Greetings from Amsterdam

If I were to describe Amsterdam in one sentence this would be it: Earth's meeting place for its coolest inhabitants.



 

 

This was the first time during my travels that I found myself completely on my own, but ironically, I have never felt more surrounded by people. I think there is an unwritten resident requirement that you have to be an unreasonably content person in order to live here. Walking down the street you will simply look out of place if you’re not smiling, because everyone else is!

 

 



This is said to bring you good luck when you rub it! 



 

Meeting new people proved much easier as an independent traveler. There was the Greek receptionist who enlightened me to a 20 minute philosophical chat over the meaning of life in the lobby,  the enthusiastic Brazilian on the bottom bunk of my bed who I convinced to do the traditional Brazilian Creo dance Chanelle had taught me, and lastly the shy British fellow I met on the terrace outside.  He opened up to me about his struggles as an environmental engineer in a world that just doesn't seem to care.  That’s the mentality of this generation for you: "don't fix it until it breaks".  Too bad you can't put a Band-Aid on the ozone layer.

 





Vondel Park was a two minute walking distance from my hostel and I thought it would be nice to read under a tree just before sunset one evening. I didn't even open my book. After two hours in that park I was having a very difficult time understanding why people pay money to go to the circus when you could just sit in Vondel Park for free. There were people walking on their hands, hula-hooping, having 3 legged races, rolling around in the grass, and I even saw three people rubbing dirt on their bodies so passionately it was as if they were going to absorb it like heroin through their skin. I think they are only mildly influenced by drugs...




 

 I visited Amsterdam its prime days.  All of the coffee shops (licensed marijuana sellers) are restricting sales of this green plant to locals only, in hopes that the business will slowly die off.  I changed hostels on the second day and when I went to drop my bags in the room I found two of my roommates hiding under the bed.  These were two fully grown men, squeezing together under a bunk bed shaking with fear.  They were so scared that they scared me.  I was looking around to see if they were being held at gun point, and when I noted they were alone in the room I asked if they were okay.

“The cyclists are trying to kill us!” was all they could stammer. 



They are rather scary...



They had started off the day with 3 Space Cakes (special brownies if you will) for breakfast,  then wandered around the streets aimlessly, and had almost been run over a few times by the many Amsterdam cyclists.  Paranoia can be a major side effect of marijuana, and they began to speculate they were being hunted down by anyone passing them on pedals.  Maybe it’s a good thing the industry is dying down for visitors like these folks.




 

Train Hopping through Italy




Some of my favorite travel memoirs were of my first backpacking trip through Europe.  The summer before my last semester of University my sister Chanelle, and my best friend Catherine, suggested we pack our bags and venture out into the world of Europe.  I didn't need to be asked twice. 

Those two months could have easily been the highlight of my life.  Everyday was a new adventure, and I rarely slept because I was so full of excitement all of the time.  These next few posts are dedicated to the summer of 2011.  May they inspire you to grab a backpack and confront the wonders of the world...



While Chanelle and I were hanging out on the Beach in Marseille we were introduced to a crazy Italian gent named Luca.  Also an outdoor adventure junkie, Luca used to be a Burton sponsored competitive freestyle snowboarder before an unfortunate accident crushed his dreams of making it pro. It doesn’t take much for me to take a liking to someone, but with Luca’s striking Italian features and a stomach that is the definition of “washboard” abs, it was especially easy. The only difficulty we had was one of a language barrier.  Growing up in Brixen, a small ski resort town in the Alps of northern Italy, he speaks English just about as well as I speak Italian: Non lo facciate (I don’t). 
 

Luca

 

Desperate times call for creative measures, and the day took an interesting spin as we all got to know each other by playing Pictionary in the sand. It was ridiculous, half the time we just ended up laughing in utter confusion at our terrible drawings!  Fortunately I did manage to make out an invitation for us to come be his guests in his hometown.
 

 Luca was catching a train home the next morning, but he wouldn’t leave until he received confirmation that my sister Chanelle and I  would come visit so he could take us “extreme hiking” in the Alps. HELLO!  Is our last name Despins?!?  You had us at extreme!

 

 The next thing we knew we were catching the train to Northern Italy to stay with Luca in the most visually striking small Austrian town located in a lush valley at the base of one of the greatest mountain ranges in the world.   How do I get into these situations?

A castle 5 miles outside Brixen

                                      

                                             
I’m referring to this town as Austrian because although located in Italy, more than half of its inhabitants have emigrated there from Austria, and German has become its primary language.  Their annual Sommerfest happened to be taking place in the village the first night we arrived, and everyone from the town gathered under a huge canopy in a beautiful meadow, sporting the  traditional German attire of green capris suspenders for the gents and braided hair with “Little Bo Peep” dresses for the women…no joke.   We couldn’t stay long though because Luca said it gets quite rowdy as the sun goes down.

“You don’t drink Luca?” I asked.                                                                                

“Si, yes, 3 or 4, but them drink’in 14....15 maybe…and then, how you say...big fight!” he replied.

And were leaving!?!? How funny would it have been to see two German guys in wooden shoes and suspenders having a full out brawl next to the live polka music stage! Maybe next year….

 



Bubba

We made it back to Luca’s house just in time to meet his entire family.  Got to love those Italians, the most hospitable people in the world.  I’m not sure who exactly  lived in that house and who was just coming and going, but there was his parents, his grandmother (best cook in the world), his uncle and aunt, what seemed like 30 cousins, and their dog Bubba (who only understand commands in Italian and German).   None of Luca’s family spoke any English, so we were always in a constant state of dramatic sign language and charades, but ironically enough, 80 percent of the time we managed to get our point across. Who needs language when you can have theatrical performances all day?  I’ll give you a quick example of what makes the language barrier so wildly entertaining.

One night we were outside getting dinner ready when Luca comes up to me and says, “Lenai, you have fire on you.”

 

 “I DO?!? Where?!?”
 

 He looks confused, as I’m frantically looking to see if the back of my clothes had caught fire.

 “I need fire. I cook dinner...pollo,” he says.

Pollo...oh chicken!  “You mean do I have a LIGHTER on me to start the barbeque Luca?"

Dinner in the yard (Chanelle Luca and Bubba!)

 

The stream beside Lucas house



Strolling barefoot through the soft grass

 After a 7a.m. wake-up call the next morning, Chanelle Luca and I set off for what was indeed an extreme hike.  I probably should have taken into consideration the fact that I’ve been averaging 5 hours of sleep a night for the past month before agreeing to the 1000m vertical climb.  I think I was more afraid on the way to the mountain than I was climbing it.  Five minutes into the car ride Luca looks at me and says in his broken English, “You know, driving sometime make me nervous.”

You think? 
 

“Maybe it wouldn’t make you so nervous if you would stop passing gigantic trucks at 120 mph on these narrow winding passes.  You can’t drive down the mountain the same way you snowboard down it Luca.”

He of course doesn’t understand a word I said, but starts laughing anyway.  I think he simply laughs every time Chanelle or I say the word snowboard.

The hike we did that day was called Tre Cime di Lavaredo (The Three Peaks), and is the most famous hike in the region.  I could see why, because when I die I hope that’s what heaven looks like.  Enough of those silly English countryside rolling hills of the Lake District. Give me the most terrifying, overpowering, blood pumping mountain you can find. 

 

Chanelle's beautiful photography on the hike

 



Chanelle Luca and I near the Tre Cime di Lavaredo

                                                           

 

Luca and I

I find that when you travel there is a huge difference between seeing the culture and experiencing the culture. Over the past three days, Chanelle and I were so deeply absorbed in our Italian surrounding, we became the culture.  I made it a point to greet every hiker we passed with the local way of saying hello, “Gut”, in hopes they would confuse me for a local.  If on the off-chance they did say a short sentence of reply like, “Nice weather were having here” or any other statement longer than one word where I actually had no idea what they were saying, I’d just give them my heartiest laugh and continue up the trail.  At least that way they were less likely to assume I was a tourists (who have earned a fairly bad reputation in the area).  I can’t blame them because this is paradise. If I lived in heaven I’d be selfish with my land too.

 

Before we knew it, our 3 days had passed almost as quickly as they'd came. Chanelle and I found ourselves saying a teary goodbye to Luca, his charading family, and the amazingly scenic Alps.  I couldn’t help but wonder if language barrier is one of the main reason people don’t travel as much internationally as they should. If so, it’s a shame.  As human beings we are all programed with a universal language that all too often seems forgotten; self-expression.  What language do you laugh in, cry in, or love in?  If I had chosen to let arrogance get the better of me, and look the other way that morning on the beach in Marseille when I first met Luca because of something so trivial as not speaking the same language, I would have missed out on this entire amazing experience.  The best kind of travelling holds no room for fear or judgment.  

 

Chanelle at the train station in Brixen

 


Journaling on the Train back to Milan



 

 

The Dubai Hangout

The Surf Club offered me an escape from the supercilious crowd that Dubai most often attracts.  When you're in an environment you enjoy being in, everything else seems to fall into place.  Maybe that's why I travel so much- a quest for the perfect spot. 




View of the beach through the Surf Club gate

The club was located right behind Umm Sequime Beach, commonly referred to as "Sunset Beach" because every night it held the most remarkable sunset (no rain in the desert remember). 

Still, my favorite time at the club was first thing in the morning.  Anjie (a surfing coworker of mine) and I used to wake up bright and early to beat the crowd.  Most days in the summer the waves were only just big enough to catch using a longboard.  We would grab florescent foamies and head out for some fun in the sun.



Pick a board



Anjie and I



Surf instructor Eddie from Sri Lanka and myself



Days it was too flat for even the longboards were set aside for paddle boarding.  The club was right next to the Burj Al Arab, which in my opinion is the most exquisite piece of architecture in Dubai. It's the fourth largest hotel in the world shaped like a sail boat drifting off to sea.  I'm also a little bias because the engineer was Canadian Rick Gregory.  Tom Wright was the brilliant British architect behind the masterpiece.



Anjie paddling in beside the Burj Al Arab



Since the hotel was built on its own man made island 300 meters offshore, you can actually paddle 360 degrees around the hotel.  Often times we would lay on our boards half way through and sunbath in the tropical blue waters until the lifeguards on the beach told us to move along. I didn't see why it was a hazard, maybe there were falling beer bottles coming from the windows of post-brunch hotel guests.  Regardless, those were some of my favorite days in Dubai. 

How to Paint a Surfboard

After visiting Wadi Adventure Park in Al Ain, I had never been more motivated to become a better surfer.  I invested some of my hard-earned Emirates Cabin Crew salary into a beginner 7'2"  surfboard.  I got a great deal on a Surf Betty board, but was a little disappointed with the look as it was a little too flowery for my liking.  Kelly suggested the perfect idea: to paint it.  All you need is Acrylic paint, a spray can of varnish finish, and a talented artist to transform your rusty old board (or your new distasteful board) into something you enjoy starring at whilst playing in the water. 


My mom was an art teacher but I apparently missed out on those genes as I have difficulty drawing stick-people.  Basically the day went as follows: I painted, then Kelly repainted.  She's a doll. 



Before

 

During

Kelly Repainting



 



After!



 



I used this board up until the day I moved (about a year) and it never chipped or faded.  I highly recommend the Acrylic paint over the spray.  The texture of the paint adds extra grip, which gives you some leeway in case you forget to wax it down before hanging ten.





 



The Desert of No Waivers

It's funny how long you can live in a city without doing any "tourist activities" until you actually have visitors.  Most of my coworkers signed up for Dubai's most popular attraction, the Desert Safari, within their first month, but I couldn't bring myself to do it.  I've always felt a bit claustrophobic in large groups of tourists, and being herded around like sheep (or should I say camels) through the desert all day did not sound like my idea of a good time.  It is difficult to deny your mother anything, so when she came to visit and requested to do the trip, how could I refuse?

This leads me to my first travel tip:  Always try everything once.

Far from your average sightseeing tour, Safari Adventures actually lived up to its name.  America's adventure activities are on a downhill spiral to boring with all the new safety regulations. The industry lives in constant fear of being sued. And fair enough, you're probably not even allowed to take coffee with you on most city walking tours anymore because you might accidentally spill it on yourself and try to hold the company liable. Way to ruin it for all of us...

In Dubai they have no concerns.  If you die on their time, why not just cover it up with their 100 % government regulated media?  Off-roading in the sand dunes far surpassed any roller-coaster I'd ever been on.  They pile you in monster jeeps, the driver guns it, and you're stomach is doing flips before you even know what hit you.   In the words of my mother, "It was a lot scarier than I thought!"  

A picture says a thousand words...

Scary (for some)

The jeeps stopping point is at the camp a few miles into the vast bleakness of the desert.  Look straight towards the ginormous ATV track, look left at the belly dancer's stage, look right at camels and a falcon, and look behind you at the massive dunes equipped with sandboards.   Desert fun from all angles.  

ATV track to the right and the stage to the left

Getting a Henna Tattoo.  This artist was amazing, and it lasted for weeks. 

It would have been great if the straps weren't broken

At first I was excited to ride a camel for the first time.   These are not small creatures, and unlike most animals you ride, they have a gigantic hump on their back which makes getting on a difficult task.  The Camel Tamer tried his best to encourage the animal to its knees so people could mount it more easily, but camels are not built to shift from standing to kneeling positions every 5 minutes.  They're top heavy creatures with legs that resemble toothpicks,  and their knees took a rough beating during the multiple transitions.  I felt quite uneasy about the situation, but the Tamer reassured me they only gave rides once a day and the animals were very well taken care of.  I still felt uncertain. 

He still looks a little sad:(

When camels manage to find the strength to stand, it's an awkward movement.  They shift their weight from side to side in search for the perfect angle to force their body upwards.  You have to hang on tight.  Unfortunately, the girl in front of us wasn't aware of this and she almost toppled head first off the camel when it finally stood up.  She was screaming bloody murder but the camel tamer seemed unfazed and kept saying "it's okay, hang on, hang on".  He probably has a more profound emotional attachment with the camels than with the riders...  

Anyway, I hung on for dear life when it was my turn.

The Belly Dancers performed towards the end of the night and were spectacular, but my favorite was the Whirling Dervish that came onto the stage shortly afterwards.  A Dervish is someone who practices Sufism, also known as the "inner mystical dimension of Islam".  They twirl in a circle 3,000 times in attempts to reach "religious ecstasy" and be closer to Allah.  The dance was never intended for entertainment purposes, but the western world begged to differ.  Watching someone spin 3,000 times in a circle was most certainly a crowd pleaser.  Ballerinas and other dancers have a focal point when they spin to avoid getting dizzy, but the dervish had his eyes wide open staring straight ahead following his turn; it was ludicrous.   Of course due to the high-demand of the performance, it has evolved into an art of it's own, with magnificent costumes of color and light.

As the sun began to dip further into the horizon, Arabic coffee and dates were served before piling us back in the Jeeps, and I had "Arabian Nights" from Aladdin stuck in my head all the way back to Dubai.

Meditating in a Kayak

Launching my kayak off the shore into Lake Mapourika

When I was in Franz Josef, I was helping Bronwyn out with her kayaking company.  Since it was off-season for kayaking (as it was winter in the southern hemisphere), company employee's were limited to herself and her partner Dale.
One morning the Kiwi Bus (or the party bus as I like to call it, because it consists of young travelers who never leave their hostel without a flask), showed up with an unusual amount of individuals wanting to kayak off their hangovers.   Bronwyn called me in as a second guide to run the trip, and it was one of my favorite days in New Zealand.

Lake Mapourika is one of the most stunning places on earth.  Once you’ve seen it, you’re left with an insatiable desire to experience it again and again. Those three magical hours on the water are as much for the enjoyment of the staff, as they are for the first-timers, resulting in contagious positive energy bouncing around the entire trip.

Maybe they weren't that hungover...

One of the biggest perks of kayaking on a placid lake is the ease of it. Even if you're new to the sport, to operate it requires minimal coordination skill. Basically if you can walk, you can kayak. Bronwyn provides all the gear and transportation so all the guests have to worry about is what to bring for lunch.

Your main task as a guide is suiting people up and strapping them into their kayaks.  Once on the water I occupied myself with photography and coming up with as many annoying jingles to sing as possible. 

The lake is sheltered from harsh coastal winds and most often it is perfectly still, creating a mirror like reflection of your surroundings in the water below. Calls of the rainforest birds create pleasant background music, and the overwhelming beauty of the glacier-capped mountains has you entranced. Each stroke of your paddle pulls you deeper and deeper into a meditative state of sublimity.

Half-way through the trip we enter a creek whose shoreline belongs to a Kiwi Wildlife Sanctuary.  Unfortunately these country famous furry creatures are nocturnal, but it was still a great opportunity to see their living environment.  It reminded me of the tours they have in Hollywood, where people pay hundreds of dollars to drive by the outside of celebrity houses (but without feeling pathetic).





Before I knew it, I was heading back to shore cursing Einstein’s Theory of Relativity; three hours have passed in a flash.  Then I remembered the best part of living in a vacation destination: I can do this everyday!

Myself venturing out of the Sanctuary

Exploring the Glacier

My first thought of New Zealand was that it was eerily similar to Canada in it's magnificent scenery and wildly entertaining people.

When cruising into Franz Josef the first thought that comes to mind is “this is the reason I’m travelling New Zealand.” Situated in Westland Tai Poutini National Park, this city meets all your outdoor adventure needs.

 

The small town is comprised of two streets, 330 welcoming locals, and is set in the heart of the rainforest (quite disorienting after you catch sight of towering glacier packed mountains right above your head). The West Coast of New Zealand is the only place in the world you will find rainforest and glacial biomes in such close proximity. 

Bronwyn was a childhood friend of mine who used to work as a Franz Josef Glacier Guide before opening up her own kayaking company. One morning she invited me along with some of her friends to hike Fox Glacier (just 30 minutes south of Franz).  I lucked into having my own personal guide and the necessary equipment to explore the glacier way above the designated turn-back point for general public guided tours. Bingo.

Unloading for the hike

The trickiest part about walking on the glacier is accepting the fact that you are walking on a sheet of ice. Glacier terrain varies with every step; some parts are as flat as the prairies while other areas required climbing equipment. Bronwyn came equipped with an ice ax to carve steps in anything too vertical for our own comfort. With crampons fastened tightly around our boots, slipping and sliding on the ice is out of the question, but you  have to learn to trust your equipment. The faster you do this, the faster you can relax and appreciate your breathtaking surroundings, letting your imagination take you back to the last ice age.

Crampon!

Glaciers are one of the most exquisite natural wonders ever created. If you are lucky enough to catch it on a sunny day, the light reflects off the ice in such a way that the glacier looks as though it’s composed of thousands of diamonds rather than frozen water molecules. Carved by water and shaped by tectonic processes, the features of the glacier are both astonishing and unusual. It’s easy to loose yourself in its ancient beauty. It's these experiences in life that open your eyes to the astonishing wonders that lay undiscovered by a vast majority of the population.  All it takes is a little exploring!

Photo of a Moulin (carved by ice melt, these can extend downwards over 20 meters...don't fall in!)

Myself in the ice cave

Bronwyn and myself saying good-bye to Fox