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Tag: wildlife

Morgan’s Rock—an Ecolodge Hotel on the edge of the jungle

An ecolodge hotel in a sub-tropical Nicaraguan jungle isn’t for everyone. When I booked it, I wasn’t even sure it was for me. In my mind, ‘sub-tropical’ translated to ‘blindingly hot with no A/C.’ ‘Ecolodge’ meant remote and natural, which we all know is code for ‘no electricity and buggy.’ Ecolodge, I noted, was just one syllable shy of Econolodge.

At that time, the holidays were closing in fast. Halloween decorations dangled menacingly in Safeway. Toddlers wearing matching turkey PJs populated my Instagram feed. Christmas muzak filled the halls at Bloomingdale’s—daily reminders of upcoming chaos.

In other words, September.

I wondered how far away we could get, physically and mentally, once the last Christmas gift was unwrapped. An eco-lodge hotel sounded promising-ish.

Morgan’s Rock, here we come

An ecolodge in Nicaragua. A place where I can empty my accumulated holiday anxieties onto the beach and get reacquainted with an abstract concept called simplicity. A place where I can regain my far-sighted vision.

I’d like to sit still and watch cloud formations form. Or, spend an hour watching the sun dip below the ocean’s horizon and change the world into a kaleidoscope of colors. Appreciating simple things like these take time and age. At an eco-lodge in Nicaragua, I think, I’ll have both.

Admittedly, I don’t have a clue what an ecolodge hotel is really about. Only what I imagine it’s about. I do little to no research on our destination before switching my iPhone to airplane mode, adopting a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants mindset to kick off the New Year.

And fly we did. Two flights and one shockingly small ‘charter’ plane ride over an active volcano later, we touch down on Nicaragua’s Emerald Coast—a grass-covered field surrounded by a forest. Several dozen howler monkeys greet us upon arrival. Yikes.

What is an ecolodge hotel, exactly?

Calling oneself an ecolodge these days is as easy as calling that 95lb Labradoodle in seat 32C a service pet. There are stark differences between a lodge being ‘green’ versus ‘eco.’ Ecolodges focus on minimizing the effects of tourism and the physical structure of lodging on the environment.

Ecolodges contribute to local communities, offer educational opportunities to guests, help preserve ecosystems, and promote conservation efforts. True eco-lodges are situated deep within pristine, natural environments and have minimal impact on the landscape.

In contrast, green lodges or hotels are usually found in more urban areas. Improvements and sustainability practices are added to an existing structure to become more eco-friendly. While green is good, eco is better—at least from an environmental POV.

Morgan’s Rock resides on a small, sheltered, mile-long crescent bay on the edge of a jungle. Its 15 bungalows and three villas are nestled near the beach on its 4,000 acres. Each villa or bungalow is intentionally positioned where the fewest amount of trees are removed to build them. That’s not an easy feat in a world where guests expect unobstructed 360-degree ocean views to accompany their freshly squeezed orange juice and avo toast.

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What’s the history of Morgan’s Rock?

Morgan’s Rock was built in 2004 by the Ponçon family. Agronomist Clément-Marie Ponçon was sent to Nicaragua in 1978 on assignment by the French government to advise on developing agriculture and agroforestry.

Clément stayed on in Nicaragua, eventually starting, among other endeavors, a coffee processing plant that encompasses nearly 40% of Nicaragua’s production. In 2004, he and his wife opened a five-star eco-lodge in Nicaragua, the first of its kind on 350 acres of tropical beachfront—Morgan’s Rock.

Aside from becoming an ecolodge long before an ecolodge was a thing, Morgan’s Rock is a working farm with an estuary and organic gardens. A visit to Morgan’s Rock allows for experiences not found at typical hotels. Like the opportunity to milk cows, harvest shrimp, take a guided jungle walk at night, or go on a sloth-spotting mission in the morning.

What is the property layout?

Steep, winding, hand-crafted wooden staircases take us through the jungle’s canopy. My calves complain as I make them climb what feels like the height of the Washington Monument multiple times a day. But along the way, the scenery masks the pain, from the micro to the macro. Vines strangle ancient ficus trees. Little lizards scurry between the rocks, and howler monkeys unleash their monstrous howls.

The jungle is overgrown, hilly, and filled with animals we can hear but rarely see. We cross a 100-ft suspension bridge with views to the Pacific en route to our bungalow. The wobbly bridge makes Morgan’s Rock feel like a Hollywood movie set. The theme song to Raiders of The Lost Ark is on a constant loop in my head because my husband insists on playing it every time we cross it—more than once, I consider throwing him off.

Morgan’s Rock has a large platform yoga deck with complimentary classes. The dining area is open-plan. It overlooks a small pool that overlooks the ever-empty beach that overlooks the sea. A separate private thatched dining loft is available for larger groups, as well as a full spa.

Permanent private beach huts with braided hammocks are dotted along the beach—far enough ashore so as not to be whisked away by high tide. A small food and drink hut is nearby, so we are never more than 20 feet from a Bloody Mary or a shrimp taco.

What’s an Ecolodge hotel bungalow like?

Bungalow #3 is an aerie—set high above the beach and made with local materials by local craftsmen—another important component of ecolodge accommodations. The walls facing the sea aren’t walls at all. They are floor-to-ceiling screens that offer the money shot of sinking sunsets and rising tides.

The bed placement is at the room’s highest point and maximizes the panoramic view. I don’t even have to leave it to be fully immersed in nature. Trilling, whistling, squawking, and chirping from the birds. Howling, from the monkeys.

Eco-lodge hotels like Morgan’s Rock use energy-efficient lighting and/or very little lighting overall. Solar panels and low-impact ‘natural’ A/C units allow us to sleep comfortably each night. Hallelujah! The interiors of the treehouses are designed to mimic the jungle with dark wooden tree-like posts and thatched pitched roofs.

The sound of the ocean lulls me to sleep at any given time of day, which makes the actual getting out of bed an issue. Thankfully, there is a pot of strong Nicaraguan coffee within arm’s reach. Eventually, I head to our deck to give the swinging day bed some attention before breakfast.

What’s the wildlife situation?

A big draw to staying at an ecolodge that preserves its natural surroundings in such a delicate way is the presence of animal life. More than once I equate our time in Nicaragua to a safari. From the simple indoor/outdoor treehouse accommodations to the immersion in wildlife.

On our first morning, a troop of howler monkeys passes through the area before 6am. The sun is not up yet, but everything else in the jungle most definitely is. I’m already acquainted with the howlers when they so warmly greeted us at the airstrip, or else I wouldn’t have left the bed.

Among the various noises howler monkeys make, none is more unique than the one that unfurls like a monster waking from the dead. Think White Walkers from Game of Thrones. Seriously, google ‘howler monkey sounds.’ I’ll wait. Then imagine it times ten. You wouldn’t leave the bed either.

There are many interesting species of wildlife in this part of Nicaragua. A list of what we see and don’t see follows. Fun fact: the scorpions and tarantulas here aren’t deadly. As if that’s comforting…

Howler Monkey: Saw some, heard dozens.

Capuchin Monkey: None.

Spider Monkey: One.

Scorpions: None.

Tarantula: One.

Snake: One.

Lizards: Many.

Crabs: It’s the beach, duh.

Sea Turtles: None. Wrong season.

Sloths: Sadly, none.

Jaguar: None.

Birds: White-Throated Magpie Jay, Rufous Tailed Hummingbirds, Crested Caracaras, among others. Still with me? No more birds, I promise.

Check Availability for Morgan’s Rock here

What do you do at an Ecolodge hotel?

The beauty of an ecolodge visit goes well beyond a stunning natural setting. In the case of Morgan’s Rock, we decide to find a balance between eco-tourism activities and more relaxing ones. The Emerald Coast is well known for surfing, and my husband and son surf most mornings at a nearby beach called Maderas.

Those mornings, I do pilates on our deck after I’ve spent a sufficient amount of time lounging in the regular bed and swinging on the daybed. The view from our room is better than any other spot on the property, and has coffee. I have no motivation to leave it.

Daniel and I mountain bike. I take a guided bird-watching walk (which is more of a bird-listening walk.) Daniel and Chase boogie-board. I read in the hammock. We SUP and kayak in the estuary. Chase convinces me there are crocs below the water’s surface, which ruins my experience. It enhances his. No one rides horses.

What’s the best thing about Morgan’s Rock?

The sunsets are hands down the prettiest and most dramatic I’ve ever seen. After sunset viewing, my second favorite activity is the farm visit. It has the potential to be cheesy. It isn’t. A group of us pile into a van and drive ten minutes to the working farm on the property. As we walk towards the cows, I notice a woman making corn tortillas and a table set for ten. I’m hungry—and happy.

The mama cow won’t stand up for us to milk her, so they bring her calf to nurse. That clever trick gets her moving. After milking the cow, a first for me, we gather eggs. We hold cute baby chicks in our hands, and I learn the hard way that they risk being pecked to death if accidentally dropped. While no chicks die that day, it’s chicken-coop chaos for a very long minute.

Soon after the chick incident, we make tortillas. Using the milk we squeezed and the eggs we collected, we are treated to a traditional Nicaraguan breakfast, including Gallo Pinto. Nicknamed Spotted Rooster due to its colors, Gallo Pinto is a flavorful mix of beans, rice, peppers, cilantro, and onions. Fresh coffee, passionfruit juice, and convivial chit-chat complete the morning. I’m ready for my book and a hammock.

What’s the food and service like at Morgan’s Rock?

The food at Morgan’s Rock is simple and basic, as one would expect from a remote ecolodge that sources most of its ingredients. I remind myself that I’m craving simplicity—it’s the reason I’m here. The best dishes are seafood-based. My lobster dinner has a whopping four lobster tails, grilled beautifully with just the right amount of butter. The thatched, open-air dining space is breezy and ambient with clinking glasses that amplify the festive mood.

Beach lunches are tacos, ceviche, salads, and grilled skewers. Early on, I discover from another guest that we could order off-menu. Clearly, Americans make up most of the clientele here. I google traditional Nicaraguan dishes like Indio Viejo and ask if they can accommodate. Of course, they can. Morgan’s Rock could certainly place more faith in American tastebuds and offer more traditional Nicaraguan options. Those dishes were the best.

The service is attentive, genuine, warm, and responsive. With so many steps at the property, it is truly amazing that our requests are handled so promptly. The staff is in excellent physical shape for obvious reasons.

That said, there are many times when things get lost in translation. These times mainly have to do with food. Ordering a sirloin but getting a rib-eye. Asking for garlic shrimp and receiving lobster. If you are a natural-born complainer, this isn’t the place for you. If you can roll with misunderstandings from a well-meaning and always-smiling staff, then you are sure to love your visit.

HNY from an Ecolodge in the jungle

A small sailboat crosses the bay on the distant horizon. Its paperwhite sail pierces the blue sky. My far-sighted vision is restored. I listen to the chorus of the jungle and the waves crashing against the desolate white sand beach in front of me. It’s New Year’s Day. I’m content.

There’s no pillow menu at Morgan’s Rock. There’s no reserve wine list and no signature scent. There are no TVs or phones. There are thousands of steps, harmless critters, and not much to do after dark. Rustic luxury here really means rustic—and not in the Blackberry Mountain way. This is a true ecolodge hotel—one of the first of its kind.

There are spectacular, unfiltered, and unobstructed sunsets. And wildlife sounds unlike any I hear at home. There is excellent coffee. Options for adrenaline junkies to move and options for the sedentary to stay still. There’s a farm with cows, baby chicks, and fancy roosters.

An ecolodge in a sub-tropical Nicaraguan jungle isn’t for everyone. How many readers did I lose at ‘critters?’ Adventure is all the rage. So are experiences. And eco-lodges. I couldn’t have imagined a better way to start the year. With a clear head, a beach view, and a heavy dose of simplicity.

Happy New Year.

Check availability at Morgan’s Rock here

January 7, 2023
This is winter in Finland. An Arctic Family Adventure.

“Winter in Finland? Are you crazy? Who does that?”

Having been on the receiving end of these questions not long ago, I gave my answers heavy thought. ‘Yes.’, ‘Unclear.’, and ‘Me, apparently.’ I don’t have the stats on winter tourism in Finland. But, I can say with absolute certainty, that for those who crave unusual and adrenaline-filled adventures, winter in Finland is the place to go.

Read on for details of our week of snow-filled adventures in the Arctic. Who knew there would be so much to say about a vacation spent in almost complete darkness?

Is it crazy to go to Finland in the dead of winter? You decide.

2:58am

Winter In Finland

I wanted to go to Finland to witness the Northern Lights. In Finnish Lapland, I was told, seeing the lights is all but guaranteed. What other reason would anyone travel to a place with 22 hours of inescapable darkness each day? Why go, if not to see this spectacular natural phenomenon—the Aurora Borealis.

This was a family trip, however, and the rest of my crew had little interest in the Northern Lights. I had to convince them there were endless things to do in Finland in December. Were there? I started to panic, then googled ’winter in Finland’.

276,000,000 results. We were going to be just fine.

Explorations and Expectations

Winter in Finland, I assume incorrectly, is solely about the Northern Lights. As every Finn already knows, the lights are not the reason to come—they’re merely a bonus. Winter in Finland is a layered experience. One that is, at times, as subtle as an elongated afternoon shadow. Or, as obvious as the sound of dry snow crunching underfoot.

I expect unique cold-weather activities, like dog-sledding and ice-carting. I expect warm fires, hot drinks, and cozy if unusual, meals. What I don’t expect is the chance to be fully immersed in Finnish culture. To take part in centuries-old customs, like having tea inside a traditional Kota. The opportunity to get under the skin of this harsh, remote, and majestic polar landscape.

How does a person who isn’t fond of being cold, cold-weather activities, and long, dark days end up falling for the Arctic? It’s all about the adventure.

1:04pm

Where Is Lapland?

You don’t know? Ok, I didn’t either. Thankfully there’s this wonderful website called Wikipedia that answers all questions that ever need answering. If Wikipedia doesn’t know the answer, then it isn’t a question.

Wikipedia tells me that Lapland is the region of northern Europe that lies within the Arctic Circle. It includes the northernmost parts of Sweden, Norway, Finland, and Russia and is home to the Sámi people.

Finnish Lapland has about 10,000 native Sámi and is widely associated with Christmas, Santa Claus, and the North Pole. Truth be told, it has the infrastructure for year-round tourism that extends well beyond St. Nick.

Geography lesson complete. Let’s move on to the fun part.

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10:13am

Winter in Finland: Arctic Adventures

Normally, I write about our accommodations first, to set the stage (literally) for our trips. Winter in Finland is unlike other places we’ve traveled to. It’s more like planning a polar safari than a traditional vacation. Whereas typically, I start my searches with a hotel or resort then back out to activities and excursions, Finland flips the script. It’s more about what to do than where to do it.

I consider how to best order our family’s week of Arctic adventures, of which there are four main daytime highlights. I use the term ‘daytime’ loosely, as the sun rises at 11am and sets at 1pm.

That’s not a typo. Twenty or so hours of near-pitch darkness illuminated nightly by a few billion twinkling stars. Of all varieties of darkness, this is the most beautiful, no doubt.

Aha! I’ll ask the kids to weigh in. They don’t agree on the order. Have they ever agreed on anything? What follows are personal rankings from Ella (17), and Chase (15).

Keep in mind these are teenagers, that weird breed of human who’s impossible to please. Salty and moody most waking hours, of which there are few. Demonstrative happiness is rare.

Until Finland, that is.

9:45am

Ice Carting (Chase #1, Ella #3)

Our alarm goes off at 9am. It’s pitch-dark outside. Let me be more clear. It’s obsidian dark, raven dark, swarthy, inky, coal mine dark. This is winter in Finland, I remind myself again.

Oh, and it’s -7 degrees. ‘What am I doing here?’. My lifeline, the in-room Nespresso machine, is only a few feet away. I crawl towards it like a weary polar explorer discovering shelter. That’s pretty dramatic. A luxury polar explorer. This room is pretty cushy.

Lapland winter activities are well-timed and designed to overlap the fleeting light-filled hours of the day. Yet without light cues, it’s hard to wake up despite the civilized hour.

The Arctic gods are testing us. Our coldest day aligns with our coldest outdoor activity—ice carting. If we survive this, the days ahead will feel like spring.

Nikita is our guide for the week. We pile into his toasty, pre-heated van. I’m wearing 14 layers of clothing and immediately begin to sweat. It seems I have much to learn about the art of layering.

At the gear hut, we add on a full-body snowsuit, along with balaclavas, helmets, and heat warmers for our gloves and boots. I’ve quickly surmised that fashion is utterly irrelevant in the Arctic, but don’t ever say that to your 17-year-old daughter.

The track outside looks desolate. Our Finnish instructors are doing jumping jacks to keep warm. A bad sign. I couldn’t do a jumping jack if I tried. Layered up, I weigh nearly 250 pounds.

10:30am

The Fun Part

I’ve painted a bleak picture. But, the minute I hit the gas on the ice cart everything else is forgotten. I’m instantly taken back to my amusement park days at the Jersey shore. My competitive side kicks into high gear. I’m the worst driver in my family, which is depressing as my son doesn’t even have a license yet.

The extreme cold is blunted by extreme fun. On a glossy sheet of ice, we push the limits of our inner NASCAR drivers. We ‘accidentally’ crash into one another, which is frowned upon. These are not bumper cars. Luckily, our guides are too immersed in their cardio workout to notice.

The wind on my face, while cold, is exhilarating. Ice flakes crystallize our eyebrows and eyelashes. They sting our nose hairs. TMI? The guttural sound of revving engines is Pavlovian and I go full throttle. Lewis Hamilton would be impressed with my performance.

11:58am

Winners and Loser

After several laps, our instructors stop exercising and signal us off the track. It’s time for a hot drink and snack. This, we will learn, is the routine that makes all Finnish winter activities tolerable. A mid-activity break to warm the senses. It’s noon. Is the sun going up or down? It’s too hard to tell. I’m too cold to care.

We drink hot berry tea from traditional Finnish cups at the trackside fire pit. It’s a moment to recalibrate before the finalé—a ‘friendly’ family race. I look over at the track. It reminds me of my TYCO Challenge 100 electric racing set, circa 1983. I channel my lost inner tomboy and prepare my racing mindset.

I slink back into my cart and start the engine. The flag goes down and I hit the gas with all 250 lbs of body weight behind me. My cart slides off the track as often as my electric race car did in 1983. Needless to say, I lose. Everyone else in my family, however, claims to win. And since we can’t tell who is who under all of the matching gear, we will never know for sure.

At 130pm, we return to the lodge for lunch. We argue over who won the race and decide how to spend the remainder of the day, I mean, night. For me, sauna, read, and sit by the fire.

I start shedding layers.

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10:46am

Dog Sledding (Chase #2, Ella #2)

Beana Laponia, the family-run boutique lodge where we are staying, owns over 500 huskies. Interestingly, we learn they’ve been brought over from Alaska. Today, we are going to enjoy the peaceful sport of dog sledding. Our guide, Toni (the dog whisperer of Finland), has an ease and lightness about him that belies his 20-something years.

It’s a balmy, windless, 5 degrees outside. Toni is dressed like he’s about to take on the Back Bowls of Vail in spring. I wear fewer layers than yesterday, but not many. Toni gives us vital instructions on maneuvering the sleds and controlling the speed of the 17 huskies. I can’t hear a word he is saying. The dogs are yelping and barking at a decibel level that’s shaking the snow off the trees.

I let Ella drive first. Maybe she’s heard Toni’s instructions? I slide under the sled’s warm reindeer pelt. My view is less than ideal, lining up directly with the backsides of two decidedly male huskies. They leap over one another as if the snow beneath their paws is on fire. The howling could wake the dead. My ears are ringing. Am I having fun yet?

11:51am

The Fun Part

Then the most amazing thing happens. Toni unleashes the sleds, and all at once, the world quiets. What was a tangle of huskies, ropes, and primal howling is now instantaneously tranquil.

The sounds of shushing sleds and huffing huskies envelop me. I take a deep breath and notice how the low-angled winter sun creates long dramatic shadows on the snow. Our color landscape reads black and white, and the snow-laden pines disappear into the milky sky.

Since I’m not driving, I get to take photos and admire the views. Not the view directly in front of me, mind you. The pines are dressed for winter, bundled up in their fluffy white coats, and huddled together like a troop of weary soldiers. The branches keel under the weight of heavy snow, which every so often surprises us with an invigorating snow shower.

12:02pm

Later, over the mid-ride fire Toni builds on a mound of snow (yes, he’s that bad-ass), and we learn each litter of huskies has themed names. The ‘candy’ litter includes pups called Bounty and Snickers. But not Mars, however, who belongs in the ‘planet’ litter with Pluto and Venus. Toni tells there’s a ‘virus’ litter with variants like Delta and Omicron. But, that could just be Finnish humor I fail to comprehend.

12:07pm

Through a gap in the trees, I notice the sky. Lavender streaks the pointy tips of the pines. Ethereal shades of blue and pink emerge. The sun is rising/setting at a speed I can’t mentally compute. I run to a clearing and stand in awe, turning in circles to fully commit it to memory. Regrettably, this agitates the dogs who also start turning in circles. They bark, howl, and cause all-around canine chaos.

The color display vanishes. We head back to the lodge for lunch and argue over who the dogs liked best. I can’t wait to begin the chill portion of my day. Another sauna, more reading by the fire*, and a nap. My husband and son grab headlamps and a trail map to embark on a snowshoe trek. Ella doesn’t tell us what she’s doing. We don’t ask.

*Book It

If you haven’t read Nathaniel Ian Miller’s debut novel, The Memoirs of Stockholm Sven, run, don’t walk, to your closest bookstore. This extraordinary account of a young Swede who seeks solitude in the Arctic Circle after a tragic accident is sublime and begs to be read by a warm fire. The descriptions of the Arctic are so convincing, I got chilly while reading it.

11:02am

Snowmobiling (Chase #3 Ella #1)

Another 9am wake-up. Another arduous climb to the Nespresso machine. I can’t wake up. I hate cold. Not fun. We layer up and head to the lodge’s gear hut to meet Yonas, our snowmobiling guide. Yonas is ruggedly handsome and naturally charming. The Finnish version of Matthew McConaughey circa Dazed and Confused. Ok, this is getting fun.

After a few lessons on how to operate the snowmobiles, we pair up and are on our way. Again, I draw the lucky straw and get Ella, who takes to the throttle like a cheetah chasing the weakest impala. I cling to her for dear life as we round narrow forest turns, race over frozen lakes, and fly across the snow-covered landscape.

11:10am

The Fun Part

The whole thing is the fun part. Ridiculous, fast, crazy fun. I haven’t seen Ella this happy since a Justin Bieber concert in 2017.

The sky is a rich, cloudy, cobalt blue, which casts a celestial tint across all of Lapland. The few pine branches not draped in snow become the only way to differentiate the earth from the sky. A remote, isolated and untouched world.

We pull up to the lodge exhausted and hungry, but happy. At lunch, I let the three of them squabble over who was the best driver. For the next four hours we cuddle up and binge watch space movies. I fall asleep, despite Matthew McConaughey’s stellar Interstellar performance.

11:48am

Reindeer Farm Visit (Chase #4, Ella #4)

My favorite daytime winter activity is the lowest ranked on Chase and Ella’s list. A visit to a working reindeer farm. It’s the week’s most relaxing and leisurely excursion, which surely influences this imbalance. Embarrassingly, I didn’t even know reindeer existed until I planned this trip. Did you? I don’t believe you.

The farm has been family-run for generations and our guide is none other than the owner herself. Her traditional Finnish garb, coupled with the surrounding mystical reindeer, make me feel I’ve just gate-crashed Santa’s holiday party.

1:33pm

We learn the farm has over 150 reindeer. Thankfully the owner offers this information voluntarily, as our guide tells us it’s considered a rude question. The equivalent of asking how much money a person earns. Thank you, Nikita. Finnish faux-pas averted.

The reindeer are curious, friendly, and utterly loopy. Farm-trained for 3-5 years, they subsist on a diet of grass, lichen, and mushrooms. Hence, the perpetual loopiness. Their coats are all shades of the coffee rainbow from mocha brown to vanilla latte. Is it obvious my days are caffeine-fueled?

Reindeer roam the country freely for six months each year. Eventually, these half-wild mammals are rounded up and divided among their rightful owners. This is easily determined by a distinct cut on the ear, similar to the way a rancher brands cattle.

Babies are often born during this reindeer ‘rumspringa’. The farmers determine who owns which newborn just by noticing which mamas tend to which calves. A brilliant baby sorting system, indeed.

12:11pm

The Fun Part

The idea of being pulled on a sleigh by reindeer makes me as giddy as a kid on Christmas morning. With no prerequisite skills needed and lots of cozy blankets, reindeer sledding is the cold-weather activity for me. We swiftly glide along quiet narrow paths and take in the pure, powdery panorama.

I spot a large arctic hare sitting against a nearby pine. Ten inches of fresh snow sit atop a wooden fence on one side of me and endless forest views are on the other. Unlike the dogs, the reindeer are silent creatures (and high as kites, remember), so the ride is peaceful in its entirety.

We stop for the mid-ride warm-up ritual we have come to expect and love. Billowy puffs of smoke escape the roof of a nearby cabin. It’s a Kota—a rustic, enclosed, hexagon with a central grill surrounded by wooden, reindeer pelt-covered benches. It’s a scene from a fairy tale, and I half expect the fabled Snow Queen to join us.

12:40pm

Our master of ceremonies makes us tea and jam crepes. We grill juicy sausages on long metal skewers, turning them until they glow and sizzle. As we eat, she recounts stories of her family, her reindeer, and her life in Lapland.

We discover the biggest gift a parent can give a child is their own reindeer ‘mark’, even if they have yet to own many of their own reindeer. And, eating reindeer is an everyday occurrence. Our experience in the Kota is natural and organic—a slice of Finnish life.

Nikita meets us at the farm’s entrance and we pile into the warm van. Ella and Chase bicker over who would survive in the Arctic longer. I’m ready to let them give it a go.

At the lodge, we de-layer and find our own little nooks to cozy up until dinner. The sky is turning deep dark shades of blue and I feel totally at peace.

2:30pm

This is Winter in Finland, Embrace the Arctic

While I’ve only highlighted a few winter activities from our family trip to Finland, there are countless more to enjoy, as my 276,000,000 ‘Winter in Finland’ search results confirm.

Ice fishing, tobogganing, skiing, ice floating, ice skating, and kick sledding are the tip of the polar iceberg. Not to mention other cultural activities, including visits with Arctic explorers and Finnish shamans. My next post will describe all of that and more. And why winter in Finland is a family holiday for the truly adventure-minded.

‘What did the kids think?’ I’m repeatedly asked since returning home. I’ll admit now that a part of me worried they’d hate it. They didn’t, of course. Extreme adventure is always a winner with my kids.

Out of curiosity, I googled how many visitors visit Finnish Lapland in the winter. In 2019, a record-breaking 3.1 million tourists headed to the far north.

Winter in Finland? Perhaps not so crazy after all?

First time in Helsinki? Try a self-guided walking tour of the best the city has to offer! Click here!

Looking for more extreme family adventures? Just click.

Discover why every day is the best day ever at Deplar Farm in Iceland.

Botswana is the original magic kingdom and a family vacation for wildlife lovers.

Head south and way off the beaten path to idyllic and remote José Ignacio, Uruguay.

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February 8, 2022
Uganda, what to see beyond the famous silverback gorillas

What to see, where to stay, and what to do, in Uganda / The famous silverback gorillas are certainly what put Uganda on the map for tourism. And rightly so, as it is the only part of the world where one can see these peaceful, majestic primates. There are none in captivity, so in order to spend any time with them, one must be prepared to travel far. And travel far I did, for a fleeting two hours observing them that I wouldn’t trade for anything.

Yes, two hours. Each gorilla permit afforded me exactly sixty minutes with the silverbacks. So, what is there to do with the other 23 hours of the day? A lot, it turns out. Uganda has much more to offer tourists than the mighty silverbacks.

But there is far more to see in Uganda beyond the silverback gorillas. There are traditional safaris to admire the famous climbing lions of Ishasha, for example. Or, sighting the elusive shoebill in the Mabamba Swamp. A boat ride to an island of rehabilitated chimpanzees in Lake Victoria.

What to do in Uganda: A Wild Frontiers Safari

Wild Frontiers was our tour operator, the frontrunner for gorilla tracking and safaris in Uganda. They helped us come up with a bespoke itinerary, secured our coveted gorilla tracking permits, and allowed for some flexibility on the ground. Flights, logistics, and accommodations were well organized and generally worked like clockwork. This is Africa, after all.

Our guides, lovely, warm-hearted locals, had studied for years to be able to tell the difference between the sound of a great blue turaco and a green-breasted pitta. Or, to be able to spot an African fish eagle from a kilometer away. They could drive for hours on end and still have the energy the next morning to prepare a pop-up omelet station on the plains.

We were in constant awe of the Ugandan guides and their wealth of knowledge about the wildlife, flora, and fauna, of their country.

What to see in Uganda: Equatorial Entebbe

Uganda is a landlocked country in eastern Africa. The small city of Entebbe, about 20 miles from the bustling capital of Kampala, is where Uganda’s only international airport resides. Entebbe sits on a peninsula on the northern shore of Uganda’s largest lake, Lake Victoria.

We crossed the lake, and directly through the equator, within three hours of arrival, on the way to visit the Ngamba Island Chimpanzee Sanctuary. The lake seemed angry, and our little boat was tossed around violently for nearly an hour. Spray came at us from every angle, the boat pounded the waves. My eyes remained firmly shut to keep nausea at bay. Uganda—unpredictable from the start.

What to see in Uganda: Hungry, howling chimps

We arrived at the sanctuary, bedraggled, and soaking wet, and set off to see the 49 orphaned chimpanzees who roam the 40-acre island. That’s in comparison to the single acre allotted to the humans who work there and rehabilitate them. The chimps come to the barrier four times a day for food, and then slowly slink back into the overgrowth until the next feeding.

Although the feeding ritual was exciting, we were glad we didn’t plan it after our gorilla tracking later that week, as it seemed a much more commercial endeavor. We were happy to see that the orphaned chimps were well cared for, in a safe environment, and had access to medical attention should they need it.

Where to stay in Uganda: Hotel No. 5

Our boutique hotel, called No. 5, was hidden in a local neighborhood less than a ten-minute drive from the airport. Here, I was to spend two nights before heading off on my own to Queen Elizabeth National Park. From there, I was to meet up with my friend at our lodging in the Bwindi Impenetrable National Park to start tracking the gorillas.

Each of the ten rooms at No. 5 faced a lush, intimate, courtyard, with overgrown tropical trees and plants. There was a charming pool set below the veranda where we would have meals and pre-dinner drinks while listening to the ongoing birdsong.

The rooms were modest, clean, and airy—the gauzy mosquito netting over the beds seemed more for show than necessity but did look quite pretty. Small balconies were a nice touch, a place to sit and listen to the hum of the surroundings. In the early morning, I heard the daily call to prayer as I drifted dreamily in and out of sleep.

Although the menus and meals were very nice at No. 5, they were surprisingly formal, a bit too heavy, and geared toward foreigners. This became a slightly disappointing theme at the various lodges we stayed at, and if I were to do it again, I would ask for more local Ugandan preparations as menu options.

What to see in Uganda: The Mabamba Swamp

While my friend worked for the few days we were in Entebbe, I took advantage of being alone with a guide and my camera. Wild Frontiers helped organize a boat trip through the wetlands of Mabamba. There, I spontaneously turned into a full-fledged bird geek. Don’t judge.

I saw statuesque egrets, metallic blue malachite kingfishers, and weightless African jacanas, to name a few aviary stand-outs.

The jacanas are often referred to as Jesus birds for the way they appear to walk on water. They have a uniquely evolved prenatal care system, and can often carry multiple babies under their wings at once. I was lucky enough to capture this maternal moment in real-time.

What to see in Uganda: The most famous bird you’ve never heard of

The prehistoric-looking shoebill, named for its big, clunky bill, is endangered, and numbers only twelve total across the entire 2500-hectare swamp.

Having never heard of the shoebill, I wasn’t too bothered about finding it, but as beginners luck would have it, we saw one within the first ten minutes of the four-hour boat ride. Even my guide was thrilled to see this elusive and reclusive specimen and reached for his own camera to capture it among the reedy, wetland grasses. I was told it is one of the top five most sought-after birds to spot in Africa. Bucket list bird: check.

The Prettiest, Ugly Bird

A few fun facts about a bird you also may have never heard of: shoebills can grow as tall as four or five feet when fully grown; they lay only two eggs, and after a year, kill the weaker one; they can remain motionless for extended periods of time stalking their prey. The idiom, ‘beauty is in the eye of the beholder’ came to mind as I thought it was, perhaps, the prettiest, ugly bird I had ever seen.

What to do in Uganda: Get local

Instead of driving back to Entebbe from the wetlands, my guide suggested we take a car ferry across Lake Victoria. Flashbacks to yesterday’s tumultuous journey stirred in my mind, but in the name of adventure, I decided to go for it. Lake Victoria, thankfully, was much calmer, and I was able to cross with my internal organs completely intact.

On the way to the ferry, I caught glimpses of rural Ugandan life: little girls danced in open wooden doorframes flaked with colorful paint; women peeled green bananas for makote (cooked plantains), toddlers shaved sugar cane with pangas (machetes). Mopeds kicked up clouds of red dust along the unpaved roads. Vegetable stands, roaming goats, pigs on leashes, women with bushels of fruit on their heads—an evolving portrait of village life.

While waiting at the Nakiwogo ferry dock, I was swarmed by fresh-faced and bright-eyed Ugandan kids. We took a few selfies, and they laughed at seeing themselves on screen. Teens played soccer with empty soda cans, dogs chased their own tails, and mothers fed infants while chatting with friends. That time was a gift. Quietly, I observed the villagers and thought to myself how I’d forgotten how often the simplest things in life are the best.

Where to eat in Uganda: Two Friends

Local knowledge, as they say, trumps all, which is how we found Two Friends, a restaurant situated squarely on the banks of Lake Victoria. With a convivial, remote, rustic island vibe, dangling strings of twinkling tea lights, and a menu of freshly caught Lake Victorian fish, Two Friends was a hidden gem.

Our fish came baked in green banana leaves, served in tin foil, with all of the savory juices to mop up with the rice and veggies. The meal for three, (actually four, as we sent our idling taxi driver his meal, too) and a bottle of wine came to the economical total of $60 USD. It was one of the best meals of the trip, made most memorable by its laid-back and carefree atmosphere.

Solo travels

The next morning, I boarded a bush plane at Entebbe Airport and flew two hours to the Kihihi Airstrip located just outside of Queen Elizabeth National Park. Having never traveled solo before, I was both exhilarated and anxious. Moments after touching down, I met my guide Echy, and any fears I had dissipated. I was reminded of a Ted Talk by Ken Robinson, who advised, ‘Walk towards things that worry you.’ I started to walk.

The safari begins

On our first game drive, late that afternoon, Echy discovered a tree with a flock of gray-crowned cranes perched upon it. One by one, these magnificent birds flew effortlessly across the savannah, over the acacia and fig trees, and towards the descending sun.

Also known as the crested crane, it is the national bird of Uganda, and its likeness sits proudly on its flag. Due, in part, to poaching, it is now sadly on the endangered species list and numbers less than 20,000 in the country.

This majestic bird is distinguished by its head of rigid, golden feathers that look like the crown for which it is named. A large, fire-engine red throat pouch makes it especially easy to recognize.

Where to stay in Uganda: Ishasha Wilderness Camp

Remembering how much I had loved tent life while in Botswana a few years ago, I was excited to get to Ishasha Wilderness Camp, which is located inside Queen Elizabeth National Park, along the Ntungwe River.

The ten permanent canvas tents are rustic, yet have everything needed to enjoy wilderness life. Each tent had a wide, stone, porch with two chairs facing the lazy river.

The porch felt like a front-row IMAX theater seat for BBC’s Blue Planet. A few meandering and thirsty elephants drank from the river just a few hundred yards away. A troop of cheeky vervet monkeys ran circles around my tent, both skittish and curious at the same time, scooping up their rebellious babies in an all too human-like way.

The large, thatched-roof common area was ambient, and open-air, to the river. Here, even more, elephants came to share an afternoon sundowner with us.

It was also where we had our meals. Being solo, I was paired with another lone traveler named Matthew—a charming headmaster from Botswana and an avid birder. Matthew became my safari partner-in-exploration for the following two days.

‘You won’t believe what I saw!’

One of the best parts of being on safari is coming back to the lodge after a game drive to compare sightings and photos with other guests.

Our camp had a magnetic board so we could place markers where we had seen various wildlife each day. Depending upon who you were comparing notes with that evening, the stories sometimes became a game of oneupmanship.

What to see in Uganda: Ishasha

At Ishasha Wilderness Camp, as opposed to No. 5, the mosquito netting was less for show, and more out of need. Yet, as a point of comparison, I have been bitten by more mosquitos while walking my dogs in DC than in my entire ten days in Uganda.

As is typical at safari camps, I was not allowed to wander back to my tent unsupervised, as the animals roam freely. No argument here. But the loveliest sounds were at night when the animals were awake, and I was tucked warmly under the covers listening to the chorus of wildlife. It was truly a shame when I finally dozed off, as hard as I tried not to, leaving the animal world behind until the morning.

What to see in Uganda: Tree-Climbing lions

Queen Elizabeth National Park’s claim to fame is the tree-climbing lion. They are an unusual phenomenon, as lions are not adapted evolutionarily to scale trees, like leopards, for instance. Queen Elizabeth National Park is one of only two places in the world where these rare lions can be found, the other being southern Tanzania. It is widely thought that the reason for their climbing is to escape not only the pesky flies but the severe temperatures.

While lucky enough to spot a few of the beautiful lions, they simply refused to do any of their famed climbing. Content, we watched them lazing on the ground. The male lions of Ishasha are notably dark-maned, making them look even more magnificent and regal.

What to do in Uganda: Sundowner on the plains

There is nothing quite like sunset drinks on safari. After hours of being in a vehicle, bumping along dirt paths, it is a chance to embrace stillness and absorb the surrounding sounds. We spent an hour on the edge of a steep rift, overlooking the lush yellow and green valley below. Gin and tonic in hand, I was in my happy place.

In the distance, elephants roamed, their trunks raised to grab leaves from the trees. Kobs glistened, golden and glorious, in the light. The sun tightened its grip on the landscape, wringing out the last rays of light, and casting vivid colors across the valley.

As if on cue, the sun hovered behind a spindly tree, which created an eerie, stark silhouette against the blood-red sky.

Always expect the unexpected

Every game drive is unique, which is likely why guides never get bored with their jobs. The morning I was to leave Ishasha to meet my friend in Bwindi, was one of those unexpected experiences I should have expected.

The drive was two hours, including 45 minutes to exit the boundary of Queen Elizabeth National Park. Five minutes or so into our journey, Echy jerked the jeep to a screeching halt. I did a quick scan, there was nothing to see, no animals, no movement.

He reversed five yards, and off to the right of the jeep, camouflaged in the tall wispy grass, was a martial eagle sitting on the ground, completely still. Echy whispered to us that the eagle was strangling its prey.

We sat silently. The eagle’s intense, beady, yellow eyes pierced through us like daggers. He was certainly not going to give up his catch on our part. A few minutes later, he flew off to a nearby dead tree to keep watch and protect his kill.

A dead baby kob, (antelope), curled up in a fetal position, lay in his wake. The kob had likely been sleeping while its mom went out to find food, but was discovered by the hungry eagle. A sad, yet realistic portrait, of the animal kingdom. How Echy spotted the eagle while cruising along at 30 mph mystifies me to this day.

Final Notes

I was giddy from the sighting, my first ever real-time kill, so I didn’t notice Echy speaking to the driver of a passing jeep. The other driver mentioned seeing two hyenas out hunting but had unfortunately lost the trail.

Using what can only be described as ‘Spidey-sense’, Echy looked to the distant sky, saw vultures circling, and had a hunch. He threw the jeep into gear, and lo and behold, quickly found the two hyenas devouring their freshly caught prey—another poor kob.

The scene was spellbinding; the light, luminous, and the pond, seafoam blue. The kob was bloody and torn to shreds. We listened to the sound of bones being crushed by the hyena’s unyielding jaws. The vultures tried to close in but were steadily kept at bay. When the hyenas were finished, they knew all too well there would be nothing left.

There is a world of adventure beyond the silverbacks in Uganda. Thank you, Echy, for showing it to me.

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May 7, 2021
The Mighty Silverbacks of Uganda: How To Find Them

Last January, I received a text from a friend of a friend: ‘Happy New Year! Would you like to go gorilla tracking with me in Uganda?’ I stared at the screen for a nanosecond and wrote back, ‘Yes!’

A nanosecond later, I wrote, ‘Wait… what?’

So began nine months of planning that would eventually take us to see the indigenous Batwa Pygmies, through dusty local villages, over the golden savannah of Ishasha, into the Bwindi Impenetrable Forest, and ultimately, to the magical moment of finding our first family of silverback mountain gorillas.

Sabotage

Even a few weeks before our trip, I still couldn’t believe that I was going to Uganda. Sabotage seemed to follow from the start. In March, the plane on which we were supposed to be flying, the Boeing MAX 737, was grounded after mechanical failures led it to crash.

In April, a solo female traveler and her guide were kidnapped in Queen Elizabeth National Park, held for ransom, then released. As if that weren’t enough, the tour operator connected to the unfortunate kidnapping issue was, you got it, the one we had hired.

Nevertheless, we remained on track, convinced that we would make it home with a few wild stories to tell. My husband started saving ransom money—just in case.

Finding the silverbacks

Nine months of planning had led up to these next few days, the inspiration and impetus for the trip—tracking the silverback gorillas. In the two-hour drive from Ishasha, (where I had spent the previous three nights) to Bwindi, the landscape shifted so dramatically that I could have been in an entirely different country.

The Bwindi Impenetrable National Park and its surroundings are a never-ending panorama of steep, rounded hillsides, interlocking and overlapping in muted shades of green. Dense foliage replaced the vast golden savannah of Ishasha. Clusters of trees and steep, verdant tea fields took the place of flat, open vistas.

A heavy mist enshrouded the landscape, and then suddenly the sun would break through. The rainforest did not disappoint.

Bwindi is accessible only by foot, and is home to nearly 400 silverback mountain gorillas over 124 square miles. It is protected and owned by the Uganda Wildlife Authority and is a World Heritage Site. An impressive resume, indeed.

Family vibes

Echy, my Ishasha guide, delivered me to Buhoma Lodge, which immediately felt like a home away from home. Not fancy or modern, it nailed the unassuming, homespun vibe I was hoping for during our few days of gorilla tracking. Buhoma Lodge and Sanctuary Gorilla Forest Camp are the only two lodges located within the park boundaries. My friend and I decided to spend two nights at each.

Four nights, two camps

Although Buhoma Lodge and Sanctuary Gorilla Forest Camp are right beside one another in proximity, they are quite different in many ways.

The rooms at Buhoma ratchet up a steep hillside and required an amount of stair climbing that I hadn’t encountered since the Eiffel Tower. The views of the rainforest from our balcony made the climb worthwhile, and my aching quads eventually forgave me. Good practice for the gorilla tracking ahead.

Gorilla Forest Camp

This differed greatly from GFC, whose eight tents are much lower to the ground, nestled, and virtually secluded in the foliage, and had a much more private, romantic feeling.

Buhoma Lodge

Buhoma’s effervescent staff acted like extended family, always with a warm smile and polite conversation. My favorite time of day was when everyone would come together after the day’s trek and swap stories like old friends.

GFC’s staff was a touch more formal and allowed the guests to mingle among themselves. The managers of both lodges were as lovely and warm as the rainforest air and made many daily appearances to catch up with us.

At both lodges, wine was ever-flowing. At Buhoma, hors d’oeuvres were passed and a hanging iron fire pit completed the convivial scene.

GFC had an inviting nightly bonfire surrounded by a circle of chairs where we would curl up with a blanket, and watch the flames with a glass of wine in hand. An occasional storm would pass by, thunder and lightning in the distance. I felt like we were as far off the beaten path as the world would allow.

Thoughtful touches appeared at both lodges; at Buhoma, a hot water bottle on the bed at night. At GFC, toasty electric blankets and a large soaking tub.

Each lodge had convenient charging stations in the common areas so that one would never be caught with a dead battery. GFC offered coffee, tea, and wine service in your tent, and Buhoma’s open-air areas were piled high with coffee table photo books about Ugandan wildlife.

Both/And When Searching for the Silverbacks

GFC was a more modern and upscale lodge, overall. The parent company, Sanctuary, is steeped in philanthropy all over Africa, and in Uganda especially. A few of their impressive philanthropic efforts include supporting the Bwindi Community Hospital (which we visited), The Ebenezer Nursery and Primary School, as well as the Bwindi Women Bicycle Enterprise.

In all of our lodges, we discovered the Ugandan effort to reduce plastic waste. We were encouraged to use reusable water bottles and had access to water stations to refill them.

While both lodges exceeded expectations, I’ll admit, that if I were to go back with friends, I would opt for the more rustic Buhoma Lodge due to its more relaxed vibe. Alternatively, GFC would be my choice if I wanted a more romantic atmosphere.

Ham, our all-knowing guide, and the Silverbacks

Our new guide was named Ham, who I immediately adored. Guiding since 1999, he had gentle, soulful eyes, and an understated demeanor. Ham was filled with local knowledge and stories from growing up in western Uganda. He told us that he didn’t get his first pair of shoes until he was twelve years old. I tucked that piece of info away in my head to pass on to my kids as soon as I got home.

The Silverbacks

The draw of this tiny patch of the globe, where Uganda, Rwanda, and The Democratic Republic of the Congo meet, is the endangered silverback mountain gorillas. There are none in captivity, and only about 1000 are left in the world, all found in this one remote spot. In order to see these noble animals, who, as an aside, share 98 percent of our DNA, I knew I had to be prepared to travel far, hike treacherous terrain, and have oodles of patience.

As you may have guessed, the silverbacks get their name from the saddle of silver hair that develops on their backs as they age. Only the males, who can grow to nearly 500 lbs have this defining feature.

We had permits for two separate treks. Since we had booked this trip late (by African standards), we could only get permits for the Ruhija park entrance, which was two bumpy, pre-dawn hours away from our lodge. At first, this seemed like a setback, and we tried to change the permits, to no avail. In hindsight, it was a blessing.

While the early morning wake-up was painful, the drive to the Ruhija entrance was breathtaking. We were able to watch the sunrise over the hilly tea fields, the sky changing from night to day before our sleepy eyes. We passed women carrying plastic water jugs to the communal wells, farmers tending the land, and the barefoot freedom of kids. All this would have been missed if our permits were at the Buhoma entrance. A serendipitous gift.

Off the beaten path, literally

Advance trackers go out in the early morning hours to help locate the meandering gorilla families. They then radio ahead to the main trackers, so that visitors can find them. Even though their whereabouts are generally known each morning, getting to them is still no easy feat.

Gorillas, unfortunately, do not stick to the paths. They roam. Hiking to them required climbing over thick undergrowth, up and around cumbersome tree roots, and dodging biting safari ants, with the help of machetes to carve the way.

Navigating Silverback Terrain

Vegetation nearly swallowed me whole, and I lost my footing countless times. Safari ants somehow got to places that defied gravity, despite my pants being tucked firmly into my socks. For $20 USD, I hired a porter to carry my backpack. Money well spent, I thought, as she crushed a few safari ants on my back while I navigated the steep and unsteady terrain.

There are about 13 habituated silverback families in Bwindi, and strict rules govern their viewing. Once we found our family, which took nearly two hours on our second trek, we had one hour to observe and photograph them. ‘Habituated’ refers to the fact that the gorilla family has been exposed to humans for enough time that they react normally in their presence.

Silverbacks—The Bitukura Family

The moment I saw my first silverback will be forever etched in my mind, no photo necessary. We were tracking the Bitukura group that morning, and came upon the mighty dominant male silverback, Mugisha, sitting on the ground eating shoots and leaves.

The rest of his family, 12 in total, were mostly arboreal, swinging from the leafy canopy. The juveniles beat their chests (isn’t that a myth?) enjoying forest life. Barely noticing our existence, we were able to get as close as five feet away.

Jungle Love

A dense, deep quiet enveloped me and warmed me from the inside out. The only sounds are the rustling of branches, the low guttural grunts of the silverbacks, and the click click click of eight SLRs shooting simultaneously. Our group sat in relative silence, in mutual awe of the experience.

At times, we jostled for better positioning, and the trackers used their pangas to help us get a clearer view, effortlessly chopping down anything that was in our way.

And then, just like that, it was over. Our time was up. Who knew an hour could go by that quickly? We reluctantly made our way back to the lodge, thankful we had another day of gorilla tracking ahead.

Silverbacks—The Muzika Family

Our second trek managed to outdo our first, in the sense that most of the family was on the ground, and in a group, versus leaping from the treetops. The Muzika group was lively and rambunctious that morning, and after two arduous hours of trekking, we were ready to sit and watch the primate show.

The highlight of that day was when the enormous silverback, Muzika, walked right past me, so close that if I had moved my arm at all, I would have felt his bristly hair on my skin. As per our guide’s instructions, I stayed frozen, allowing him to pass.

Under the dense canopy of the Bwindi forest, the world dimmed. Every so often, a streak of sunlight found its way to the understory, illuminating the foliage, or, if we were lucky, the profile of a gorilla’s face. As much as I wanted to stop taking photos and purely observe, it was a challenging task. The silverbacks are natural models and the clock was ticking.

Family Life in the Jungle

Being such familial animals, I witnessed intimate moments between the silverbacks and their young that felt all too human. Mothers cuddling babies up to their faces, juveniles pushing each other around, and human-like grooming, not unlike the Lice Patrol in the DC School System, I thought.

Silverbacks are distinguished by their nose prints, much in the way we are identified by our fingerprints. Apparently, no two are alike. Even after just an hour with the Muzika family, I could see how the trackers could begin to know one gorilla from another, both through their features, as well as their personalities. And then again, time ran out, and we began our long exit from the forest, happy and sad all at once.

Homeward-bound

Fast forward to three flights and 7,000 Ethiopian Airlines miles. I’m at home, curled up on my couch, searching Verizon FIOS for Gorillas in the Mist. The silverbacks, I imagine, are peacefully roaming the forest, thirty lucky visitors on deck to watch them. Looking back, I am grateful to my friend for sending the text that set this entire experience into motion. Time to look ahead.

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March 19, 2021
5 of the best unforgettable and over-the-top travel experiences

Vacation, as the dictionary states, is ‘an extended period of leisure and recreation, especially one spent away from home or in traveling.’ Most of us are long overdue. So, when that much-needed vacation finally comes, make it an unforgettable travel experience. Read on for some much-needed travel inspiration.

Travel, whether I like to admit it or not, comes with a certain amount of expectation. I might say, “Oh, I’m happy at any beach, as long as I can relax with a book,” or “I don’t care about the hotel room, I’ll be outside most of the day anyway.” Or even, “The service isn’t that important as long as the food is really good.”

But, in reality, I care. A lot.

Relaxing on a beach with soft sand underfoot is lovely, as long as it isn’t facing an off-shore power plant. I would prefer not to stare at a construction site from my hotel room, regardless of how little time I spend in it. And, service does matter, especially when my room key decides not to work at midnight.

Yes, I have expectations. So, what happens when already high expectations are exceeded? When what I already imagine will be great—is even greater? Those unforgettable moments, while few and far between, are the ones I relive time and again. These are my top five.

Over-The-Top Travel Experience 5 / Helicopter Sundowner: Amangiri, Utah

Amangiri is a resort tucked away along the southern border of Utah, where it meets Arizona. As with many Aman properties, Amangiri is small, and a challenge to find, which adds a level of exclusivity that attracts many luxuries, adventure travelers. Their excursions are equally exclusive and unique.

One such excursion presented to us while there, was the chance to watch the sunset over the Utah desert. That’s not terribly unique, one might think. How about watching the sunset, with a bottle of chilled champagne, from the top of an isolated butte, via helicopter? Now that’s more like it.

We spied on the desert from above, the blades of the helicopter sliced the dry air, and made the trip worthwhile from lift-off. The pilot steered us towards Glen Canyon Dam, and then Horseshoe Bend, the iconic shape of the landscape giving credence to its name.

From this vantage point, hovering over the deep canyon, I could see the striations of rock that had formed over millions of years.

We landed on a nearby towering butte, the flat top was an ideal place for the pilot to set up our champagne sundowner.

The terrain was a sea of gold, the rich mesas, and distant buttes picked up the colors from the sun, and the sky dissolved into moody shades of blue. From our aerie, champagne in hand, and no sound aside from the whirling wind, the world stood still.

Despite the high price tag of the excursion, I had no regrets. Even years later, it is one of the most unforgettable travel moments in my memory. And while my husband might disagree, who can put a price tag on that?

Over-The-Top Travel Experience 4 / Sound bath: Blackberry mountain, Tennessee

More than ever, wellness activities have emerged as daily essentials. Whether a 10-minute morning meditation, a mid-day walk, or a late afternoon restorative yoga session, wellness is more mainstream than ever.

In the past, I had tried a few sound bath experiences from my phone, mainly to help me relax before bed. I was curious to try one in person. So when a girlfriend and I decided to take a trip to Blackberry Mountain, we signed up right away.

Our instructor’s voice had a lulling cadence. He introduced us to the practice of sound bathing, which has nothing, incidentally, to do with bathing, or water. The room had high ceilings, and was drenched in creamy, warm light. He was surrounded by a multitude of instruments; gongs, rainmakers, and chimes, among them. A lovely setting in which to spend the next 90 minutes.

Six of us formed a wide semi-circle on the floor and draped ourselves in soft blankets. The instructor then placed a lightly scented lavender cloth over our eyes. Just five minutes in, and I thought that this was already exceeding my expectations.

The senses in my body awakened, and I melted into the sounds. The gongs overlapped the chimes. The chimes overlapped the rainmaker, which sounded like waves crashing onto a beach. First softly, then gaining power, before receding again. I fell asleep, I think. Then awoke to tuning forks in G major, chants, and quite a few unnameable sounds. The vibrations of those sounds lifted and settled within me, as I drifted in and out of a dream-like state.

Towards the end of the sound bath, the group was asked to slowly sit up. I reluctantly followed orders. The gauzy roller shades had been raised, the curtains drawn—had I even noticed them earlier?

I found myself facing purple mountains— the start of sunset. The ridge was razor sharp, and pink and orange hues were just beginning to appear behind it. I smiled. Then I wondered when I could do the whole thing all over again. One reason, of many, to return to Blackberry Mountain.

Over-The-Top Travel Experience 3 / Berber Tea ceremony: Atlas Mountains, Morocco

An hour’s drive, and yet a thousand miles away from bustling Marrakech, are the mesmerizing Atlas Mountains. We were on our way to Kasbah Bab Ourika, a rustic oasis nestled gently in the mountains.

A holiday at a kasbah feels intimate and secluded, the only sounds coming from the birds whizzing overhead, and the light rustling of leaves. Meals are served al fresco, with miles of the scenic landscape at which to gaze. While we were hard-pressed to leave the grounds, we knew the mountains had much to offer in the way of adventure.

One misty morning, we set out on a two-hour guided trek toward a Berber village. The Berbers, an ethnic group native to Northern Africa, have a history that dates back to medieval times. The language and culture of the Berbers are still thriving in many parts of Morocco, specifically in the Atlas Mountains.

En route to the village, we passed a herd of woolly sheep and abandoned homes overrun with fields of yellow wildflowers. There were no roads, only donkey tracks, and the occasional moped.

Our guide brought us to a village home where we were taught the ceremonial process of making Berber mint tea.

The matriarch of the family showed us her technique, which involved a series of constant pouring and re-pouring. First, she placed the tea leaves into the pot and added boiling water. She swirled to warm the pot, and then rinsed the tea leaves. Next, she strained the water, reserving only the leaves.

She then added more hot water and allowed it to steep for a few minutes while we chatted—our guide acting as translator. Lastly, sprigs of mint, and a touch of sugar, were added to the teapot. We were honored and humbled by the chance to take part in a small piece of traditional Berber life. I will likely never have a mint tea experience that compares.

Over-The-Top Travel Experience 2 / Hammam Spa: The Royal Mansour, Morocco

A hammam, or Turkish bath, is a centuries-old, traditional, Arabic cleansing and bathing ritual. Modern variations of hammam can be found at hotels, resorts, and spas throughout Northern Africa and the Middle East.

Meant to boost the immune system, a hammam treatment uses hot steam to dilate blood vessels, and increase circulation throughout the body. Pores are opened, toxins are released, and the body is immediately refreshed. This sounded intriguing, and unlike any therapeutic treatment, I’d had in the past.

I decided to visit the spa at The Royal Mansour Hotel, in Marrakech, to experience the hammam. I was told that their interpretation of it was one of the best in the city. Marrakech was aglow with high-density, prismatic, and outrageous color, but the spa at the Royal Mansour was decidedly the total absence of it.

I opened the oversized spa door and entered a world of polar white—a jarring contrast from the green gardens I had just left behind. Vaulted cathedral ceilings, a fountain overflowing with white roses, and pale, pastel couches—all within a room of white, wrought iron, latticework. It was ethereal.

Following a short respite on a daybed in the spa’s waiting area, I was summoned by the therapist. She asked me to lie down upon a hot stone platform in a cavernous, marbled, and windowless room. I happily obliged, and put my 21st-century cares behind me, relishing this 8th-century bathing ritual.

A fragrant steam surrounded me, as the therapist scrubbed off layers of unwanted skin with a special black soap, and an abrasive Kessa mitt. It was harsh, and made my eyes water, but was surprisingly invigorating.

Next, she gently poured, and then shockingly threw, warm water across my body, waking me up in an admittedly unexpected way. She proceeded with a full body massage, using therapeutic oils, in an array of intriguing scents.

Lastly, I was escorted to one last room. Bright light streamed through the window towards an inviting, private, plunge pool. Much to my immediate dismay, I discovered it was actually an ice bath. She asked me to immerse myself in the frigid water. While I was initially reluctant, I knew this eye-popping part of the treatment was meant to invigorate my skin, which after 90 minutes of pampering, felt as silky as a newborn baby’s.

Hammam is an experience that is likely not everyone’s cup of tea, given its unconventionality. For me, however, it was all a part of the African adventure. No regrets, Marrakech.

Over-The-Top Travel Experience 1 / Dinner on the Delta, Botswana

There are few places in my travels that have moved me as much as Africa. I am a wildlife junkie and love any opportunity to see animals in the wild. It is no surprise that Africa, and Botswana in particular, would take up such significant space in my travel memories.

After three days of game drives along the Okavango Delta, we thought we had seen it all. Lions, leopards, hippos, and elephants, filled our days and invaded our dreams.

At the end of our last day in Botswana, Foster, our gentle and soft-spoken guide, took us back to our camp so that we could change for dinner. As we climbed out of the dust-covered Land Rover, our safari-weary bodies in need of a hot shower, Foster told us he had one last thing to show us.

My interest was piqued, but my body was shattered. In keeping with my ‘no regrets’ attitude, I climbed back into the Rover and rallied. We bumped along the bush for twenty minutes or so, getting farther and farther from camp, (and a hot shower). The sun was just starting to descend.

We curved around a thicket of trees, startling a few baboons along the way when I spotted something unusual. Not more wildlife, something entirely unexpected.

Miles from civilization, miles from our camp, in the middle of the African bush, was a full-blown, pop-up dinner. A top-shelf bar was created around an ancient tree. A roaring bonfire mimicked the palette of the setting sun and was surrounded by chairs and blankets. A communal dining table set for twenty, and a lantern-lit pathway towards a fully functioning bathroom.

Dinner was being prepared by cooks over open fires, and multiple mouth-watering aromas wafted through the air. I fleetingly wondered if the lions would find the smells as enticing as I did. We were awestruck.

The entire staff of our tent camp, plus the other guests, were treated to a fully-catered dinner in the bush. We sat for hours, eating and drinking, sharing and comparing stories of the day. We replayed our magical moments in the delta.

The low trumpets of elephants, and snorting grunts of hippos in the distance, were the musical soundtrack. With no one manning the camp, I wondered if the cheeky, resident, vervet monkeys were having a party. Botswana—I hadn’t even left, but I was already missing it.

Experience matters

We live in a world of bells, beeps, whistles, tones, and chimes—mostly coming from phones and screens. Our lives are filled with constant noise which interferes with our ability to relax and have calm.

The sounds from these five experiences; the chimes of the sound bath, the wind whistling past us on a remote butte, and the trumpeting of distant elephants, were the antithesis of my normal cacophony. I embraced the sounds of these once-in-a-lifetime experiences. Unforgettable.

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March 9, 2021
Discover Why Esperanza is the Family Escape You Need

The resort we chose for spring break, not surprisingly, needed to be family-friendly. There is a difference, however, between family-friendly and completely geared toward kids. Striking that balance is never easy, many places have good intentions but fail. Esperanza, in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico, had been recommended to me over the years, so we went for it.

It managed to combine all the touches that would make my husband and me happy: the gorgeous views, great food, and thoughtful service, as well as all the things our kids would want. When we booked, we had no idea what would happen in the world just a few months later, but we pushed forward and ended up with a (different kind of) trip to remember.

A Day Like Any Other

It’s March 11th. The president has just announced that all US nationals must return from Europe. There is panic overseas as Americans scramble to get home within two days. There is panic at airports and at universities where students study abroad. There is panic everywhere, it seems. I panic, too.

That evening, my husband and I went back and forth about whether we stay home or go away as planned to Mexico. It’s our kid’s spring break, that coveted two-week bridge between winter and spring, cold and hot. We agree—we will go. An hour later, we agree again—we should stay. The next morning, we agree one more time—let’s just go. Rarely are our views so aligned! Yet, it was far from comforting.

We are aware that this might be our last vacation for a while. We grasp that we are on the cusp of something big. We know our family would benefit from time away, together, and outside of the escalating chaos. We realize that if we go, things will look much different when we return.

We organize ourselves. We prepare to turn around upon touchdown, or, to stay indefinitely, and pack accordingly. Six bottles of Theraflu, five canisters of disinfectant wipes, and three hand pumps of Purell. Is that enough? Are we really going? What did we agree upon again?

It’s March 14th. Lift off.

Touch Down

When we landed in Cabo San Lucas, we were keenly aware that this vacation would be unlike any other. A telling sign was that our plane, normally booked solid at this time of year, boarded only 30 passengers. Social distancing, a term swiftly creeping into everyday vernacular, was not an issue.

The days ahead would be inherently more reflective and heavier with the uncertainty of the future. I knew this trip would be inked in my memory, and not for the usual reasons.

Esperanza

Often, I write about the overall feel of a destination, the gestalt—to use a theory that would make my art history professor proud. My brain simplifies and organizes ideas in a way that is more user-friendly, and more interesting to read. For instance, describing the way the bedsheets felt, or what combination of spices were in that delicious tortilla soup. How, and if, the resort organically settled into its surroundings. Details that prove to be big and important in the world of inspirational travel. Details that make for pretty sound bites.

Esperanza, as anyone can see from photos, is a stunning property that sits upon a jagged cliff above the Sea of Cortez. There is much I can say about the beauty, both natural, and man-made, of this Auberge-owned hotel.

I am going to focus more on the feelings that made our time in Mexico worthwhile, to illustrate the emotive piece of the trip. And, I’m going to write about whales.

Rituals

The main restaurant at Esperanza, Cocina del Mar, is an aerie—as easily suited to hawks as humans, perched high above a small beach. On the way to breakfast each morning, the kids raced to the circular landing at its entrance to glimpse the daily sand drawing. Along the way, we all tried to guess what it might be—a crab, sailboat, and shell. Why this part of the day became such a highlight amused me. I think the idea of a happy surprise was needed, no matter how small.

I naturally fell into a daily ritual of my own. First, I ordered a wellness shot of turmeric root, lime juice, pineapple, and ginger. I didn’t actually enjoy its robust taste or its jarring school bus color, but I wistfully imagined its medicinal value could keep a virus at bay.

What’s Newsworthy?

Next, I read the news, a 15-minute self-imposed maximum, as it made my heart race and my skin heat up. Wasn’t I here partly to escape the news cycle—which was inconsistent, filled with misinformation, and designed to terrify?

Lastly, I looked at the sea, training my vision for the tell-tale puffs of air that signaled a whale’s presence. Some mornings, they popped through the surface like champagne corks on New Year’s Eve, and other days, they were more elusive. This morning routine settled me, and the whale spotting became another highlight of my day. It gave me restorative moments of calm. By the second breakfast, the waiters knew my order, where I liked to be seated, and had a pair of binoculars on standby.

During our week at Esperanza, the world outlook became bleaker, the news became direr. I woke up each day, wondering if this was going to be the last, that we would have to pack up and go. I relied upon the whales to ground my spinning thoughts.

Color and light

The color palette of Esperanza mimicked the landscape. Pale blue, inky blue, beige, and foamy white—naturally soothing colors. Rolling waves edged up, and then crashed below, the rocky promontory where I sat, showing off as if they were a slo-mo video capture for the latest iPhone commercial. Who knew how deafening the sound of the sea could be until you had all the time in the world to listen?

The light was so pretty it appeared to stick to the obsidian-textured rocks. Several hundred wet, black crabs moved as one over them, giving the impression that the rocks were fluid, rather than solid. The gestalt theory again, is the principle of ‘common fate’—that our brains will lump together individual things that move in a similar direction as a group, and consider it one stimulus. It’s pretty clear I had too much time alone with my thoughts at this point, isn’t it?

Animal Kingdom

I watched the cast of crabs (yes, that is the technical term, I just googled it) scuttle as a unit, and immediately felt my blood pressure plummet. Why don’t I watch the Discovery Channel more often, I chided myself. It’s cheaper than therapy! Wildlife viewing—an organic cure-all.

A pair of iguanas played peek-a-boo around the desert-like boulders near the pool. I gathered they were the resident reptiles, and for many days spied them searching for whales with me.

Little Kindnesses

It was clear early on that the resort was overstaffed, having prepared for the normal onslaught of families worldwide to fill their swimming pools, belly up to their bars, and keep the tennis pros on their toes. The resort, a mix of haciendas, suites, villas, and casitas, looked to be at about 40% capacity when we arrived. When we departed, I sensed there were only about 40 guests left.

Waiters glided about the palm-thatched and open-air restaurants, never forgetting an extra wedge of lime for a beer or the preference for soy milk over cow. This was made only slightly easier to remember by the unfortunate fact that the staff outnumbered the guests. At Esperanza, however, attentive service was par for the course, served daily with warm, engaging smiles.

I was impressed by the above-and-beyond kindnesses, the silent and unsaid courtesies that were extended to everyone, by everyone, all of the time. It was as if the waiters, pool staff, and groundskeepers all knew that something was changing and that it may be a while before they returned to any sense of normalcy. They were right.

Images

I can’t say we didn’t fully take advantage of the bubble we found ourselves in that week. Our family bonded in a different way than usual. We were very together, a precursor for the weeks of togetherness ahead.

My son and husband went on a few long desert runs, harassing skittish rabbits along the way. The kids rode waves with local surf instructors. I spent hours coloring with fine-tipped sharpies on the balcony—my current obsession, while the kids made Tik Toks—their current obsession. All of us tore through novels, having brought stacks from home.

The Intrinsic Beauty of Esperanza

I relished any moment that got me past recurring doomsday thoughts. The lulling beach hammock, the statuesque iguanas, the pool waiters who wore pins that cheerfully cried, ‘Yes way, rosé!’. The serendipitous moment I photographed a fisherman just as he reeled in his catch and the way he proudly held up his prize. The prismatic sunsets each night belied the dark state of the world. Those six nights stretched into forever.

The intrinsic beauty of Esperanza was seen, and felt, inside and out. The 17 acres of lush, well-kept gardens, and grounds, are complete with a lovely koi pond, and interesting kid-centric activities like bocce and life-sized chess. The intimate spa is an oasis within the oasis. The nightly bonfire on the balcony of the main entry—all contributed to that escape from reality we were seeking.

Whales

On the day that would become our last full day in Mexico, we spent a few hours at sea searching for whales. The boat picked us up from the pier, and we leisurely motored past the intsa-ready Arch of Cabo San Lucas. This natural rock formation, teetering on the brink of collapse, is located at the southern tip of the Baja Peninsula. Normally overrun with tourist boats competing for pole position, we nearly had it to ourselves.

Our captain was, not surprisingly, well versed in all things whale and had a keen eye for spotting them, even from incalculable distances. Yet, as prepared as we were to see what we came for, witnessing the slow-motion corkscrew movement of a breaching whale is nothing short of heart-stopping. Even the biggest grumps in our group (ahem, Chase and Ella) were without words, maybe for the first time. The whales’ powerful and muscular bodies were awesome; their tails slapped the water like pancakes being flipped by a short-order cook.

Seconds later, as if the universe was trying to tell me, ‘You’ve seen all there is to see here, don’t push your luck.’ a burst of texts from well-meaning friends alerted us of the recent world developments. ‘The US borders are closing’, they wrote — ‘when are you coming back?’

Our time was up.

Closure

We had managed six nights in Cabo San Lucas, and every one of them was a bonus in my eyes. I sat at breakfast, wellness shot in hand, that last morning. If Esperanza does any one thing to perfection, it is dining, where even the indoor seating feels like outdoor seating. And the views were transporting, regardless of the time of day.

Throughout the week, I noticed the guests that had canceled their trips by their absence on the neatly spaced pool loungers. (Loungers that would have been annoyingly spoken for by 7am each morning.) I noticed the lack of ambient noise and family chatter in the empty seats of the restaurants. It was a poignant, quiet, self-reflecting spring break. Not exactly what we had in mind when we booked all those months ago, but lovely in many ways, nonetheless.

My mind filled in those gaps. Another principle of gestalt—is closure. In design, closure refers to how the brain will automatically fill in any missing pieces of an image to create a whole. What missing pieces will I bring back into my life, and what pieces will I purposely leave out when I get home?

Esperanza will once again fill its pools, bars, and suites. It may be filling up as we speak, as restrictions loosen, and people decide they don’t want to cook, go food shopping, or clean dishes for a few days. The thoughtful, and extremely capable staff, is waiting. So are the whales. I’m hoping that the whales are waiting, too.

Where will you find yourself next? Just Click.

Experience the magical and color-filled Slot Canyons with Amangiri as your base, in Utah.

Stay out west a little longer and head to the Tetons in Jackson.

Need more adventure? Dunton Hot Springs, in Colorado, will complete your western travel trilogy.

June 19, 2020
Botswana is The Magic Kingdom

Why go to Botswana? Traveling to Botswana for a safari with my family remains one of my top experiences. Having the opportunity to see the wildlife of remote Botswana and travel through the vast inlets of the Okavango Delta was life-altering. I hope that Botswana stays as untouched and wild as the week we spent there a few years ago. Read on to discover the magic of Africa, Botswana, and the animals of the Okavango Delta.

There is no sound I can think of that compares to that of the African bush. Silence. Almost complete silence, except for the distant (and sometimes not so distant) roar of a lion, the slow, steady, padded thump of an elephant, and the crunch of teeth on bone. The chorus of the wildlife.

What helps make Botswana especially magical is how remote and small you feel: hours and hours, sometimes an entire day, without seeing another soul apart from your guide. I can’t remember ever feeling so happily unplugged yet so blissfully connected.

Into the Delta in Botswana

We arrive by bush plane from Maun, having spent three nights in neighboring South Africa. A jeep picks us up on the tarmac, nothing more than a strip of land in the open plains. Iconic baobab trees, known as ‘trees of life,’ pop up in the distance.

My son asks how long it will take to get to Selinda Camp, our home in the delta, for the next few days. He is eager to start the safari. Little does he know that it has already begun. Two minutes into our drive, we spot a giraffe craning its long neck above the tree line. Hello, Botswana!

From the jeep, we hop into a small boat to take us to camp. We pass a pod of hippos who are visibly unhappy with us for invading their peaceful waters. Our guide, Foster, knows this pod well. He knows their habits and gives them a wide berth. It’s no less unnerving to see their dark eyes slowly dip below the surface, not knowing where they might pop up next. My daughter, Ella, is not amused.

As we motor towards the Selinda Camp dock, we notice a faint sound. It’s singing. As we get closer, the people attached to the lovely voices are the entire staff of Selinda Camp announcing our arrival in song. An unforgettable sound. An unforgettable welcome.

Botswana: Life in the wild

Throughout our three-day and six-game drives in Botswana, we are treated to one magical experience after another. We track a cheetah at sunrise and watch a pride of lions devour a cape buffalo.

The next day, we catch a solitary elephant off guard as we barrel past it in our jeep en route to a possible leopard sighting. Quite disturbed, and rightly so, he bucks and trumpets in annoyance.

Later that evening, we nearly crossed paths with a hungry hyena on our way back to our tent. As is required at night, we are with a guide. However, I’m slightly uneasy after being told that Botswana guides carry no weapons. They depend solely upon their skills to read the animal’s movements to keep guests safe. I tell myself to trust the system and, more importantly, the guides.

Botswana’s Foster, the all-knowing guide

Our soft-spoken, omniscient, gentle guide is named Foster. Without a doubt, Foster is one of the highlights of our Botswana journey. Foster knows the Delta like the back of his hand. He knows where we can safely cross the Okavango based on rainfall, vehicle type, and time of day.

Foster knows just where to go ‘off-road’, and dive head-on into a wild patch of sage or scrub, to find a leopard lounging on a tree limb. He often yells out, ‘Hold on tight!’, and we do. It’s exhilarating.

The wake-ups in Botswana are early. Our tween daughter is not amused again, complaining about waking up while it’s still dark. Sensing her pre-dawn dismay, Foster poses a question in his soothing and low baritone voice. ’Ella, what is the purpose of this day?” An interesting conversation between them follows. The sun rises and reveals the animals at their most active times. The early wake-up is quickly forgotten.

Southern Pride of Botswana

One afternoon, we come upon a pride of lions, the Southern Pride, as they are locally known. Foster kills the engine, and we spend a few hours observing them. The big cats laze about, yawn, and tend to their young.

The cubs frolic in their happy and utterly carefree existence. A few times, the lions find shade in the shadow of our open Land Rover — an unnerving and utterly silent experience. As mentioned earlier, Foster was without a weapon. I repeat my mantra—trust the guides- as I pull my son tighter towards me.

We are all holding our breath. In a low whisper, I lean in and ask Foster how he’s sure the lions won’t attack. They are curious and within two feet of us. There are no windows or barriers between us.

Speaking softly and without taking his eyes from the lion’s face, he says he can read their movements. That he can sense agitation or contentment by the twitch of an eye. His concentration is absolute. I believe him. Do I have a choice? We later discover that Foster has not only been an experienced guide for many decades but was given the high honor of taking the president of his country on a safari.

Do I trust him? Implicitly.

Camp Life, Botswana

Our tent at Selinda is rustic-chic and luxurious. It dons safari-style campaign furniture originally designed to be folded up and transported distances. It looked like a window display for the Louis Vuitton showroom in NYC.

No detail is too small to be overlooked. Yoga mats sit in a basket beside the door. Powerful binoculars sit by the bed. A beautifully crafted vintage liquor cabinet is stocked with port, bourbon, and whisky. Etched crystal glasses and a bucket of ice on the ready. There are reading glasses and books for us, watercolors, and sketch pads for the kids. A claw-footed tub and rain shower. All we could want or need.

We are told that Sydney, the ‘resident’ elephant, enjoys relaxing near our tent. One of my most memorable moments of the trip is hearing her gentle feet padding past our tent in the middle of the night. Her massive body scrapes the soft walls. I want to get out of bed and peek outside, but I’m paralyzed—both terrified and thrilled simultaneously.

Botswana’s delta

The Okavango Delta spans 15,000 square miles, and by August, the water fans out slowly, and sometimes randomly, throughout the southern regions of the delta. Not surprisingly, this often makes crossing it a challenge.

There are few bridges, as the water ebbs and flows differently throughout the year. Thankfully, Foster sees the waterways as we would see highways, and navigates with ease.

Late one afternoon, we stop at the Delta’s edge for a sundowner on our way back to Selinda Camp. The crossing we made in the morning is hours away and in the opposite direction of the camp. “How will we get back?”, our daughter asks. He looked straight ahead and points to the Delta.

Before we can say another word, he pulls up to the inlet and tells us to raise our feet as high as we can. I wonder if we will have to hold our breath. How does he know there aren’t any hungry hippos lurking below the surface?

Foster confidently shifts into gear. Moments later, our Land Rover is halfway submerged in the Delta, nearly level with the exhaust pipe that pokes from the front hood like a submarine periscope.

I pray to the hippo gods that today isn’t our last. Out of the hundreds of small waterways like this, how is he to know how deep this one is? Those few minutes of crossing the Delta may have taken years off my life but it did save us three hours of driving. Trust the guides.

Foster’s Surprise

With a heavy heart, we find ourselves on our final night in Botswana. Yet, after a full afternoon’s game drive we are ready to shower off the dust and change for dinner. As we tumble from the jeep, Foster surprises us by saying he has one last thing to show us.

Lions, cheetahs, leopards, rare birds, hippos, warthogs, and more—what is left to see, I wonder? Trusting Foster one last time, we pile our weary bodies back into the jeep just as the sun is starting its fiery descent.

Twenty minutes of bouncing away from camp, away from a hot shower and food I think sadly. Then my gaze falls upon a distant field of blinking lanterns, which then lead up to a blazing bonfire. An open bar and an enormous communal dining table come into view.

Hemingway’s Africa

The entire Selinda Camp staff is there to prepare and enjoy our final dinner with us by candlelight. Wine is free-flowing and the stories from the day’s drive get bigger and more fantastical. Food is in abundance. Music and laughter fill the sky. The guides, staff, and tourists share one last meal together as a group.

The sun finally disappears behind a row of perfectly placed palm trees, and at that moment I decide I don’t want to go home.

Hemingway wrote, in his book The Green Hills of Africa, “All I wanted to do was get back to Africa. We had not left it yet, but when I would wake in the night I would lie, listening, homesick for it already.”

My emotions are captured to perfection. I am already missing the sounds of Africa, the hippos and lions in the distance, the cackle of a hyena, and the scurrying of small animals outside the tent. Going to sleep each night is the final act of an utterly fabulous show. In my tent, I imagine I was not the only one at camp who fought sleep, never wanting it to end.

April 30, 2020

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