I’m frequently asked two questions: Where’s your favourite place in the world? – and – Where would you go tomorrow if you could?

I loathe the first question. It is impossible to answer. There are too many incredible places on this magnificent planet of ours to narrow it down to just one destination. I like different places for different reasons and even then I’d find it hard to narrow a pick of places to just one, say, best beach or favourite city or country with the tastiest food, etc. I tend to answer in volumes of 10s or 20s; one is just never enough.

And so too my answer to the second question: I usually respond that I want to see every country in the world (yes, seriously). But of course, the interviewer will press for the ‘one’ that I’d go to tomorrow with a snap of my fingers if I could. Again I can only answer in multiple choice but here’s my wishlist of countries to conquer next when finger snapping becomes a bona fide means of transport:

Madagascar – This is somewhere I have wanted to go since I was a child (long before the movies of the same name). At the zoo, the strangest animals were always from one of two places: Australia or Madagascar. That’s when/where the country first capture my attention and imagination.

Azerbaijan – For the longest time I wanted to visit this country because I couldn’t for the life of me get my mouth around its tongue-twisting pronunciation (even now I’ve had to use spell-check to write it correctly). I figured that if I actually went to the country I would learn to pronounce it. (Proudly, I now can pronounce it properly but my interest remains.)

Mali – There’s few iconic places that I have yet to get to – the one’s made famous by postcards – but the Great Mud Mosque of Mali is one such place that when I’m finally standing in front of I’ll be pinching myself in disbelief. Timbuktu is also in Mali, another reason to go if only for the cocktail-party cockiness that can come from casually mentioning “I’ve been to Timbuktu and back.”

Mongolia – Genghis Khan, yurts (native tents), horses, that sense of otherworldly-ness. Need I say more?

Maldives – I want to sample white sand, turquoise sea & blue sky paradise before the rising sea claims it.

Sri Lanka – Because I loved India so much and grew up with a friend of my mother’s telling tales of her life there.

South Africa, Botswana, and Namibia – I see this as one trip to discover the beauty of Cape Town, the wonders of the Okavango Delta, and the mysteries of the Skeleton Coast. (If I could scuba dive with the Great Whites off the South African coast, well, that’d be pretty cool too!)

Eritrea – As already mentioned in my posting Fun with Airport Codes because I want to fly into Massawa airport to get a luggage label tag that matches my initials MSW.

Cuba – One word: Havanna.

Ukraine – To discover the land of my grandfather’s family.

Galapagos Islands – I’ve already been to Ecuador but never made it to the islands. Again this speaks to my love of the odd and the unusual – the strange variety of animals being the example here.

Ethopia – To discover the famed Rift Valley.

Bhutan – A mountainous country with ancient building clinging cliffside that I think would be the Shangri-la that I was looking for (and didn’t find) when I visited Tibet.

Poland – For the opportunity to honour history.

Philippines – I have always wanted to see the Banaue rice terraces that are rumoured to be over 2000 years old – the oldest in the world.

Oman – From afar I always thought the country looked like a cool Middle Eastern mystery. Very 1001 Arabian nights.

Rwanda/Uganda – To commune with wild gorillas.

Saudi Arabia – To get behind the closed doors of the country.

Papua New Guinea – Australia’s closest neighbour with a tribal society that is incredibly exotic in their various traditional costumes.

Iceland/Greenland – To sit on top of the world marvelling how people can live in such extremes while discovering the land (Iceland) of my other grandfather’s family and seeing if Greenland really is as big as it always appears on maps.

Not too mention all the places I would like to go back to! But that’s another list …

Where would YOU go tomorrow if you could?

It was more than 15 years ago that I first experienced Wreck Beach – a long recognised, well-established nudist beach in Vancouver – there’s even a book chronically the beach’s history.

A few months ago I returned for a second time to discover a more sophisticated beach – while still retaining its hippie heart – in it’s offerings of mixed drinks alongside a medieval fair of tents selling food, sarongs, massages and impromptu music. (Not too mention my swim with a seal!)

Nudism, I appreciate, is not for everyone. But that’s one of the first things that struck me about this inclusive beach on my first visit: that despite it being a nude beach you didn’t have to go naked, if you didn’t want to. Those patronising the beach were mix of ‘au natural’,  half-dressed and fully-covered in swimwear.

About the only thing that’s not excepted is to be fully dressed in street clothes. That’s just creepy.

All ages too were in attendance. I distinctly remember sitting next to a grandmother who was there with her granddaughter, and me thinking ‘how cool is that?!’  The range of ages gave the place an unparalleled sense of community.

The other distinctive memory I had from my first visit was how cool it was that the drink sellers wandering the beach were also naked except for their bum bag/change purse clipped around their waist. I don’t know why that struck me as odd. The alternative, had they been dressed, would likely have been odder.

Last month’s return was no less impressive.  In fact, it seemed the beach had grown substantially in popularity. Drink sellers were still there, still naked but for a change purse, but their menu was far more sophisticated than the beer and Cokes of yesteryear. Now it included mixed margaritas alongside gin & tonics made with brand labels like Bombay Sapphire.

The place had a lively circus feel to it.  A medieval fair even. With lean-to tents sent up along the back of the beach; their fabric walls billowing in the breeze. Here you could shop for food, sarongs, even step into a private enclosure for a massage.

For the most part people were naked. And I marveled how similar we all look without clothes. A revelation of sorts. “Despite our different sizes,” I thought, “we all have the same basic shape and it’s only clothes that draw attention to attributes – a bigger bust, a narrower waist – and accentuate our differences.”

There were a few clothed people on the beach – known locally as ‘textiles’ – and an even stranger addition: uniformed police patrolling, looking oddly out of place as they monitored alcohol consumption on the beach – which was illegal, and yet so blatantly indulged in. I found it confusing. But perhaps some questions are better not asked.

I played Frisbee with a friend, working up a sweat in order to bravely enter the chilly waters. (Sorry Vancouver, I’d love to say they were warm but bracing is the best I can offer.) Despite my whinging and the torture of slowly sloping sandy bottom, I did make it into the sea and was rewarded with a seal swimming within 5 metres of me. (I thought it was a dog at first and when I realised it was actually a seal  I couldn’t contain my excitement!)

The end to a perfect day? Almost! The cherry on the cake was the impromptu music/jam session we got caught up in before leaving the beach. Revellers were adding their instruments, their voices, or simply clapped to an impromptu beat and melody that was collectively contributed to and singularly enjoyed.

Ever since I can remember I have wanted to visit Churchill, Canada. It is the place to see polar bears. A couple of years ago, I was lucky enough to go:

An endearing little frontier settlement, sitting on the western edge of Hudson Bay in northern Manitoba, it is so remote it can only be reached by air or rail.

For six frenetic weeks each Autumn (October & November) tourists descend on the tiny town as the polar bears they’ve come to see start to congregate on the Bay’s shores.

While independent travel is possible most people sign up with companies like Frontiers North Adventures which offers a series of tours that mix and match the town’s attractions with a minimum of two days on the permanently frozen tundra. It is here the bears bide their time as they wait for the sea ice to form so they can go out and hunt seals following a summer of slim pickings.

Access to the tundra is via a Tundra Buggy – it’s hard to imagine a more awkwardly lurching vehicle. In fairness, it’s not necessarily the fault of the buggy as much as the tundra it needs to traverse. Essentially a big rectangular box on wheels (think classroom annex) with rows of seating for up to 40 people on either side of a broad centre aisle, lowerable windows, a gas heater complete with chimney, toilet, and balcony out the back for outdoor viewing. The massive truck-like tyres mean the buggies can climb over the rocky, wet and snow encrusted terrain but also provide a safe height that the bears can’t reach. But that doesn’t stop the inquisitive beasts from trying.

For the even more adventurous there is the Tundra Buggy Lodge. As its name suggests, the Lodge is in fact a series of specially outfitted buggies lined up like train carriages to form a lodge. Sleeping accommodation is also train style, with bunks on either side of a central hallway made private with curtains.

Stays on the Tundra Buggy Lodge can range from 2-5 nights. The clear advantage is that guests never have to leave the tundra to return to town accommodation and have the added bonus of being able to view the bears in their natural habitat whatever the time of day. The only downside: there’s no getting off the lodge for a walk about on the tundra. Despite their cuddly appearance, polar bears, particularly hungry ones, pose a serious threat to humans.

Spotting a polar bear in the wild for the first time, few can contain their excitement. It is often referred to as a life changing experience by those privileged few tourists. Even seasoned tour guides become animated with every new sighting as each polar bear exhibits a distinct personality. (Polar bears are thought to be as intelligent as apes.) Some sleep and seem blissfully unaware of the tourist intrusion, another might roll around on its back playing with its paws, while the lucky tourist will see two males sparing on their hind legs – a ritualised fighting that tests their strength as a warm-up to life on the ice after the long sedentary summer months.

Then there are the polar bears that need to satisfy their innate curiosity by leisurely ambling in their almost-clumsily plodding gait straight towards the Tundra Buggy. Rearing up on its hind legs, its paws placed against the buggy for support, it stares directly at you. It’s hard to look into the unfathomable black coal eyes full of curious intensity and not feel great responsibility for the choices we make and the influence we have over its habitat. It’s almost as if the Arctic King has personally requested you become his ambassador before he becomes the first casualty in a line of many affected by global warming.

(A silly little article with no offence intended to any of the destinations involved.)

So! I’ve decided that I need to fly into Massawa, Eritrea, Africa because its three lettered IATA airport code (MSW) matches my initials and I want the personalised luggage tags as the ultimate travel accessory that would accompany any flight there.

This got me thinking of alternative airport codes that might hold significance to others and after doing some digging I found the following:

For example, if your name is ABE get thee to Allentown, Pennsylvania. SAM? Chart a course for Salamo, Papua New Guinea. JIM? You might want to join me in Eritrea then pop next door to Jimma, Ethiopia. TOM? Prepare yourself for a trek to the fabled Tombouctou, Mali. Depending on whether you go by SID or SYD you’ll want to venture to Sal, Cape Verde, or Sydney, Australia respectively. Likewise if your name is ROB it might be a bit of a trek to get to Monrovia, Liberia, but if you go by BOB count yourself exceedingly lucky that you share your name with Bora Bora, Tahiti airport’s code – one of the most spectacular places on Earth.

Perhaps titles are more important to you than names and if so I suggest any MOM make haste to Moudjeria, Mauritania, whereas my MUM (and other British/Australian mothers) is better suited to fly to Mumias, Kenya. Likewise your DAD might appreciate a Father’s Day trip to Da Nang, Vietnam while your POP probably prefers Puerto Plata, Dominican Republic. And yo’ BRO? He might enjoy a trip to Brownsville, Texas, while your SIS might like Sishen, South Africa. Meanwhile, show your BUD you care with a trip to Budapest, Hungary, or spread the LUV by taking everyone to Langgur, Indonesia.

I’ve always said life is much easier if you just say YES to things. It would seem in Yasuj, Iran they agree. YEP, they think similarly in Estevan Point, Canada but are a bit more casual about committing. UMM, the same can’t be said about Summit, Alaska, where it would appear they’re a bit more indecisive.

I love that both Fortaleza, Brazil (FOR) and Port of Spain, Trinidad & Tobago (POS) have such affirmative attitudes, unfortunately the same can’t be said of Tromso, Norway where they don’t give a TOS, or Sioux City, Iowa where everything SUX. **

I happen to know firsthand that Dunedin, New Zealand is a beautiful town to visit, but you wouldn’t know it from their airport code (DUD).  By the way, does anyone know what’s got the people of Madrid (MAD) all worked up? Or what’s so BAD about Shreveport, Louisiana or ODD about Oodnadatta, South Australia?

RUN don’t walk to the picturesque Reunion Island; while they’d prefer you rest awhile in Sitka, Alaska. (SIT)

“What are you insinuating!?,” asked the portly passenger flying to Fresno, California when the airline representative attached the FAT luggage label to her bags. (Perhaps she’d made one too many trips to St. Petersburg, Florida (PIE) or worse yet was transiting through Fresno on her way to Butler, Missouri (BUM). Is a trip via Big Delta, Alaska (BIG) to Kearney, Nebraska (EAR) any less insulting?

And with airlines cutting back on meal service isn’t it a slap in the face to tag bags with EAT? That’ll be the case if you’re heading to Wenatchee, Washington, but presumably you’ve arrived at the airport with a full stomach if flying to Antlers, Oklahoma. No meal service? No problem. I already ATE.

While on the subject of food: If you’re a fan of FIG, then fly to Fria, Guinea. Hungry for HAM? (Or maybe you’re just a bit of a clown) head to Hamburg, Germany. Got a thing for GUM? Go to Guam in the South Pacific. Aching for ALE, Alpine, Texas is the place for you. A passion for PIE? Proceed to St Petersburg, Florida. Or perhaps as a food lover you’d rather succinctly state your affection by simply travelling to Yuma, Arizona. YUM.

On the silly side of things, it does seem a little redundant to attach an AIR luggage label, or SKY for that matter, to your baggage. Aren’t they givens? But that’s the case if you’re going to Aripuana, Brazil or Sandusky, Ohio respectively.

And while air travel can feel like a cattle train, don’t get confused when they tag your bags with BUS if you’re en route to Batumi, Georgia.

It also seems to be stating the incredibly obvious to label your bag with BAG (Baguio, Philippines). I mean DUH! (Lambertville, Michigan) Of course it’s a bag! Or as Homer Simpson would say DOH! (Doha, Qatar)

Speaking of expressions … the people of these places must be a particularly expressive bunch:

I’m thinking they’re a frightful lot in Bodo, Norway (BOO) and somewhat sheepish in Bahrain (BAH). I’m guessing there’s more than one mouse in the house in Eek, Alaska (EEK) and that things are chilly in North Bay, UK (BRR). Are they in pain in Ottawa, Canada? (YOW) And what?! What is it??! What’s everyone exclaiming about in Willow, Alaska. (WOW) Tell me please!

Not everything can be taken so literally tho. For example, I’m not sure there’s an APE to be found in San Juan Aposento, Peru nor a YAK in Yakutat, Alaska. It might be a safer guess to assume you’ll find a COW in Coquimbo, Chile, more than one CAT on Cat Island, Bahamas, and a DOG or two in Dongola, Sudan – not too mention at least one BUG in Benguela, Angola. But imagine the confusion (and identity crisis) if you were transporting any other animal to these destinations.

While on the subject of appropriate labels, could there be a better luggage tag for a holiday destination than Funafuti Atol, Tuvalu? (FUN) But then that begs the question: Are they truly happier in Gaya, India (GAY) or just better at coordinating textiles? By the way, I’m still trying to figure out who the joke is on in Gage, Oklahoma (GAG) – me or them?

Another mystery: As a misinformed child I was always led to believe that if I dug too deeply at the beach I’d end up in China? But in Diqing, China (DIG) where do they end up?

As acronyms go, here’s some FAQ I’m sure they get asked in Frieda River, Papua New Guinea:

Is Altamira, Brazil (ATM) a good place to do your banking?

Does Ile Ouen, New Caledonia (IOU) feel a debt of gratitude or are they just behind the eight ball?

Is there something they’re not telling us in Ciampino, Italy (CIA)?

Are people funnier in Lovelock, Nevada? (LOL) No? Then why are they laughing out loud all the time?

What’s so surprising about Omega, Namibia that’s got everyone exclaiming OMG?!

Are people in Anchorage, Alaska in a healthier head space than the rest of us? (MRI)

Are conditions cramped in Palmyra, Syria? (PMS) (Surely this something no woman wants advertised on her luggage!)

Is there some greater mystery to be solved in Okinawa, Japan (DNA)?

Do they text message a lot in Sainte Marie, Madagascar? (SMS)

Is Casino, Australia (CSI) a hotbed of crime? And in Miami, Florida (MIA) is it more than just bags that go missing?

Is there a higher prevalence of ill-tempered, bad-mannered males in Sármellék, Hungary (SOB)?

Finally, does anyone actually stop in Vienna, Austria (VIA) or do they just pass on through?

And while there seems a distinct lack of creativity in Longview, Texas (GGG) – perhaps there’s some underlying message in the following: That a trip to Rhode Island (UUU) is all about you; the people of Mont-Joli, Canada (YYY) obviously have a lot of questions; while those in Proserpine, Australia (PPP) obviously have to ‘go’ badly. Finally, is Anaa, French Polynesia’s airport code (AAA) akin to a five star rating? And if so, does that mean Benson, Minnesota, (BBB) and Cayo Coco, Cuba (CCC) took second and third place respectively? Sadly there’s no XXX. I’m guessing because you’d never get your bags through Customs.

Speaking of XXX (reader discretion advised) here’s a question: While there is a certain intrigue in saying you’re flying to SEX (Sembach, Germany), if you SIN (Singapore) is the next stop HEL (Helsinki, Finland)?

It’s bad enough to say you’re flying to FOK (Westhampton, NY) but worse I’m guessing if you transiting through FUK (Fukuoka, Japan) en route to OFF (Offut Air Force Base, Omaha) then you’re luggage tag would read ….

The French have a way of making everything sound refined, particularly in Poitiers, France (PIS), especially when compared to the direct approach of Perm, Russia (PEE) and well, a visit to Pocos De Caldas, Brazil (POO) – enough said.

Perhaps the least fortunate of all airport codes reside in Madagascar – a place oddly enough I have desperately wanted to go since I was a child. That said I might avoid the following airports. I mean who wants to be DOA in Doany, Madagascar? What kind of flight would that be? Similarly, where’s the holiday fun in going to Antsiranana, Madagascar and telling your friends that you’re excited because “I’m going to DIE.”

By the way, I’m off to Les Cayes, Haiti tomorrow. CYA.

** Click Here – for a great article from the LA Times on how Sioux City, Iowa is making the most of its airport code: SUX

No doubt I’ve missed some clever and funny airport codes. If you find any others, fire away!

Experience # 901

Travelling to the coldest, driest, windiest and least inhabited place in the world to gape at floating ice cubes is not everyone’s idea of a holiday. In fact, roughly only 10,000 privileged people a year have the passion to venture into this eternal winter wonderland, but for those who do the rewards are great.

There is a timelessness about Antarctica that humbles even the most jaded tourist. From snow-laden mountain peaks, century old glaciers, tinged a striking turquoise from eons of compressed snow, slowly descend to the sea. Calving junks of ice regularly break from the glaciers falling into the water with a thunderous, echoing crack. Icebergs smoothed and shaped into sculptures of art by the lapping ocean frequently turn upside down when, undermined by the currents below, they become top heavy. Rotating in slow motion, cascades of seawater roll off their sides, before the berg slowly settles into a new position to reveal yet another aspect of nature’s craftsmanship. Uninterrupted by man, nature has been staging these spectacles without an audience for centuries.

Wildlife is abundant. Twice daily trips to the shore reveal penguin colonies numbering in the thousands – blanketing entire hillsides. Simply standing on the ship’s deck guarantees sightings of seals lounging on ice flows, penguins porpoising through the waters, and whales flipping their flukes to the sky before descending the depths in search of krill.

In Antarctica the silence is deafening; the absence of noise almost haunting. It is cold, isolated and untouched. And as many passengers comment it is hard to believe that they are actually here.

But they are.

Antarctica is still the coolest place on Earth to visit.

No longer the exclusive domain of researchers and scientists, Antarctica has become the playground of a new breed of tourist – the adventurer. For some it is a spiritual journey as much as a physical one for others it is simply the satisfaction of stepping foot on their seventh continent but whatever the reason Antarctica does not disappoint.

In fact the journey to Antarctica is half the battle. Passengers’ resolve to reach the last continent is tested almost immediately as the ship leaves Argentina’s Ushuaia to cross the notoriously rough waters of the Drake Passage where the Atlantic, the Pacific and the Southern Ocean meet.

Crossing the Drake takes two sea-tossed days, during which the ship is noticeably empty as passengers either brace cold winds on deck, seeking fresh air to stave off sea sickness, or find greater comfort sleeping through the illness in their cabin.

Arriving in Antarctica, the Drake is quickly forgotten by even the sickest, as at every turn the continent endeavors to impress.

Our first landing is no exception. Arriving on a pebbled beach populated by Gentoo penguins we are encouraged to sit quietly amongst them. Knowing no land-bound predators, least of all humans, the curious penguins pensively approach. The moment is magical when an inquisitive bird finally pecks at my extended hand trying to ascertain what exactly I might be. Humans are not regular visitors to his home so he remains confounded. But it is then that I clearly realise how otherworldly Antarctica really is and how privileged I am to be here.

Photographic opportunities such as the pecking penguins abound and make staying inside difficult despite the cold summer temperatures of -5 to -10degrees Celsius.

In fact, many passengers often live on deck to ensure they don’t miss anything that Antarctica has to offer, while others are content to watch the continent pass by through the panoramic windows of the ship’s bridge in climate controlled comfort.

After 10 days at sea passengers have rolls of finished film for developing, a kaleidoscope of memories moving within their minds, and a steady set of sea legs. All are glowing from their Antarctic experience. Many talk about having caught the polar virus. An addiction that can’t be explained, it has most passengers already thinking about when they will be able to return.

Experience #924  

Walking along the statue strewn slopes of Easter Island’s extinct volcano Rano Raraku is a magical, almost spiritual experience. Essentially the main quarry and workshop for the island’s famed statues, it is here the volcanic rock was carved into life by the Polynesian islanders. What remains today is an empty studio of enigmatic statues in various states of progress, almost as if someone blew the quitting time whistle and none of the workers ever returned to complete their sculptures.

The feeling of walking amongst the hundreds of heads littering the mountainside is slightly eerie. Isolating even. Statues stand at various angles: some bear down on you as they lean precariously forward while others are content to watch you pass by as they rest against the hillside. Others stand tall while some, still struggling to escape earth’s grasp, are buried up to their ears barely managing to poke their distinctive noses above the ground.

Inside the volcano’s caldron more statues perch. Each looking like a sleeping giant who could at any moment, break free from the mountainside and come to life. It’s a magical electricity which is only rivaled by the mystic blocks of Stonehenge, particularly as the setting sun casts elongated shadows against the rich, green volcanic slope.

A tiny speck of land concealed by the vast Pacific, the first thing I noticed after arriving in Rapa Nui is the island’s remoteness. With its nearest neighbour, Pitcairn Island, more than 1900km away and Chile, its parent country, a long five hour flight across the Pacific, its hard to imagine a more isolated but more rewarding tourist destination.

The island is small and easily traversed by jeep in a day.  In fact, all of Easter Island’s sights can be covered in a compact two days or an easy three. Its triangular shape is the result of converging lava flows from the island’s three extinct volcanoes and it is this fiery heritage that confers the island’s vibrant colours: iron-rich ochre soils supporting fields of crisp, green grass on which wander wild horses under a perfect Pacific blue sky.

Paradise? Possibly. But rough and ready Easter Island offers more than South Pacific appeals. It is shrouded in mystery with riddles waiting to be unraveled by would-be anthropologists.

Sculpted from the same volcanic rock that created the island itself, the resident statues or maoi for which the island is renowned, have origins that have never quite been confirmed.

Thought to be Polynesian burial markers or perhaps even ancestral images, questions remain to this day on how the impressive 10 metre stone sculptures were transferred from inland quarry to coast. Once at the sea’s edge, they were erected on stone platforms or ahu, their backs mysteriously to the sea, to stand as silent sentinels over their island.

Sadly, the coastal statues did not stand the test of time as a tour round the island’s shore shows. Tidal waves have knocked a number of the statues from their pedestals; many have quite literally fallen flat on their faces. Others have not weathered well, their porous stone worn and pockmarked, often rendering them beyond recognition and simply another rock.

Thankfully, preservation agencies and interested countries have come to the statues’ aid, repairing and re-erecting them on their platforms. But in some cases, as in one Japanese rebuilt site, the re-erected statues lined in a perfect row come to look almost sterile. The magical electricity is lost.

Top Tip: Rent a jeep to tour the rugged roads or tour the island via horseback.

Where: Easter Island

How to get there: Map

To do or not to do? There is no question!: Easter Island may be in your future travel plans (I certainly hope it is!) but closer to home there’s every opportunity to delve into your local history. Every town has a mystery or two to discover, what’s yours?

Other mysterious places worth exploring:

In South America: Macchu Pichu

In the Pacific: Nan Madol

Internationally: Angor Wat

Where’s your favourite spine-tingling place? Where some deeper, possibly mysterious, meaning shrouds the place.