Laura defined so well in her “Homeward Bound” article our mutual feelings of what this experience has meant to us. We were both acceptably unprepared for our re-entry to American society. We returned during the holiday season, and with it, to all of America’s pomp and splendor: packed shopping malls, over-the-top Christmas decorations and Starbucks’ red and white holiday-themed cups.

My Brother Tim and I in Times Square

Obviously this trip was different in that we never fully immersed ourselves in one culture and language. We were on the move the entire year, like chameleons, constantly changing our colors to fit into our new surroundings. Although we felt at home in certain places, our average country-long stay of three weeks would never be enough time to let our roots grow anywhere.

Hanging with the kids at Mazabuka Orphanage

A very good friend emailed me with two months remaining in my 14 month around the world journey. “Who have you become as a result of your travels?” she asked. The same hard question I’d been asking myself all year long. The problem was I didn’t have the answer. In many ways, I feel supremely sure of who I am, what I want and what I’ve learned. But in many other ways, I am more conflicted than ever before.

I feel I have opened my world but have closed my mind. I am more judgmental, not less; critical of others when I should be more accepting; angrier when faced with perceived ignorance and less filled with a desire to educate; less empathetic to the concerns of those close to me when I should be more. Why? I simply don’t know.

I wish I could finish this by saying something uplifting and grand instead of feeling the way I do. But life and emotions are not always dictated the way we want them to be. And for now, that will have to be OK.

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.

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?

Luang Prabang is the greatest city in the world. Perhaps, that is an overstatement. With a population hovering around 100,000 it may not be large enough to be considered a city. Luang Prabang is then the greatest town in the world.

The dirty little secret is this – Laos and its cultural capital, Luang Prabang, need a marketing makeover. Sure, magazines like Conde Nast and National Geographic Traveler will give the city its due props with articles titled “Best Kept Secrets of Southeast Asia” and “SE Asia’s Hot List” but, please, this is petty patronization. This city, this town, should not be condensed so easily to stroke some pedantic travel expert’s ego. A UNESCO World Heritage site is not a secret. And for a place to be considered “hot” is to say that it will go out of style some time later. Luang Prabang should be visited now and later, again and again and again.

Certainly, Laura and I will be back. The town’s demure beauty captured our admiration from the moment we arrived. After traveling hard to outpace our Tibet-shortened Chinese visa, we were in need of a calm, quiet place to relax for a few days. Laura’s research and Wikitravel’s glowing recommendation brought us to one of the best places we’ve stayed yet – Thongbay Guesthouse – just on the outskirts of town.

From the get-go we had the feeling that a few days there would turn into several, which is exactly what happened. At Thongbay, we had a – OK, I’ll call it cute (it was) – bungalow all to ourselves on the shores of the Nam Khan river just before its intersection with the Mekong. Made of all wood with no real frills (no AC, no TV) other than exceptional service and breakfast on the veranda, the rustic locale was exactly what we were after.

We spent a total of 8 days in the good, ‘ole LP, but for brevity’s sake, I’ll give you run-down on what to see, eat and do the New York Times way – in 36 hours.

36 Hours in Luang Prabang

4 p.m. – Bike the Drive

It being a town, there is no need for maps or public transportation, just your two feet and some wheels. Laura and I rented bikes almost every day to get to and fro and this is undoubtedly the best way to cruise the town. One of the great charms of the town is its peninsular location, carved out by two rivers – the Mekong and the Nam Khan. Sandwiched in between are more than thirty Buddhist temples and a host of perfectly-preserved French colonial buildings, all easily navigable on two tires. Because the whole town of Luang Prabang is listed as a World Heritage Site by UNESCO, no new development is allowed, therefore keeping away much of the over-blown commercialism found in SE Asia’s other cities.

Cool off after your bike ride around town with SE Asia’s best iced coffee. Made with condensed milk and a healthy scoop of sugar it’s more of a liquid dessert than anything resembling coffee, but it’s a great pick-me-up on a hot day.

6 p.m. – Fire on the Mountain

With your new-found sugar high, ascend Luang Prabang’s highest point, Phou Si, a hill 100m high in the center of the old town with breathtaking views of the stupa-studded province. Atop the hill is a white-washed Buddhist temple, around which tourists gather to applaud the sunset over the Mekong, an absolute highlight of any trip to Luang Prabang.

8 p.m. – Night Market

Trust me; you will never visit a market as quiet as this one, not even if you’re shopping for caskets. Every night, artists and merchants set up shop on the main road running through the town’s artery to hawk their goods. If you’re coming from just about any neighboring country (especially Vietnam) you will be shocked at the lack of hassling and the quiet and reserved demeanor with which the Lao people conduct their business. Bargaining still occurs but it is by no means cut-throat and shouting won’t get you anywhere. In a country where “saving face” and maintaining a pleasant disposition are all important, the people are generally very laid-back. People come here to sell everything from misspelled Beerlao t-shirts to hand-woven purses to beautiful hand-painted prints and cards.

Walking through the market can certainly make one thirsty, and for this there is an almighty solution – Beerlao. Grab one of the green-and-yellow-labeled pilsners and take a seat at one of the communal tables in the alley running off the main market. Here is the nightly food market, made up of an exceptional array of food stalls, selling grilled fish, sausages, pork, corn and hot and spicy noodles, plenty of reason to indulge your taste buds and order another Beerlao.

As with most Buddhist cultures, Luang Prabang is not a late-night kind of place, so it’s early to bed because tomorrow you’ll be early to rise.

Day 2

6 a.m. – The Giving of the Alms

Visit in the morning and you will see lines of saffron-robed monks collecting their morning alms from the townspeople in a charitable display so beautiful to watch it will make you question why all acts of kindness couldn’t be this way. Beware, though, you will also see hordes of ugly tourists literally jogging down the street to snap photos of the collections, as it’s become tourist –chic (I say this having gone and taken pictures myself but, still, there is a respectful way of capturing the act and maintaining some distance).

8 a.m. – French Connection

After the monks collect their daily rations of rice, it’s time for you to get fed. Head to one of the many cafes in town and discover at least one redeeming quality of French colonialism – the food – over a breakfast of pain au chocolat and café au lait.

10 a.m. – Iron Chef

We had heard from many other travelers that Luang Prabang is a great place to take a Lao cooking course. We signed up and started off our all-day cooking course at Tamnak Lao by heading to the local food market to purchase fresh meats, vegetables and spices. This was a lot of fun and a great way to get off the tourist path and experience shopping in a local market.

With our English-speaking chef, Laura and I, along with about 8 others, learned to cook 6 recipes, including two Lao favorites – sticky rice, a glutinous rice used in northeastern Laos, and jeowbong, a spicy chili paste only made in Luang Prabang and typically eaten with dried buffalo skin.

The cooking class ended with a terrific lunch whipped up by none other than ourselves and included our personal favorite, laap, a minced chicken salad flavored with chili, mint, kaffir lime leaves and an assortment of vegetables.

4 p.m. – Go Chasing Waterfalls

About 30 minutes drive (you can either hire a moped or hop a local tuk-tuk) from town are Kuang Si Falls, a multi-tiered waterfall cascading several hundred feet down the mountainside. Laura and I made the trek up the mountain with a bunch of other travelers – Kiwis, Brits and Germans – to take advantage of the natural swimming pools on the upper terraces of the falls. You could spend all day here just chilling and drinking fruit smoothies, but after such a rough day you might be in need of a cocktail like we were.

6 p.m. – Slow Gin Fizzes

Sunsets in Luang Prabang are not just sunsets; they are events. There are a slew of bars practically begging you, by way of idyllic views over the Mekong, to enjoy the approaching sunset with a cocktail. Now Laura is not typically a cocktail drinker, but something about the fiery-red sun waiting to dip itself over the green jungle and into the river had her saying, “Everyone must believe in something. I believe I’ll have a drink.” Gin fizz was deemed the right choice for the moment. And there wasn’t anything slow about it. One turned to two and two to…time for dinner (or it’s going to be a very short night). If that cooking course taught you anything, it’s that there is no shortage of great food to be had in this town, so get ready.

8 p.m. – Frasian Fusion

With all due respect to the many wonderful restaurants of Laos’s capital, Vientiane, Luang Prabang would have to be considered the gastronomic center of the country. French-inspired but still distinctively Lao, Luang Prabang’s cuisine is superb. There are restaurants serving tasty Lao cuisine to suit every budget.

Laura and I chose wisely with a place called Tamarind, hidden in one of the side-streets on the Mekong side of town and specializing in traditional Lao food. This was one of the best meals we’ve had on our entire trip. We sampled sticky rice and dried, crispy seaweed, served with an assortment of veggie dips to start: a chunky tomato salsa, a smoky eggplant dip and a coriander chutney.

But the highlight was undoubtedly the lemongrass-stuffed chicken. The chicken is mixed with a variety of herbs and spices including garlic, ginger, kaffir lime and coriander, then stuffed inside a thick stalk of lemongrass, dipped in egg and flash-fried. The result – oh, dear baby Jesus! The crispy lemongrass covering gave an incredible scent and taste to the juicy and delectably-flavored chicken that was tucked inside. And with a side of peanut sauce for dipping and the local lao lao (rice whiskey) to tipple, you won’t regret eating here.

Day 3

11 a.m. – Longtail It Out of Town

All your bags are packed. You’re ready to go. Stop standing there and longtail it out of town. For centuries, the Mekong has been the lifeline and main means of transport for the Lao, Burmese, Chinese, Tibetan and Vietnamese that call the river’s shore their home. Karst mountains, wild elephants bathing, hairless, young monks washing their clothes – there is no better way to pay witness to Luang Prabang’s beautiful offerings than to take a boat down this world-renowned waterway. A fitting goodbye to 36 hours in the world’s greatest town.

For video highlights of Luang Prabang, click here.

The windy road to Darjeeling, India

Along with a motley crew of travelers from Israel, Poland, England and Germany, we hired a jeep to take us from the city of New Jalpaiguiri, where we disembarked our train, to Darjeeling – 80km, 3 hours and 7,000 feet of elevation away. In our mini-UN of a jeep, we discussed, as we always do in situations like these: American politics, health care, Michael Moore films, George Bush vs Barack Obama and why Americans don’t travel outside of the US (almost invariably in that order). The new wrinkle in the conversation came from the German who warned us that Obama is “a master hypnotist” and that we needed to be careful because, as such, we can easily be controlled by his cadence and manner of speech “to do things.” Thank you, duly noted. This is to say nothing of the variety of drugs and personal oddities you can find in India. This place is full of them. Most prevalent are the 30 year Goan veterans who moonlight as yogis/dealers/preachers and daylight as just freaking weird.

Passengers hitch a ride up the mountains to Darjeeling

Smiling children in Darjeeling

Fog lifting off the hills of Darjeeling

Darjeeling is not heaven, but after a month in India it seemed close enough. Having read that, you may think that I hated India. You’d be wrong. You see, India is a complex place that will make you feel. At times – wonderful, happy, joyous, excited and yearning for more. And other times – sad, tired, broken and wanting to give up. We were not crossing any literal borders, but it was obvious, on the road to Darjeeling we were leaving behind a country, and with it, a piece of ourselves. And, at least for the moment, this was OK.

Mumbai's central train station, Victoria Terminus, at sunset

Our visit to India began with an early-morning flight from Singapore to Mumbai, the sprawling metropolis that more than 20 million people call home. The first thing that struck us upon landing in Mumbai was the slums. The largest slum in Mumbai – Dharavi, which is home to over one million people, is situated between the city’s two main railway lines. Before touching down, Laura and I could only shake our heads in disbelief at the sight of the slum’s corrugated, tin roofs reaching out in all directions. The despair we felt driving into the city and passing through the seemingly interminable slum was so great we knew what others meant by “prepare yourselves.”

Children swimming along the Mumbai fishing wharf slums

It’s hot in Mumbai. It’s always hot. We changed our itinerary around to be here in March before the real heat of April and May sets in. It’s no wonder that summer brings monsoons because the humidity when we arrived was already oppressive. You can feel the wetness hovering overhead. Certainly, we felt it on our bodies. It was readily apparent with the dense air that we’d be smelling as spicy as Mumbai soon enough.

We auspiciously and unknowingly arrived to Mumbai the morning of India’s biggest religious celebration– Holi festival. This meant that instead of the ruinous noise of traffic one can expect from a seething city waking up on a Monday morning, we were treated to a street chalk full of zombies and riotous colors. You see, Indians celebrate Holi by throwing colored powder – or gual pol – at anyone in close proximity, followed by a good dashing of water (for posterity) as a way to welcome the coming of Spring. Our trip through the streets of Mumbai during the early morning hours of Holi was like walking into Michael Jackson’s Thriller video.

Happy Holi greetings from young Mumbaikers

It did not take long for India to exude its national obsession – cricket. It’s everywhere. It’s on TV, on the radio, and most entertainingly, on the streets. Children in Mumbai play cricket like Brooklyners used to play stickball. In places as dense as New York or Mumbai, kids don’t need a field. Any alley, street or museum property will do. As futbol is to about every other country besides the US, cricket is to Indians. Whether it’s club or country, matches are heavily watched and debated by men all over the country. The rivalry between India and Pakistan is especially intense, as one could imagine.

Our first meal in India at Mumbai's Rajdhani

As only a novice of Indian food the word thali meant nothing to me. A thali can loosely be described as a tasting menu where diners are encouraged to sample a variety of different regional foods. In our case, it was an all-you-can-eat affair. And that’s exactly what we did. I absolutely knew we were going to feast in Mumbai. I just didn’t expect it to be our first meal there.

Thalis are served on a silver tray with eight or so small silver bowls. Server after server filled our tray with the various dishes that are part of Gujarat, a regional state north of Mumbai’s state of Maharashtra. First, there was bread in all of its Indian incarnations: chapatti – crispy, unleavened round bread, roti – thicker than chapatti and cooked in a tandoor (clay oven) and naan – thicker still, tear drop-shaped bread cooked with garlic. Bowls were then filled with rice, cucumber salad, curried eggplant, dhal (lentil curry), chutney (made of minced chilies and mint), the ever-present spicy lemon-chili pickle, raita (yoghurt-based dish meant to cool one’s mouth down after all the spice), and, of course, three different desserts: gubal agal (sponge-like cake balls drenched with syrup), a delicious custard with diced apples and kheer – a saffron, pistachio, flaked almond and cardamom-infused rice pudding for the ages! We left feeling very confident that we would not go hungry in India.

Impromptu cricket game on the streets of Mumbai

Now if someone were to ask me, “What did you like about Mumbai?” I could not give a definitive answer. It isn’t a city of spectacular sights or cool neighborhoods or even wonderful culture. But it has a frenetic energy whose palpability absolutely should be felt. It gets under your skin in ways that only a teeming Indian metropolis can. Mentally, physically, psychologically –this dirty, chaotic and strangely beautiful city will challenge you. But if you rise to meet this challenge, I promise you, Mumbai will make an indelible impression and you will, with time, be pondering your return trip.

Melbourne's Yarra River cuts through the city skyline

We allowed ourselves 4 nights, 3 days in Melbourne which was simply not enough. With a population of 3.4 million Melbourne was much bigger and had more to offer than we expected. The city is divided by the Yarra River. Once a dirty eyesore running through the city center, it is now a Melbournian playground, where crew teams work the waterway and pedestrians stroll the esplanade that runs along the river.

The North
We used our first day to explore north of the river. To the north is the Central Business District (CBD) and, traditionally, the city’s working-class neighborhoods. The CBD proved a wonderful mix of past and future, with a combination of sleek new architecture contrasted with Victorian-era edifices. The rectangular CBD has the fortune to be buffered by gardens on all of its four sides, giving the city an open, airy feel. The city turns eastward, literally and figuratively, to the goldmine-era Chinatown, which is a vital part of the city’s dining and commercial scene.

Hustle and bustle of Melbourne's arcades

Victorian architecture of Melbourne

The South
Melbournians, proudly punching above their weight, will tell you that before Sydney’s 2000 came their ‘56 and their city is second to none. The south side of the city is a testament to Melbourne’s love of sport. Just south of the Yarra is the Melbourne Cricket Ground, or the “G” as locals call it, where the 1956 Summer Olympics were held. It’s still home to some fierce competition with MCG playing host numerous sporting events including the Australian Football League’s Aussie rule footbal Grand Final and the well-attended Boxing Day Test Match for the ever-popular cricket.

The Royal Botanic Gardens of Melbourne

Melbourne’s more affluent half is to the south. There, we walked down Chapel St. and Toorak Rd, home to upscale boutiques, name-brand fashion outposts and trendy bars and restaurants. From there, we walked all the way to St. Kilda, the seedy-meets-upscale beach area of Melbourne. Acland St. is the center of the action and we enjoyed an Aussie favorite – fish ‘n chips – while watching everyone pre-game before hitting up the dance clubs. The beach itself is a far cry from Australia’s finest but is a great repose for anyone looking to get out of the city.

Melbourne never really stopped being the wonderful metropolis that it is today; it’s not marvelous once again. Some people just need a little reminding. For those, once again, Melbourne is marvelous.

I admit much of my initial desire to visit Jeri on our around the world travel adventure was in its funny-sounding name, Jericoacoara. I loved the way it just rolled off your tongue, like an important emperor or ancient village. The name was given as a result of a rock formation along the coast and means “alligator taking sun,” which it closely resembles. While my joy in repeating its name has not dissipated in the slightest, I soon learned that the depth and complexity of the place needs to be peeled off in layers.

To get to Jeri, we had to take a 6 hour bus ride and then transferred to an open-air 4WD truck to drive the last hour through desert sands. This was a magnificent entry, as we watched the sunset over white dunes with palm trees dotting the coastline. The beauty of Jeri is easy to grasp, understanding it is another thing. It seems you are driving through the windy Sahara when all of a sudden you reach the coast and see the ocean.

After checking into our pousada we quickly realized that Jeri is one, big Italian ex-pat community. Discovered (rediscovered I should say) in the 70’s by an Italian windsurfer, the place took off and seems to have brought all of this initial Italian windsurfer’s friends and family, noted by the many pousadas that carry Italian names such as Maurcio and Calanda. There is no shortage of places to enjoy an espresso at any moment of the day and you have a selection of Italian restaurants where you can order pastas, pizzas, prosciutto sandwiches and pastries. When in Rome, do as the Romans do, right? I did, and managed to develop a serious addiction to espresso.

Our first day made it very clear that people come to Jeri for one thing – the surf. I think Laura and I were part of only a select few that were not perfecting our kite or windsurfing skills. The town is absolutely devoted to the sports with windsurfing clubs and hotels providing racks and storage space for all the equipment. People come from all over the world to surf Jeri. Few places in the world offer such consistently strong winds, in the range of 20-30mph, along with good waves to jump and do tricks on (that sounds really lame, but I’ve yet to learn the windsurfing lingo for such moves).

Much equipment is required for the sports, making it a bit cumbersome and prohibitively expensive, so we decided to have fun observing. Like skiers talking about “fresh powder,” people here are always talking about the wind and the tides. We had great fun watching professionals from around the globe. There were photographers with crazy lenses taking tons of photos, presumably for wind and kite surfing magazines, much like you see at Pipeline in Hawaii.

We were lucky to be there for a full moon which provides great waves and also a great backdrop for sunsets. We climbed the great dune at the edge of town with hundreds of others to watch the simultaneous sunset and moonrise. This was one of our favorite daily rituals, ending with everyone running, back-flipping, rolling or sand surfing their way to the bottom and into the ocean. Even crazier and something we can’t quite get used to, is the sun setting at 5:30pm. Being so close to the Equator the temperature and time of sunsets change very little during the year. For Midwesterners associating warm, summer-like weather with 8:30 sunsets, this was quite strange.

Unbeknownst to us, we happened on Jeri during the biggest music festival of the year called Choro Jazz. Each night for 5 nights, beginning at 10pm and going until 1am, the city came alive with jazz and choro (a jazz-influenced type of music very popular in the northeast of Brazil), with some of the best musicians from Brazil and others from France and Australia. There were bars and food stalls set up around the main square where you could eat local plates of arraoz (rice), feijao (beans), carne de sol (sun-dried meat), farofa (dried manioc root), queijo grelhado (grilled cheese), espetinhos (meats or fish on a stick), plenty of desserts and drain cheap fruit cocktails like caipirinhas or caipifrutas (cachasa or cane alcohol with pineapple, passion fruit, strawberries and other very fresh fruits).

Nightlife in Jeri was surprisingly very good. For such a small, laid-back town people like to break it down here, and quite late. After the concert each night, people would head to the beach where bars project surf films against a giant wall and dance to music that was popular a few years ago in other parts of the world. When that starts to wind down, around 3 or 4am, everyone heads back into town to a bar where people dance forro (a type of music blending folk and reggae, among others) until the sun rises. We only made it out until 4am, but were proud of ourselves nonetheless.

We also took advantage of the many buggy tours the area offers. Along with another Brazilian couple, we went out on an all-day buggy tour, driving along the beach and over dunes to check out some cool lakes and petrified stone. While we couldn’t understand a word our guide was saying, it was clear the highlight was a massive dune plunging into a clear lake, where Laura and I rented, respectively, a sled and sand board. Typical to my style, I “ollied” and “hucked ropes” down the sand at rapid speed and had some nasty scars after it was over to prove it.

To sum up our time in Jeri, I am left with one word to describe it all: unique. I haven’t seen anything like it and don’t suppose I will on the rest of our trip. The juxtaposition of the dunes, palm trees and ocean make you feel like you’re in a different world. I strongly recommend coming here, whether you are a surfer of any type or not, just to take it all in.

We arrived early Saturday morning after our first of many overnight bus rides on our round the world trip. The town itself is quite small and conquerable on foot in an afternoon. Staying on the bottom of the city, we followed the “intuitive” walking tour Lonely Planet had recommended. Walking up the cobblestone hills, we passed several of the 11 colonial churches in the city and rows of brightly colored homes, shops and restaurants. The quick rise in elevation offered tremendous ocean views as well as a view of the town below us and the stark contrast of the modern and not-so-beautiful Recife skyline. The town has a very subtle way of gaining your approval. While first starting out we were unimpressed and already contemplating our next move. But, like a good chess player, Olinda had other offerings up its sleeve.

At the top of the city along with some great views were rows of food stands offering the famous Bahian dish, acarajé. I had read about the dish and now its smell was telling me that the deed needed to be done. I purchased one and waited as the brown bean fritter was fried in dende oil and mashed with salt and onions by the Afro-Bahian woman in the white cloth hat and big, flowing white dress, as is so common in this part of Brazil. Dende oil is a palm oil used in many Bahian dishes and possesses a more pungent smell and taste than corn or olive oil and commonly causes “tummy” issues for the uninitiated (i.e. gringos like yours truly). The acarajé was then topped off with vatapa, a mix of dried shrimp, pepper and tomato sauce. It was, in a word, delicious. And clogging my arteries. This would not deter me from ordering more street food like fried tapioca crepes filled with chocolate and cheese (yes, cheese). I’m trying to keep a balanced diet here and cholesterol is clearly part of that diet.

To really experience all that Olinda has to offer you must stay for a Sunday night. This was not necessarily our plan but, as we found, the quiet days lead to music-filled nights when the blocos, or bands, begin practicing for the pre-Lent festival of Carnaval. Our walking tour ended with us following a band of young and old producing magnetic drum beats, twirling batons and some funky gyrations that I thought were saved for post-puberty, but apparently not. The bloco ended in the town square where there several other bands practicing as well. I can’t imagine what Carnaval is like given that this was just a small practice session but it was a party all the same.

Sunday night brought even more energy and music. Every teenager in town gathered in the square outside of our pousada to blast fevro, forro and other Brazilian beats from their car sub-woofers. It was quite a sight – something like a post-game ‘Friday Night Lights’ party gone Latin – lots of dancing, partying, drinking, flirting – all leading to public make-outs and loads of entertainment for us.

We will be returning again before our flight home for Christmas. We’re looking forward to again ditching Recife and keeping our fingers crossed that we happen again here on a Sunday night.

Laura and I passed our days there hanging out on the beach and going for hikes through the rainforest. On Morro, the key word is “tranquilo,” or at least during the day when the whole world comes to you and you can just relax. We were approached by people selling everything you could imagine ever having to buy at the beach: grilled provolone cheese on a stick with oregano and olive oil, oysters, ice cold beer, sucos of fruits you’ve never heard of, acai, jewelry, hammocks – like I said, you name it.

After the sun sets around 5:30 p.m. (crazy I know) the town shuts down to rest and prepare for a long night ahead. Every night there is something to keep you entertained until early morning, whether you fancy grinding it out at the discoteca or attending one of the many house parties. Not being up for partying till dawn, Laura and I opted for nice seafood meals at the local beach restaurants. The state of Bahia, where Morro is located, is world-renowned for its spicy Afro-Brazilian cuisine. The Bahian specialty is “moqueca”, a mixture of fish, shrimp or lobster in a sauce made of coconut cream, dende (or palm oil), onions, peppers and spicy seasonings. The dende oil is known to give “travelers tummy” so not for the faint of heart. Like most meals in Brazil, the portions are mighty and will keep you full until the fruit-forward breakfasts, or café de manha, the next morning.

There are plenty of tours to take you to the less reachable parts of the island or other islands nearby, but we asked ourselves, “Why leave?” Morro seemed to have enough to keep us entertained that we extended our planned 3-day stay to 5. We hung out on the beach, played cards, swam and people-watched. Both Brazilian men and women bare almost all on the beach, so this was quite entertaining and free so worked well with our traveling budget.

All in all, good times were had. Certainly felt a bit more like vacation, but beaches have a way of doing this I suppose. We are looking forward to comparing the many beaches north of Salvador that we’re heading to next. After it’s all over, I think it will be time for a Top 10 Beaches of Brazil breakdown.