Untitled from Cullen Keller on Vimeo.

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For more on our journey through Italy’s Northern Lakes, check out: http://roundwego.com/featured/lake-district-italys-secret/

Created with Admarket’s flickrSLiDR.

I don’t want to die and go to heaven. I want to go to Grindelwald.

Those were the first words I uttered after arriving to Gletschegarden Hotel, spot in the middle of Grindewald, Switzerland. With a view of the rolling green hills and the imposing Jungfrau Mountain seemingly superimposed on a postcard amount of red, pink and white flowers, I thought I was in Heaven.

But if only Heaven didn’t cost as much…Switzerland was never part of our around the world itinerary for this reason. Laura and I had long known that Switzerland is associated with three things: money, time and chocolate (probably in that order, too), so it never even crossed our minds that our meager backpacking dollars could bring us to this wonderfully expensive paradise.

Enter Laura’s parents. Gracious and giving as always, they treated us to a four day holiday in Switzerland that I’ll remember forever. We spent the first two days in the skiing-obsessed Zermatt. While I greatly enjoyed the chic shops, fine dining, incredible trekking, sleek efficiency, and, of course, the magnificent views of the Matterhorn in car-free Zermatt, it still was not perfect enough. Great, green Grindewald had to go and top it.

When one pictures Switzerland, they are picturing Grindewald. With no more than a couple thousand residents, Grindewald is more village than town. We arrived on one of those temperate, sunny Fall days that even Grindewaldians(?) (who are accustomed to perfection) had to call perfect. The air was cool, the sun was shining and the flowers were still in full bloom (although I think the Swiss secretly import their flowers to retain that “full-bloom” look year-round). The afternoon sun moved from the Jungfrau onto the rolling hills and played shadow games over hamlets straight out of Hansel and Gretel.

Besides staring at all this beauty what were to do? Head to one of those neat, corner cafes to laze away the afternoon sipping strong coffee and eating flaky pastries? Or maybe head to an outdoor wine bar to take in the outstanding mountain views? The Swiss have a way of tricking you into doing nothing and yet have you feeling a sense of accomplishment.

Or, if you actually are serious about being active, there a wealth of opportunities to pass the time in Grindewald. I forewent the shopping that the Dowling ladies set out for some serious trail running in preparation for the Cape Town Marathon, now just two weeks away. While the thin mountain air and vertical trails make running an extreme sport in this part of Switzerland, I always was able to stop and catch my breath. I had to. The views were so stunning that I had to take a moment every few minutes to admire the serene, green alpine beauty. Glaciers, rolling green hills, cascading waterfalls, gentle streams – you name it, Grindewald has it all.

The following day I found an even greater appreciation for the splendor of this idyllic mountain village when Laura, her parents and I took one of the shiny red palaces they call cable cars to the top of one of the ski lifts for an afternoon hike down the mountain. The views from above 10,000 feet only improved our already high marks for Grindewald.

These afternoon hikes proved necessary with the delectable culinary options Grindewald had in store for us: hearty Hungarian goulashes, grilled venison with beets in a red wine sauce, veal with a creamy marsala sauce, lamb over couscous with a red pepper mousse and a ridiculously cheesed-out Swiss cheese special.

Heaven Grindewald most certainly was. Even the town cemetery was perfect and a place any visitor would want to frequent. To top off our experience was the 100 year old and downright rustic Gletschegarden Hotel. Even among so many wonderful homes and hotels, the Gletschergarden stood out. The place was full of charm with every crevasse of the home opening up into a new-found nook with well-appointed hand-crafted wooden furniture. The views were nothing less than stunning and the family-only staff as hospitable as they come.

So, if Heaven is anything less than Grindewald, I, for one, will be disappointed. Unless less means cheaper, then it’s OK.

Our location in Italy along the northern lakes meant we were a hop, skip and a jump away from its serene, green, pristine neighbor. Yes Switzerland lies just an hour away from our Italian abode and my parents agreed: we simply had to take advantage.

Winding our way around Lago Maggiore, the scenery began to change. Posh villas were replaced by wooden huts with brilliantly-colored shudders and window boxes overflowing with geraniums. Where the Alps once hugged Italian lake shores, they now embraced rolling green hills of impossibly perfect pastoral landscapes. “Ooing” and “ahhing” at every turn, we took pleasure in admiring the sprawling pine forests and meadows while snow-capped peaks towered high above.

I imagined Switzerland would be picture perfect, but nothing, not even The Sound of Music, could have prepared me for this kind of beauty. My mom said it best: “We are walking into a nursery rhyme.”

High in the Swiss Alps we got our first taste of Switzerland over heaping portions of apple and blueberry pies. What started sweet, just got sweeter. We were en route to Zermatt. The little hamlet is built into the slopes of the mountains below the famed Matterhorn. People come from all over the world to ski, hike, summit or simply get a glimpse of this precipitous mountain peaking out of the clouds and rising high above the rest. We were here to do the same while soaking up all the Swiss culture we could get.

Cars aren’t allowed in the pedestrian-only town of Zermatt so we arrived to the mountain hamelet in a bright, red train, cutting through the mountains at the speed of lightning. This was our firt experience with Swiss efficiency. Everything is run like a well-oiled, ‘cheery’ machine, and it’s so clean you can literally eat off the train station floors. Here we were also introduced to the outrageous cost of travel in Switzerland. The mere 15 minute train ride cost a whopping $40 per person! When we learned the price of hotels and dinner out on the town, we knew we wouldn’t be coming back any time soon. Time to soak up every moment we have!

Arriving in the main square of Zermatt we were greted by the neighing whispers and clicking of horse hooves towing well-heeled travelers by carriage to their Zermatt digs. We found our home at a quaint little chalet and from our balcony of our room, we laid our eyes on the prize. There, staring us in the face, was the Matterhorn herself. Like icing on a cake, we saw her peak was topped with a dusting of fresh snow as she revealed herself against a brilliant blue sky.

Taking a brief sojourn from our budget travel days, Ryan and I felt like two kids in a candy store. I wanted to jump on the bed, yodel from the balcony and rob the mini bar. Thanks to mom and pop, we were living high on the hog!

And after so long on the road, Ryan and I hardly recognized each other. We’d put in requests for a few ‘creature comforts’ prior to my parents arrival and were now basking in this new-found glory. I was now armed with a hair dryer to tame my unruly mane and even a pair of jeans, which hadn’t made the packing list cut. Ryan, too, got a little wardrobe upgrade for the occasion and we were feeling quite sharp from our Swiss-style makeover.

Switzerland was decadent and my parents succeeded in spoiling us silly. When we weren’t indulging in a hot pot of cheesy fondue, nibbling on decadent Swiss chocolate or diving into a fabulous dinner of venison or lamb, we were on the move. We took the gondola known as the Matterhorn Express up to the very top of the mountain to the base of the Matterhorn. On this clearest of days, we looked out over a panorama of snow-capped peaks for as far as the eye could see. We were told we were actually seeing 37 peaks with an altitude of over 12,000 feet. I’m no mountaineer, but I can tell you the view was awe-inspiring.

Once on top, we tackled the Matterhorn Trail. The trek was a full day of hiking through incredible Alpine scenery and had us descending on picturesque Zermatt just as the sun was setting.

There are some days so special you know you’ll remember them the rest of your life. Trekking through the Swiss Alps with my parents and Ryan beside me, today was one of those days.

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Let me tell you a little bit about my island.

His name is Korcula, and we fell in love off the coast of Croatia under the hot, August Mediterranean sun. I fell hard for his rolling hills and indented coves and simply couldn’t resist his turquoise waters and secluded beaches. After discovering the medieval cocoon that is his Old Town, I was smitten. Yep, Korcula is the one for me.

After a drive up the scenic, unspoiled coastline of Croatia, we sailed into the island of Korcula. This is Croatia’s largest island in an archipelago of 48. It sits at the southern end of the country just a few hours north of Dubrovnik. Gliding in on the water, we caught our first view of Korcula town, a red roofed labyrinth of stone homes and ornate buildings.

In the 10th century, Venice controlled much of the Dalmatian coast, including Korcula. In this once important Venetian city you can still see the influence of its former ruler with the gothic, renaissance and baroque architecture. In other Korcula history lessons, Marco Polo was born on this island and the town makes a big deal of their superstar explorer. Here you have the chance to visit his house and a small museum detailing his famous voyages.

We rented out a room in a home sitting just above Korcula’s Old Town. It’s here, on our patio under a trellis of grapevines, we spent most of our time taking in the view just below. With no set agenda for our days, we passed the hours with our books and journal in hand watching the lighting change over the medieval town while listening to the symphony of bell towers chiming in unison.

When we were feeling a bit more energized, we took off on runs around the island and spent a day venturing off to some secluded beaches. With a strong recommendation for Korcula’s most beautiful beach, we hopped on a bus to the southern end of the island. Winding down a dirt path through the vineyards we came upon a rocky shore with crystal clear waters and a backdrop of pine forests and towering mountains. This was the perfect spot to spend our day. The only thing missing? Bathing suits on all other patrons. Yep, we found ourselves on a nudist beach!

By night, we scoped out a seafood joint where we soon would become regulars. Sitting in the alleyway of the narrow streets, we sipped on Croatian wine and dove into mounds of fresh mussels. We even had a local Klape group (an acapella form of music) singing folklore tunes under a stone archway. As the traditional music flooded the narrow streets of Old Town, we had the perfect soundtrack to our nightcap: gelato!

Yes, Korcula, he is my perfect island.

Croatia has been one of those standout places on our trip I’ve been dreaming of visiting. Seemingly stranded way out there on its own hovering over the Adriatic Sea, I imagined it sitting along Europe’s less trodden trails just waiting to be discovered. Those remote red-roofed villages suspended on the mountainside along the pristine Dalmatian Coast, this was the Croatia I was after.

Claiming to be one of Croatia’s most picturesque cities, our first stop in Croatia was Dubrovnik. Following a brief bus ride from the nearby Montenegrin border, we pulled into Dubrovnik and were greeted in true Mediterranean style: by a harem of dowdy women trying desperately to rent out their rooms.

Following strangers into their homes for a place to lay our heads has become commonplace on our Mediterranean holiday. Though it may seem quite strange to the outsider, it’s a nice option for budget travelers, like ourselves, who are feeling too old for the hostel scene yet unwilling to succumb to the high prices of hotels. But while economical, it’s also a gamble. We’ve won a few and struck out on quite a few more (story on our stay in the home of a porno-watching, 60 year-old female hoarder is a story we will save for offline!). This time around in Dubrovnik, we would win, settling into a room at the home of a middle-aged couple just steps away from Dubrovnik’s Old Town.

After enjoying a few glasses of homemade Croatian wine with our gracious hosts, we stumbled out to explore. Behind the protective city walls guarding the pedestrian-only Old Town, we found historic churches and public buildings, trendy shops and cozy restaurants, ancient sculptures and contemporary galleries, fountains and bell towers, monasteries and gardens. We discovered a little something for everyone… AND that we’d be sharing it with, well, everyone.

On our first day in Dubrovnik I realized a few things: Undiscovered Europe this was absolutely not. Croatia, and Dubrovnik specifically, attract hordes of tourists. Many are just docking here for the day on their cruise ship, but traveling in loud, obnoxious packs, they are hard to ignore. I also realized, with the sweltering heat of August, this was not the ideal time to visit. The heat was stifling. If you weren’t in the shade, in the water or at least under a sun hat, you were doomed.

While the naïve notion began to wear off that we’d be discovering this pearl of the Adriatic on our own, I also realized no crowds or even stifling humidity could destroy the allure of enchanting Dubrovnik. Mornings were spent over coffee on a park bench overlooking the panorama of red terracotta roofs. When the city filled up, we made our exit to the heavenly landscaped beaches outside of town. Here we listened to the turquoise water lap up against the shore while our bodies basked in the Mediterranean sun. At dusk, we walked the Old City walls and watched the sun illuminate the medieval stone buildings into a bright, golden hue, overlooking a sea strewn with lush islands.

Although we had to share its beauty with countless holidaymakers, jet-setters and backpackers, there was no denying it: Dubrovnik is special.

Once upon a time, the city of Constantinople was the center of civilization. If you were to visit the bustling meyhanes (bars) in present-day Istanbul’s back alleyways, you would be forgiven for thinking it still is.

Today, the 2010 European Capital of Culture is doing its best to reassert its former glory and give proof that history does repeat itself. Women in burqas walking side by side with scantily-clad friends, churches converted to mosques – these are just a few examples of the East-meets-West juxtaposition that is so prevalent in Istanbul. While London and New York, and to a lesser extent Paris, offer incredible displays of diversity, none are as deeply rooted in their historical underpinnings and offer the unique sense of self that Istanbul displays.

The Sights

Laura and I stayed in the Old City of Sultanahmet, which is home to the city’s most famous sights. From our hotel rooftop terrace we had a view of two of the best: the Hagia Sophia (Ayasofya in Turkish) and the Blue Mosque (officially Sultan Ahmed Mosque or Sultanahmet Camii in Turkish). Architecture is not immune to the East-West dichotomy found in every other facet of Istanbul life. Many of Istanbul’s greatest sights are churches from the early Christian periods converted to mosques when it was brought into the Ottoman Empire.

Almost all agree the exterior of the neighboring Blue Mosque is superior in beauty to the Hagia Sophia. But the most beautiful interior, that is the Hagia Sophia’s alone. The clean lines, beautiful Arabic calligraphy and lack of ostentatious ornamentation found in many churches and Hindu and Buddhist temples make the Hagia Sophia a sight to see. Combine those qualities with the massive and inconceivable vaulted domes, stone-textured walls and cream-white latticework and you have the most beautiful place of worship anywhere in the world.

Staying in Sultanahmet, we were able to avoid the crush of tour buses visiting the Blue Mosque and see it as the Muslims who come to worship here do. I snuck in just before the call to prayer when they close the mosque to outside visitors and witnessed the hushed tranquility of its interiors. I was quickly taken aback by the mosque’s restrained beauty. Raised Catholic, watching the prostrating worshippers awakened me to the stark contrasts of the two religions. The Blue Mosque, like most other mosques, is carpeted throughout. Instead of the hollow sound of my shoes meeting a marble church floor, I instead enjoyed the warmth of the simple but intricately-patterned carpet under my bare feet. It’s virtually impossible not to notice the blue Iznik tiles adorning the interior and give cause for the mosque’s nickname. Inside wrought-iron chandeliers holding 21st century votive candles, glass cups filled with energy-efficient light bulbs, endow the mosque with an incredible atmosphere, especially so in the evening.

Because Istanbul was named the 2010 European Cultural Capital the city is looking extra-swish, with flowers in full bloom and grass never looking greener. The history and beauty continue away and out from the main square to include the lesser-known but equally fascinating sights Little Ayasofya and Basilica Cistern. The cistern, an underwater chapel replete with sculptures of Medusa, dates back several hundreds of years before its rediscovery by a visiting historian and scholar who had heard locals’ talk of drawing water and even catching fish from buckets lowered from their apartment floors.

The Sounds

On top of possessing a dizzying array of sights Istanbul has to be the city that truly never sleeps. It makes New York City or Buenos Aires, the two giants of nocturnal activities in my experience, seem like Springfield (take your pick) on a Tuesday night. I am not exaggerating when I say thousands of people, mostly Istanbulites and other Turks, are out in the streets until 2 or 3 a.m., even on weeknights.

The back alleys of the bohemian Beyoglu neighborhood are chock-full of tables soaking themselves in raki, an anis-like drink similar to ouzo, and Efes Pilsner, the Turkish beer of choice. We witnessed the power of alcohol and the subsequent lowering of inhibition as locals displayed Turkish dancing en masse and sang along to Turkish anthems being belted from rowdy pubs.

We arrived on a Tuesday and watched each night as the crowds swelled larger and the party hours lengthened. By Saturday, it had reached full tilt. Only at 3:30 a.m., when we decided to call it quits, were the masses moving from Beyoglu’s back alleyways and into clubs where the party would continue until seven or eight in the morning. Sunday, presumably reserved for family time (or as the only buffer between weeknights and the weekend for Turks), was the only night there seemed to be some sense of calm in the city, and even then the scene was livelier than most big cities on a weekend night.

The Smells

Istanbul smells spicy. Really. Perhaps all that eclecticism has to manifest itself through some physical outpouring because there were some funky smells swirling about. Bad body odor aside, there are plenty of good smells in the city, such as the wonderful aroma of a kebap roasting on a spit. For travelers on a budget (we were), a daily doner fix is a must (make sure to order it with French fries and pita).

Istanbul, I should add, is a very expensive city. Although Turkey is not on the Euro (yet), prices are equivalent to or even greater than many Euro-using capital cities. That being said, Laura and I tried our best to gravitate to the other good smells of the city. The smell of grilled fish sandwiches near the Galata Bridge, which connects the old and new towns, reeks of an institution as old as the bridge itself. As long as there has been fish, water and fire there have been fish sandwiches underneath the Galata Bridge. The sandwiches themselves are nothing special, but the ritual and tradition that goes along with it certainly merit the modest $3 price tag.

Istanbulites typically dine in big groups and eat meze, appetizers akin to Spanish tapas or Italian antipasti. In almost any traditional Istanbul eatery the waiter will bring a wooden platter to the table to show the goods firsthand, whereupon the table selects from a variety of meze: eggplant, stuffed peppers and tomatoes, vine leaves, tapenades, kofte (minced meat rolled into meatballs) and different types of salted fish. If you haven’t smelled, or better yet, sampled a fair share of meze, you have not been to Istanbul.

The Ultimate Border Town

Over the years and through my travels I’ve developed an odd fascination with border towns and crossings. The strange ambiguity of border towns, representing two different worlds and a melting of cultures is for me a microcosm of what it is to travel: to perceive as normal what others view as new and different.

Over the course of hundreds, thousands of years even, Istanbulites have prospered, fallen down and picked themselves back up to assimilate into a culture they have created through war and trade and love and lust. It is not this distinctive blend of cultures and customs, however, which makes this city straddling both sides of the Bosphorous so exceptional. It’s how easily the people carry these differences and similarities with them that make Istanbul one of the unique cities of the world and worthy of a visit, don’t you think?

We hate traveling like this, zipping through countries, not being able to take the time to really get to know the people and the culture. But at this point though, we had a schedule to keep. My parents’ visit is just around the corner (!!), and we have our hearts set on spending time in Croatia before they arrive. As such, our crawl up the Adriatic Sea continues…

Leaving Albania behind, we entered newly independent Montenegro. We hopped on an early morning minibus up the spectacular coast and began to discover the beauty of this tiny nation of less than one million inhabitants. Making a name for itself out of the shadows of its former Yugoslav self, we could tell from first stepping foot in the country that this place was special and home to, perhaps, the most dramatic coastal scenery in all of Europe.

Winding through the countryside of southern Montenegro, we sped down narrow streets lined with stone walls and red-roofed villages. Admiring the sea of towering pines backed by pristine mountains, we wound our way down to the coastline, hugging the ribbon of coastal towns overlooking sandy beaches and sapphire blue waters.

We made a brief stop in the walled-city of Budva, which we discovered was the hub of Montenegrin tourism and not a place we’d want to plant our feet. Budva was crawling, and I mean crawling, with tourists, destroying any ounce of charm the medieval Old Town once had. Goodbye unspoiled beaches, we found a shoreline covered with trampolines, put-put courses and hot dog stands. Clearly time to move on.

Our final destination was Kotor, a picturesque walled town sitting at the head of Europe’s most southern fjord. We stayed in the heart of the Stari Grad (Old Town), which consists of a maze of cobblestone passageways linking sunny squares with churches and aristocratic, red-roofed mansions. While the rest of the Montenegrin coast was cloaked in sandy beaches, Kotor was not. The setting of this town, sitting on a bay of clear, azure waters surrounded by massive limestone mountains, is even more remarkable. Take a look at the surroundings we enjoyed on our stay…