sliced hot dogs swimming in tomato sauce, which we both avoided).

But the grilled meats beckoned and the small and affordable beef-filled empadinhas weren’t cutting my mid-day carnivorous cravings.

Then we made a discovery.

Por-kilo Buffet Restaurant, Brazil © Laura Yates

The Glory of the Brazilian Buffet

The savior of my meat-crazed desires was Brazil’s ingenious take on the cafeteria-style buffet. Por-kilo restaurants are exactly what you’d imagine: restaurants that sell food according to weight. This is by far the best value dining option in Brazil. Prices are usually specified per 100 grams, and if you’re smart with your selections you can eat a fairly filling meal for 8-12 reals, about $6 USD (the price of a Brazilian Big Mac).

For a country that’s cow crazy, por-kilos have a surprisingly large selection of salads, fruits, pastas, and other veggie-friendly options. And””thank Corcovado’s Cristo Redentor himself””a dizzying display of Brazilian meat dishes. Delicious feijoada stews, slabs of salted meats, thick sausage, and cone-shaped coxinhas (pulled chicken wrapped in delicious fried dough) welcomed me as warmly.

The system is simple and ideal, particularly if your Portuguese is lacking (or in my case, non-existent). You grab a plate, pile on what you want, and then put it all on a scale. A worker provides a receipt or ticket number and you’re free to eat, repeating the process until full. You pay when you leave.

A relative of the por-kilo is the buffet with a set price. These hole-in-the-wall restaurants cater to the working man, offering low prices and lots of staple items. By far the best one we taste tested was just outside of Curitiba’s bus station. Attracted by a colorful chalkboard boasting a meal for 9 reals, we were dazzled to discover our money would not only buy us repeated access to a buffet of salads, fried vegetables, rice, beans, and potatoes, but also our choice of meat, chosen from a lengthy list of options.

I obviously took the liberty of ordering both of our meat dishes and glutinously tried to eat two generous portions myself, along with a packed plate from the buffet. I managed to down an entire steak covered with caramelized onions and a fried egg, and made a respectable dent in a stewed serving of thick pork. Both, however, were less than half the size of a dish served at a typical sit-down Brazilian restaurant.

That night, as I snuggled up on a 13-hour bus ride from Curitiba to Rio de Janeiro, I rubbed my steak-filled stomach with contentment, glanced happily at all the money still in my wallet, and gave my significant other a greasy, oniony peck on the lips. Love, along with a well-cooked steak and beautiful Brazilian scenery, really can conquer all.

The post The Taste of Love: Traveling with a Vegetarian in Brazil appeared first on Vagabondish.

Autumn Colors of Saguenay Fjord, Quebec © Rémi

The small village of Tadoussac sits at the heart of the Marine Park, on the banks of the spectacular Saguenay Fjord. Trivial Pursuit fans might be keen to learn the town’s namesake means “udders” or “breasts”. Although, “according to other interpretations, it could also mean “place of lobsters”, “place where the ice is broken” (from the Montagnais shashuko), or “among the rocks” (via). So … who knows?

Town of Tadoussac, Quebec © Taxiarchos228

That silly bit of trivia aside, it’s actually the oldest continuously inhabited European settlement in Quebec, and the oldest surviving French settlement in the Americas. If I thought my visit to Quebec (the city, not the province) was a trip back in time, this sleepy seaside town is in a league of its own.

Map of the Route de Baleines (Whale Route), Quebec

Nearing Tadoussac by car, signage marks the section of Route 138 as Route des Baleines or “Whale Route”. And with good reason: this 560-mile long trail is the seasonal home to one of the densest whale populations on the planet. Every building along the way is either a house or a business dedicated to the facilitation of whale watching in some fashion – cruise lines, ticket vendors, kayak rentals and the like. BonjourQuebec.com notes:

As you travel along the Whale Route, you’ll be dazzled by the sights: the St. Lawrence River, wilderness forests, bays and fine sandy beaches. During your stops, you’ll be able to see whales from observation spots set up for this purpose, like the one at Sainte-Anne-de-Portneuf. Then again, you could see some by chance as you take a break at a pier, a roadside rest area or a campground.

They take their whales seriously up here and I can’t say I blame them. More than once, I nearly careened into oncoming traffic while craning my neck in search of whales just beyond the steel highway barriers. Such is the allure of the world’s largest mammals.

Marine Discovery at … the Marine Environment Discovery Centre

My first stop is the Marine Environment Discovery Centre. It proves to be the perfect appetizer for anyone looking to spend a day or two exploring the region in depth. For armchair marine biologists (as I once was as a young vagabond), this place is pure heaven. Its many rooms offer maps, charts, hands-on displays, themed viewing rooms and more to learn all about the vast array of marine wildlife in the area.

Maritime Environment Discovery Centre, Quebec

One of the coolest exhibits allows visitors to sit in a viewing room and participate in an actual dive. The Centre’s dive team dons HD video cameras and high tech masks with integrated audio systems to interact with visitors in the viewing room in real time. The setup allows the audience to ask questions of the divers, make suggestions on which marine life to see and touch and feel like they’re actually on the dive themselves.

The Centre is also a fully licensed scuba diving facility with access to some of the most amazing wall diving in eastern Canada. It’s also among the coldest. Even as a certified diver, I opted to avoid the inevitable “shrinkage” this time around in favor of some of Canada’s best whale watching. Topside.

Spotting Sea Monsters (& Other Typical Sights) at Cap-de-Bon-Desir

Next stop: Cap-de-Bon-Desir – described as “a magnificent natural headland that is ideal for observing marine mammals”. Indeed.

Sunset at Cap-de-Bon-Desir, Quebec © Parcs Canada / F. Deland

As I learned last year on my polar bear expedition to Churchill, sometimes nature doesn’t want to cooperate. Sometimes she requires you to wait (and wait … and wait).

Not so at Cap-de-Bon-Desir. Thirty seconds after setting foot on a rocky outcrop overlooking the river, a handful of minke whales emerged a mere 100 yards from shore. The gleeful giggle I unintentionally uttered surprised me more than it did my Parks guide.

Whale Watching in Saguenay, Quebec © Jean-Pierre Lavoie

I’m loathe to carelessly toss out superlatives, but it’s hard not to in the wake of such majestic and massive creatures. The experience is (quite literally) awe-inspiring, jaw-dropping, breathtaking … what am I leaving out? Perhaps more than anything: it’s humbling.

Chasing Whales and Rainbows Down the St. Lawrence River

Cap-de-Bon-Desir wet my whale watching whistle for sure. But my Parks guide was not content to merely point at them from shore. So she took me on a “proper” whale watch in a Zodiac. The only way to get closer to them is via kayak or literally climbing into the water alongside them. Given that it was too cold for either of those options, we opted for a boat ride down the St. Lawrence.

Rainbow and Whale Watching Near Tadoussac, Quebec

While the whales at Cap-de-Bon-Desir were plentiful and the “watching” easy, out on the river, they proved a bit more elusive. Most tour operators assure passengers 2-3 hours on the water (this varies company to company, and day to day). After a full hour of searching on the water, we had only chalked up a few minke whale sightings in the distance. But patience is truly a virtue when searching for wildlife and our captain remained undeterred.

Lighthouse Near Tadoussac, Quebec © Parks Canada / J.-L. Provencher

While I’d learned not to get my hopes up, it was a bit hard not to after a hundred miles of “Route de Baleines” street signs and listening to my Parks guide regale me with tales of just how many whales are in this region at any given time. Minutes later, they were surfacing on all sides – minke whales, fin whales, seals, oh my! It was as though someone flipped the “Let’s Make the Tourists Happy” Switch.

Whale Watching Near Tadoussac, Quebec © Parks Canada / R. Michaud

And it worked. For the next hour, we watched as we were surrounded on all sides by marine mammals of every stripe. While the phrase “experience of a lifetime” is too often bandied about, I can say without an ounce of hyperbole that witnessing such beautiful animals as these from mere yards away is truly worthy of the description.

(No) Room With a View: Beach Camping at Mer et Monde

Let’s get this out of the way: if there’s a more beautiful, more breathtaking, more amazing campground in the whole of North America than Mer et Monde, I’m unaware of it. And if you know of one, please e-mail me.

Camping at Mer et Monde, Quebec © Mer et Monde

At the end of an unassuming dirt road, this seaside campground features 25 campsites and tent platforms with a spectacular view that overlooks the St. Lawrence River and much of the Marine Park. The site is far enough from the road that visitors are guaranteed only to hear the crashing of the water below and the myriad birds that occupy the grounds. In high season, campers awaken to the sounds of whales breaching literally feet from the shoreline.

Unfortunately and fortunately, I visited at season’s end, one week after their official closing. Unfortunately, this meant that I had to miss my anticipated kayaking trek due to the brutal cold out on the water (the air and water are both just a few ticks above freezing). Fortunately, that also meant that I had the entire grounds to myself. The pure darkness and silence assured me two of the best nights sleep I’ve had in a long, long time.

The season is short (mid-May to mid-October) and tent sites fill up quickly. So if you’re planning a visit, my advice is to act fast.

And tell ’em Vagabondish.com sent you. (On second thought, don’t do that. That’s never gotten anyone anywhere …)

At sunrise on my final morning on the grounds, I awoke to this:

Sunrise at Mer et Monde Campground, Quebec © Mike Richard

A truly amazing site to behold. Bittersweet however, as the timing also meant that I had to leave early to press on towards Sept-Iles and Mingan Archipelago. The latter promised to be the wildest of all of Quebec’s National Parks.

Explore Canada Like a Local

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