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SPANISH HANGOUT Explore quirky Cuenca
PILGRIM TRAIL
Hiking Japan’s Kumano Kodo
CAPE ESCAPE Wild Canada calls
ISLAND BEAT
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Let loose in Samoa
TAIWAN | SOUTH AFRICA | INDIA | MACAU | ICELAND
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INDIA
SAMOA
Discover the traditions behind the waterways of Kerala
Feel the beat at the Teuila Festival
JAPAN
Find the balance of old and new in Cuenca
Explore Colombia’s once-feared south-west #10 get lost ISSUE #35
CANADA
Hike your way to enlightenment on the Kumano Kodo
Experience the wild side of Canada in the Cape Breton Highlands
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Come with us as we discover the coolest travel experiences on earth
NORTHERN TERRITORY Lose yourself in the magnificence of the Katherine River
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TAIWAN Take in the vibrant colours of the dream parade
get in the know Mobile phone chargers and underwear are among the most common items left behind in hotel rooms.
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News, Views & Events The globe uncovered Your Letters & Photos Send in and win Places to Stay The weird and wonderful
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Top Trips The best we can find Top 10 Shocking methods to cure illness and discomfort alike Retro Travel Travel from yesteryear in Peru
126 FOOD
The hungry traveller in Lebanon
128 PHOTOGRAPHY Expert photo tips
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You Wish Get green with envy in Iceland Get Packing Road trip South Africa with an instant itinerary After Dark Macau – gobble and glug in casino city
136 MUSIC
The new Nashville ventures beyond country music
138 RESPONSIBLE TRAVEL Mind your footprint
132 TRAVEL JOB
Hostage survivor Nigel Brennan on how to protect yourself in dangerous hot spots
140 REVIEWS
134 OUR SHOUT
144 CONFESSIONS
The world’s best bars
Gadgets and other goodies
Benjamin Law on sex ed in Burma
get in the know The world’s longest non-stop flight, from Singapore to Newark (18 hours, 50 minutes), will be cancelled at the end of 2013.
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jockey rAces his bulls As spectAtors set off fireworks in the background at a bull-racing event in rawalpindi, pakistan. the jockey stands on a decorated metal sheet tethered to the bulls, and must keep his balance for the 300m dash by holding onto a rope with one hand and beating the animal with a stick with the other. the races take place during the winter months throughout rural pakistan, and are held by local mafia bosses as a gambling event, with thousands of people gathering to watch and punt on the races. this photograph was shot with a canon eos-1D Mark ii N, with a canon 70–200mm f/2.8l lens. it was taken at iso 160, f/11, 1/160. Photography by Warrick page
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get in the know Casino architects in Macau consult feng shui masters to avoid designs that allow cash to ‘flow’ out.
Shunning the casinos, Pat Kinsella takes a moonlit meander around the more interesting side of Macau. Photography by Pat Kinsella
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Under the eye of the Grand Lisboa casino, a dragon boat team wait for the coolness of the evening air before beginning to train.
get in the know Macau was once an island, but land reclamation in the 17th century turned it into a peninsula.
tanding in central Macau and contemplating your surroundings involves sustaining an assault on at least two of your senses. Within seconds of leaving your air-conditioned hotel the humidity seizes you in a sticky embrace, and your eyes are bombarded by a synthetic, ultrarainbow of multicoloured lights and neon imagery that erupts in waves across the claustrophobically clustered cityscape. it’s as though you’ve stumbled into the guts of a giant slot machine. And this is precisely what most people expect of this SAR (Special Administrative Region) of China – that it’s an enclave of excess on the doorstep of the world’s biggest supernation: an Asian Vegas on an outstretched limb of China, that is literally swelling as the number of casinos it hosts continues to grow. But this is only one face of an astonishingly diverse destination. With its Portuguese heritage, perfectly preserved Old Town areas and population of tai-chipractising locals who have been here far longer than the modern gambling dens, Macau holds more than a few surprise cards up its sleeve. If you’re indifferent to the come-hither power of the casino’s winking electric eyes, and you demand more from a night out than a few imported beers in a sterile bar with false lights and no clocks, we suggest spending the day exploring the temples, parks and streets of the islands of Taipa and Coloane, before working your way back to the peninsula via some of Macau’s more interesting watering holes and feeding stations. By the time you get back downtown, you may be in the mood to dig a bit deeper into what really lies behind those lights. ISSUE #35 get lost #35
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get in the know In 2011, Samoa omitted December 30 from their calendar to cross the international dateline, becoming the first in the world to experience sunrise.
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Cam Cope’s sense of masculinity takes a beating in the festive heart of Polynesia.
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A traditional drummer performs at the opening of Teuila Festival 2012.
londie’s powerful hands grip my shoulders and drive me up against a pole. her muscular thighs lock around me and i’m at the mercy of her gyrating hips. like a hunter’s spotlight on a frightened rabbit, her eyes beam into mine. i’m pinned with no escape and am about to be grinded by a 90kg samoan drag diva. Up close I notice the mascara running down to her five o’clock shadow, before she leans in theatrically for a kiss. The crowd erupts in rapturous shrieking. Wince. I dodge her aim and somehow manage to escape with no more than a splash of tropical sweat and a stubble-graze. Is this what rugby feels like? I’ve just flown halfway across the Pacific for Teuila Festival, a celebration of traditional Samoan culture and one of the largest annual events in the first nation this side of the international dateline. Somehow I’ve ended up at Maliu Mai Bar and Grill for a drag show. It’s the last thing I expect to experience but it’s a fascinating window into a part of Samoan culture far more traditional than it might first appear. Blondie gives me a wink and saunters back to centre stage before finishing her pantomime to a rousing reception. She, like the rest of the performers, is a member of a third gender known as fa’afafine. Born biologically male, fa’afafines take on female roles, sometimes flamboyantly, and are accepted in traditional culture. They’re respected for their dedication to family and are famous for their wicked sense of humour, including taking advantage of palaalagi (foreigners). From the moment it kicks off in the centre of downtown Apia (Samoa’s capital), it’s clear Teuila Festival (named after the red ginger flower that blooms every September) is a blossoming expression of Samoan identity designed to strengthen and promote the country’s unique place in the world. Ministers address the crowd in floral open-necked shirts, clearly articulating that maintaining the fa’a Samoa (a traditional philosophy literally meaning ‘the Samoan way’) is their best chance at successfully navigating a challenging modern world. After the speeches conclude, 50 women in teuila wreaths and matching dresses burst into song, swaying their hips elegantly across the ceremony ground. Shirtless men stalk the edges of the field, shrieking in high-pitch bursts and striking intimidating poses to a barrage of percussion from muscular drummers. I’m beginning to realise that, if I were foolish enough to base my sense of manhood on relative body size, travelling to Samoa would be an emasculating experience – even if I did escape the clutch of a fa’afafine’s legs. It’s as if the stages of adolescence
get in the know On September 7, 2007, Samoa suspended all traffic for one hour before switching the driving orientation from the right side of the road to the left.
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Guy Wilkinson plunges into the medieval Spanish town of Cuenca, gets an adrenaline fix and discovers a fusion of street art and ancient hanging houses. Photography by Guy Wilkinson
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get in the know Only 5 per cent of Cuenca’s 58,000-strong population live in the old town.
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Cuenca old town with a view of Saint Paul Convent and St Paul Bridge.
get in the know Cuenca is bordered by the provinces of Valencia, Albacete, Cuidad Real, Toledo, Madrid, Guadalajara and Teruel.
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ntil now – even while clambering Up the steep face of a jagged cliff – i’d been perfectly calm. my heart rate remained normal, my mind strangely serene. but reality has just kicked in. i’m standing on top of an unnervingly high precipice. ahead of me there’s a rocky overhang and i can’t see over the edge. all i know is that, some 10m below, a freezing cold gorge is just about deep enough to break my fall. Beneath me, I hear shouts of encouragement from my fellow jumpers. A small crowd of people is watching from the far riverbank. There’s nothing else for it. Taking a few deep breaths, I bolt forward and break into a full sprint. The cliff edge rears up and suddenly there’s no turning back. Rewind a couple of days and such daredevil capers were the last thing on my mind. I’d ridden the train 170km east of Madrid to the remote town of Cuenca in the mountainous Serrania region. Located 956m above sea level, Cuenca is actually two separate cities: the high quarter, or monumental Cuenca, and the low quarter. While the latter is a fairly generic town built in the 19th century, the high quarter is a 1,200-year-old medieval gem. It doesn’t take long to fall for the place. Spreading outwards from the colourful Plaza Mayor, the town’s nucleus, a labyrinth of cobbled alleys winds towards near-vertical cliff faces plunging hundreds of metres down into the Huecar River Gorge. At the northern end of town, a cluster of buildings literally teeters on the edge of the mountainside. Inhabited by Muslim Arabs in 711 AD, Cuenca’s lofty position straddling the Júcar and Huecar rivers made it ideal for defending against invaders.
Today the most famous buildings are Las Casas Colgadas, or hanging houses. Dating back to the 15th century, they were once commonplace but only a handful now remain. In recent times, three were extensively renovated to house the superb Spanish Museum of Abstract Art and La Casa de la Sirena, a high-end restaurant specialising in traditional local food. Beyond the dazzling visuals, Cuenca has genuine substance. The relatively compact old town is a maze of medieval architecture, from the striking Gothic Cathedral of Santa Maria de Gracia, to the 16th-century Saint Paul Convent and El Castillo, an ancient Arab fortress. But what really gives the city its edge is the juxtaposition of old versus new. Wandering the quiet alleys at dusk, I stumble upon unlikely examples of street art around every other corner. Next to a shrine lined with red candles, a painting of a Dalek graces an old wooden door. Staring out over a canyon, I have to check myself as a mammoth pair of green eyes glare back at me from a distant rock face. And when I trek to the abandoned house of late surrealist poet Federico Muelas, high up in the hills, I’m gobsmacked by the elaborate series of murals spray-painted onto the crumbling walls. What might appear like vandalism in a town now protected by World Heritage status actually lends the place an unusual, offbeat charm. Cuenca has long embraced artistic expression. During the 1950s and 60s, artists from all over Spain were drawn to the region, attracted by the prospect of cheap living and geographical inspiration.
Street art at the old abandoned poets house (Frederico Muelas).
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get in the know The word Cuenca is thought to be derived from the Arabic word kunka, meaning fortress.
Their legacy remains. It’s in the stylistic variety of architecture, the vividly painted avant-garde facades standing side-by-side with centuries-old towers and cathedrals. It’s in the unique galleries and museums we explore everywhere, from the Spanish Museum of Abstract Art to the Saint Paul Convent, home to 600 works by sculptor and painter Gustavo Torner, which were donated by Madrid’s Reina Sofía Museum. The creative influence even extends after hours. Inside a hidden back-lane bar, I unleash my inner dandy, quaffing gin and tonics in a speakeasy-style atmosphere replete with stained-glass lampshades, chesterfield sofas and oak-panelled walls. Such unexpected pleasures only confound me further; why have so few international travellers heard of this city?
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This isn’t a theme park, you may get some cuts and bruises but we’re here to experience something real, not Disneyland,” says Segarra, urging us on.
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Art and culture aside, Cuenca’s other main drawcard is its proximity to the great outdoors. The surrounding Sierra de Cuenca region is a Mecca for adventurers. Pretty much any outdoor excursion is possible here, although mountain biking, rock climbing and kayaking are clear favourites. We meet guides Agustin Segarra and Nestor Valera for a day’s canyoning. During the short drive to the Júcar River Gorge, the landscape shifts from desert to alpine. Dressed in a Spanish football T-shirt, shorts and thongs, Segarra is an unlikely looking action hero but his passion for the region is unmistakable. Navigating three separate pitch-black tunnels we make our way to the mouth of the canyon. Stretching several hundred metres, the last conjures uncomfortable recollections of the horror film The Descent. When we emerge from the gloom to face the river, it’s love at first sight. Flanked by steep, serrated canyon walls, the whole scene looks almost artificially created; it’s too perfect. But even in a thick wetsuit and helmet, entering the river is like being dunked in an ice bath. For a second, I struggle to catch my breath. At first I’m nervous and on edge. Up ahead, the river looks wild and unpredictable. “This isn’t a theme park, you may get some cuts and bruises but we’re here to experience something real, not
Taking a cliff jump while canyoning at the Júcar River Gorge.
get in the know Cuenca’s San Mateo Festival, which features the running of roped bulls through the square, has been held since 1177.
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get in the know There are three rules to enjoying Japanese hot springs – single sex, scrub first and strictly naked!
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Awakening theWaterfall Aaron Millar hits the mountain trails of Japan to hike in the footsteps of emperors and monks along an ancient path towards enlightenment. Photography by Aaron Millar
A Kumano Kodo pilgrim in traditional dress watches the sunset from Hyakken-gura lookout. Photo: Matt Malcomson
get in the know Yunomine boiled eggs are perfectly cooked after precisely 13 minutes.
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The first glimpse of the sacred Nachi Otaki waterfall at the end of the pilgrimage.
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YOEI TAKAGI IS A 62-YEAR-OLD BUDDHIST MONK. EVERY January he climbs the steep snowy slopes of his home in the Kii Mountains of Japan to meditate under the 48 sacred waterfalls that flow into the Nachi Otaki – the tallest waterfall in the country, revered in folklore as a living god. Despite the icy conditions, he’s able to remain submerged in the near-freezing flow for 45 minutes at a time. “This training has granted me supernatural powers,” he says, leaning in to whisper in my ear. “I can see people’s heart inside.” But subjecting oneself to glacial conditions, he explains, is only a small part of the process. The real business is in the mountains. Takagi is a follower of Shugendo, an ancient Japanese religion that fuses Buddhist ideals with indigenous forms of nature worship. For centuries, devotees like Takagi,
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known as yamabushi, have been trekking Kumano’s arduous slopes in the belief that ascetic training in sacred spots can grant one magical abilities. Japanese folklore is rich with examples of these mountain monks predicting the future, walking on fire and even flying. I’ve come to Japan to explore these sacred mountains. I want to learn more about Shugendo and perhaps see if some of that magic will rub off on me. Over the next five days I will be walking the Nakahechi section of the Kumano Kodo – an 88km ancient pilgrimage path that bisects the Kii Mountains in the Kumano region of the Kii Peninsula, 200km south of Kyoto. For more than 1,000 years emperors and peasants have been walking these trails in search of enlightenment and healing on their way to the three Grand Shrines: Hongu Taisha, Hatayama
get in the know The symbol of Kumano is the Yatagarasu – a three-legged crow symbolising heaven, earth and mankind.
A Hongu Taisha priest worships before the four deities housed within the shrine buildings.
Taisha and Nachi Taisha. Mirroring their journey, I plan to stay in small mountain villages just off the trail and discover, I hope, a slice of rural Japanese life seldom seen by outsiders. “Walk the route, breathe the air and make room in your heart to feel it,” Takagi tells me. If there is such a thing as hiking nirvana, then the Kumano Kodo is surely the place to start looking. Japanese emperors would have started their journey in Kyoto, with royal processions – sometimes 800-strong – inching their way 160km south to the port of Tanabe before turning east towards the mountains. But for me the trail begins a few miles inland at Takijiri-Oji, the gateway shrine to the sacred lands of Kumano, and once the site of great celebration and ritual offerings of poetry, dance and even sumo. From here I climb five steep kilometres to the mountain village of Takahara, passing
monoliths with mantras etched in stone, buried sutras scribed by emperors, and small wooden shrines with offerings left inside: cups of green tea, a red blanket, rusting decades-old coins. It’s like entering a living museum. That evening owner Jian welcomes me to the Kiri-no-Sato guesthouse with a banquet of traditional Japanese country cooking known as kaiseki – dozens of individually prepared, uniquely flavoured dishes – that I encounter many times on this trip. Tasting steamed mountain vegetables – along with tuna sashimi, salmon teriyaki, venison in spicy miso sauce – parts of my mouth that had been bone-idle since birth suddenly start singing karaoke. Seeing my reaction Jian smiles. “This is the idea of wabisabi, and it’s how you should walk the Kumano Kodo too: with all your senses open and in the moment.”
get in the know The Kumano Kodo and the Way of St James in Spain are the only two pilgrimage routes with UNESCO World Heritage status.
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Exploring Nova Scotia’s untamed Cape Breton Highlands National Park has wild rewards, writes Liz Ginis. Photography by Liz Ginis
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get in the know Born and raised in Nova Scotia, Joshua Slocum became the first man to sail single-handedly around the world in 1895.
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Towering Canadian pines meet a tumble of boulders at land’s end in Cape Breton Highlands National Park.
get in the know Sea glass washed up on Inverness Beach, pummelled by the sand and sea until it’s as smooth as a baby seal’s skin, is locally known as ‘mermaid tears’.
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ild-eyed Kent lurched toWards the cliff edge and yelled: “i’ll jump for ya!” I must have given him a look that screamed ‘CRAZY CANUCK’ because he quickly qualified his offer with: “I’ve done it plenty of times. I grew up around here.” And then he leapt, arms flapping like rotor blades, off the 20m cliff face and into the foaming sea below. It seemed an eternity before his head popped, cork-like, out of the brine, and the breath I’d been holding was finally granted its exit. Cape Breton Highlands National Park, on the northern tip of Canada’s island province of Nova Scotia, is no place for the faint-hearted. It’s a wild concoction of spectacular scenery – vertigo-inducing highlands, Tolkien-esque river canyons and craggy cliffs that plunge (like Kent) into the icy sea. I’d come halfway around the world to explore this earth’s end landscape, on trails that snake along exposed mountain tops, through peat bogs and into coastal fishing villages, complete with centuriesold lighthouses that, it seems, time has mislaid. And then there’s the wildlife. Moose roam free here, and spotting them can be nigh on impossible or ridiculously easy – I saw two ‘hiding’ in a sapling forest a stone’s throw from a perfectly groomed golf course (Highland Links – yep, there’s sophistication amid the wilderness). I’d spent the two days before that trekking up hill and down dale, and mired in peat bogs following moose tracks that afforded me not even a glimpse of an antler. Still, hiking boots covered in muck and legs stinging from the unrelenting exertion, it was worth every step.
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Despite the voice in my head screaming: “Do it! DO IT!” I declined. I had somewhere else to be, I explained. The Skyline Trail. Kent nodded his approval. “That’s cool. It’s a brilliant walk. Look for moose! The big guys hang out around there.” The 9.2km Skyline Trail is one of the most popular tracks in the park, and loops atop an impressive coastal headland. I followed a grassy path through fir trees and over roots and rocks to a bog surrounded by sweetly scented pines and earthy peat moss. There were moose tracks everywhere. Promising, Kent, promising. As I walked west towards the coast, the forest thinned to reveal expansive views of the sea. It was spectacular; the frothing waves of the Gulf of St. Lawrence – the world’s largest estuary and the outlet of the Great Lakes of North America – lapped at the horizon. Roughly halfway along the track I joined a boardwalk that traced the spine of the mountain. The panorama was sublime: to my left, row upon row of pine-clad peaks, and to my right, nothing but deep blue sea. At the boardwalk’s end – a viewing platform at the edge of the cliff – I pulled off my pack and sat, watching the waves roll and roll and roll. Amazingly, I spotted a pod of long-finned pilot whales not too far offshore, flukes slapping on the surface (a practice known as lobtailing). Difficult as it was to drag myself away from such beauty, back on the Skyline loop I became immersed in the plant life – the pines were stunted from years of wind-lash and the peat bogs were a drawcard for all manner of animals, from the snowshoe hare and white-tailed deer to the black bear. I’d stopped to
i’d stopped to check out a golden dragonfly hovering over a pitcher plant when i heard the press of heavy hooves on soil and looked up to see a moose. it was a male, with antlers as wide as he was long.
Access to the park is via the Cabot Trail, without doubt one of the world’s most scenic drives and a favourite with motorcyclists. It’s 300km of smooth, bitumen road that hugs the rugged coastline and skirts a seemingly endless azure sea (the Gulf of St Lawrence on the north-western edge of the island, and the Atlantic Ocean in the east). Heading inland, it wends through spectacular Canadian maple forests that morph from lime green in summer to waves of red, orange and brilliant yellow come autumn. When Kent finally made it back to the top of the cliff he was deliriously pumped. “Did you see that? Cool wasn’t it? Buddy, I can do it again if you want… you wanna jump too?”
Weathered fishing shacks stud the wind-lashed coastline of Cape Breton, a testament to the region’s rich and enduring piscatorial heritage.
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check out a golden dragonfly hovering over a pitcher plant when I heard the press of heavy hooves on soil and looked up to see a moose. It was a male, with antlers as wide as he was long. He took one look at me and ambled away. Breathtaking. The park is littered with walking tracks like this – scenically stunning and not too hard on the heart. But if you’re looking for one that really gets the blood pumping, try Franey, a steep 7.4km loop to the 425m high peak of craggy Franey Mountain. From here the 360-degree view takes in the impressive Clyburn River Canyon, which cuts a path eastward to the Atlantic Ocean. For moose-spotters, the 3km Benjie’s Lake trail is most likely to deliver the goods, while beaver lovers should tackle the 1.7km Freshwater Lake trail, on the south-eastern edge of the park. In total, Cape Breton Highlands National Park has 26 designated hiking and mountain-biking trails, and eight campgrounds. It’s a wildlife haven, and tucked up in my tent at night I’d hear the forest rustle with movement. A moose? A bear? A cheeky lynx trying to sniff out treats from my dillybag, which was hidden away in a nearby bear-proof food locker? There are also sleepy coastal villages in which you can rest your weary bones (away from the wildlife) and soak up the island’s rich maritime and Scottish heritage. Scots first came to the island in the 1770s, and today it’s home to the largest Gaelic community outside Scotland, which continues many fine traditions from the homeland, including Celtic fiddling, step-dancing and producing the best melt-in-your-mouth shortbread I’ve ever eaten. Drizzled with the ubiquitous Canadian maple syrup, it’s fuel for all-day adventuring. The towns of Inverness on the west coast and Baddeck on the east both brim with Gaelic-inspired food and culture, and in homes, restaurants, pubs and community halls céilidhs (kitchen
get in the know Cape Breton’s award-winning Glenora Distillery is home to the only single malt whisky in North America.
The 9.2km Skyline Trail plunges through fir forests and peat bogs before rewarding walkers with spectacularly panoramic coastal views. The wending 300km Cabot Trail (in the background) is the only road in and out of the park. Photo: George Simhoni
Close encounters with pilot and humpback whales are second to none in the cool waters of the Gulf of St Lawrence.
get in the know At the Celtic Music Interpretive Centre in Judique you can learn to step-dance and play the fiddle during a lunchtime cĂŠilidh.
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A 17-day Peregrine adventure for two through wonderful Myanmar flying business class on Vietnam Airlines.
Travelling by road, by air and on water, you will see firsthand why Myanmar (also known as Burma) is a fabled land. Discover ancient temples, explore winding rivers, enjoy lovely hospitality and unwind on deserted beaches. This fantastic trip for two is a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
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