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BARGING THROUGH 800 YEARS OF HISTORY By Contributing Editor Roger Weatherburn-Baker We are in the region of Champagne in northeast France at Hautvilliers the birthplace of Dom Perignon, the Benedictine monk and abbey cellarmaster whose name is forever synonymous with the sparkling bubbly shipped from here across the globe. Looking at the seemingly endless rows of vines parading in neat regimental file through the valleys and over the hills here, its hard to imagine death and destruction once raged across this verdant landscape. Armored knights from the kingdoms of England and France clashed across these fields in the 15th century during the Hundred Years War. A reminder of these events is the magnificent, 800-year-old cathedral of Notre-Dame de Reims, a triumph of vaulted Gothic architecture where 33 kings of France have been crowned.  Captured by the English during the century-long war it was famously retaken in 1429 by troops led by Jeanne d’Arc whose coronation of Charles VII here was her crowning achievement and a turning point in the war. Battle of Belleau Wood In more recent times, one of the most important engagements in U.S. Marine Corps history that continues to have significant impact on military culture today, occurred in this same countryside. It was the pivotal World War I Battle of Belleau Wood in June 1918. That summer, a German invasion force had rolled across northern France to reach Chateau-Thierry near the River Marne, a scant 59 miles from the nation’s capital. French and allied forces fought desperately to hold back the German advance but on June 1 the Germans punched through the allied defensive line. In response, an American Marine battalion forced marched six miles through the night to plug the gap, which they achieved as dawn rose on June 2. By evening, the U.S. forces held a 12-mile front across the fields and the Germans had suffered serious losses. They had retreated to become heavily entrenched in thick trees on high ground known as Belleau Wood overlooking the river valley. On June 6, the Marines advanced toward the German position racing with bayonets fixed through waist-high wheat fields to be mercilessly mowed down by withering fire from German machine-gun nests hidden among the tree line above. The casualties sustained that day were the highest in Marine Corps history but they achieved a foothold in the woods. In the ensuing days, the Marines attacked a further six times during what became the first large-scale battle fought by American soldiers in World War I.  They suffered over 9,000 casualties but their ferocious determination earned the respect of the enemy who famously nicknamed them the Devil Dogs, after the vicious hounds of German folklore. For many Marines, Belleau Wood is hallowed ground, considered the birthplace of their famed esprit de corps. Many still travel here today to salute their heroic fallen comrades and drink the water from a nearby spring, which folklore says assures them another ten years of life. La Nouvelle Etoille Aside from these historic sites, this lush and bountiful countryside is, of course, famous for producing the wine popped open at almost every celebratory occasion around the world. It’s said that one vine here equals one bottle of champagne. In 2022, about 16,000 growers produced a total of 325 million bottles of champagne. This summer, we were fortunate to sail through this historic and fertile landscape being pampered with gourmet meals of local delicacies paired with local wines in the comfort of a 129-foot long, 17 foot wide river barge. Converted from a heavy-duty transporter to a hotel ship 20 years ago, La Nouvelle Etoille is indeed a new star on the River Marne boasting WiFi, air conditioning, four en suite guest rooms, an elevator between decks, a hot tub on the foredeck, a spacious well-stocked saloon complete with piano, and a dining room beautifully laid nightly with Wedgewood porcelain and Christolfe silver. But what makes a lazy summer cruise on this ship truly incomparable is the genial husband-and-wife owner/hosts Bill and Lisa Desmond supported by a veteran team that made the boat, the catering and the excursions flow seamlessly. Their crew includes a captain, a driver/guide, a superb chef, and a pair of delightful bilingual hostesses who do everything from serving evening cocktails to making the beds. View Full Gallery » River Marne We were four couples collected from our hotels and driven 90 minutes in a Mercedes Sprinter northeast of Paris to the ancient village of Epernay, the de facto center of the champagne industry. Here on a tranquil stretch of the River Marne is where we were to begin our cruise. Here too is the famed Avenue de Champagne, a street flanked on both sides by elegant chateaux emblazoned with so many of the world’s best-known champagnes it reads like the carte des vines at Maxim’s Paris. We were plunged straight into the spirit of things with a private tasting in Moët et Chandon’s boardroom and a tour of their extensive network of underground wine cellars founded by Claude Moët in 1743. Napoleon was so impressed with Monsieur Moët’s magic elixir he awarded him the Legion d’honneur. Today, Moët et Chandon, now routinely consumed by royal families around the world, is the world’s best-selling champagne. Queen of Cheeses It may not be so well known that this Isle de France region between the rivers Seine and Marne is also known as the birthplace of the Queen of Cheeses, the mouth-watering soft and delightfully creamy cheese known as Brie, first created by monks around Meaux in the 7th century. Here, we enjoyed another private tour of a spotless production plant, this time watching huge wheels of Brie soften almost as quickly as our will to resist. I thought a mid-summer cruise on the River Marne through hillsides of slumbering vines, would mean kicking back in a deckchair with a good book while a hazy world of sunflowers and dragonflies drifted by to the sound of gentle lapping in the shallows. Well, it did mean

IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF SAINTS AND SINNERSrlatives Published under the headline “Heavenly Hills” in Naples Illustrated. Published: February 2003 Two and a half hours drive northeast of Rome are the magnificent hilltop towns of Umbria.  Towns that offer sweeping views across red roofs to rich fertile valleys, accommodations that can be as grand as a Renaissance palace, and superb cuisine, regional breads, cheeses and wine.  But for lovers of history and art these towns are particularly irresistible.  They seem as textured and richly colored as a medieval tapestry. Texture is provided by crooked cobblestone streets and twisting stone-cut passageways; monolithic monasteries; craggy, crenellated castles; feudal fortresses and papal palaces perched on hillsides. Color comes from a palette of red, white and pink flowers in terracotta pots; pale shrouds of morning mists; green and slender cypress trees; butter-yellow sunflowers and groves of lavender-gray olive trees. Into this backdrop has been woven a rich pageant of historical figures and events that have shaped some the most influential movements of art, history and religion of the western world.  Saints and sinners, popes and philosophers, artists and artisans once walked these towns and left a mark still tangible centuries later. A step into an ancient alleyway in Umbria is like stepping into a living history book lavishly illustrated with colorful scenes from a bygone age.  Here, are spacious courtyards entered through iron-studded doors that once opened to lords on horseback returning from a hunt.  Here, are elaborately decorated gilded halls, where rich and powerful burghers once pondered treaties and alliances. Here, are frescoed churches, monasteries and convents where followers of saints born more than seven centuries ago still kneel in silent prayer.  Here, are long-ago carved public fountains and monumental sculptures of past heroes.  And here are flag-decked market squares where the townsfolk still gather to buy and sell, relax and gossip. Of course, there is much evidence of the modern world too: tangled traffic, hissing buses, speeding scooters, crowded car parks and cafes, and fashion-conscious, female cops in mini-skirts and stiletto heels.  But what distinguishes these towns from many others is that the realities of today seem little more than a daily intrusion on a way of life that has remained largely unchanged for centuries.  Umbrians live in the same houses, walk the same alleyways and even go about the same business as many of their ancestors did. They actually live with the glory of their past.  It’s not in the halls of a museum but all around them. Furthermore, while Umbrian towns cannot match the wealth of treasures found in Florence or Rome, most are easy to explore in their entirety in a morning or afternoon, they are relatively short distances apart and there are no interminable lines at their major attractions. But there is one drawback.  These are hilltop towns and their centers are often right at the top.  Getting up there by car can be tough, not for Italians but for visitors.  The locals barrel around the steep and narrow curves with high-speed gusto.  When they reach the top they breeze confidently through the tangled cobweb of one-way streets, then appear to think nothing of abandoning their cars in a doorway, on a blind bend or on some impossibly small patch of sidewalk.  The less experienced need a crash course in hairpin bend navigation and a class in opportune parking is mandatory.  Fortunately, most authorities provide plenty of parking on the lower slopes of the hills.  But visitors have to walk up from there. There are towns whose hilltop splendors can be reached only by steep climbs up cobbled inclines that seem never-ending.  These can leave all but the fit in roughly the same state of quivering collapse as a stiff thirty-minute workout on a Stairmaster.  But there are others that have thoughtfully installed tourist-friendly escalators or cable-car funicular.  However the visitor ascends, the climb is always worth it.  The views are magnificent and the sights are many. Some of the brightest star attractions of Umbria are found in Orvieto, Deruta, Perugia, Gubbio, Assisi and Spoleto that form a rough circle around Todi, a convenient center for touring the region.  They each have compelling reasons to visit, but a brief look here at a few sets the tone for them all because but much of the history of these towns in terms of commerce, art, architecture and culture is interwoven. Place of Pilgrimage At one point or another in history, most of these towns were feuding about something with someone, a fact partially responsible for their inclination to protect themselves by perching on top of largely inaccessible mountaintops.  But, during the Middle Ages, feuding was particularly endemic often erupting into full-scale battles. Captured during one such battle was a young man born in Assisi into the family of a wealthy Umbrian merchant.  Following his release from prison, he gave all he had to the poor, looked after the sick, led a humble, exemplary life and founded a movement that became a global phenomenon.   He is known today as St. Francis of Assisi, and his final resting place is one of the most important pilgrimage sites in the western world. Two years after the death of the saint in 1226, construction began in Assisi on the Basilica di San Francesco, which today ranks behind only the Collosseum in Rome, the ruins of Pompeii and the canals of Venice as Italy’s top attraction. Approached through the Spoletine Valley, the pink and pale-gray stone village of Assisi fills the skyline perched on a flat shelf in the side of a mountain that looms massively ahead. Easily dominating one end of the village, the basilica and the huge convent below it rise grandly out of the rock inspiring awe even from a distance. Once through the Roman arch that still marks the entrance to the village, there are many treasures to see but most streets seem to lead to the two-story basilica, a deceptively simple structure on the outside but gorgeously embellished on the inside

South America – A Land of Superlatives It seemed we were never far from the snow-capped Andes.  The highest mountains outside Asia, they gloriously dominate the landscape standing tall in crisp black-and-white livery outlined against a brilliant blue sky.  Whether we were bumping along a rutted tractor path through the endless vineyards of Mendoza, or watching a gaucho ride off across the grasslands to work herds of cattle, the jagged backdrop of the majestic mountains was always there reminding us of exactly where we were, Argentina. The first impression of Argentina is size.  South America sprawls across almost 18,000 square kilometers, most of which is in the southern hemisphere and almost half of which is occupied by Brazil.  Next down in size is Argentina, on the southeastern coast, the eighth largest country in the world. Widest river in the world We began our journey in Buenos Aires the nation’s cosmopolitan capital, situated on the western shore of the Rio de la Plata, the widest river in the world.  Reaching a maximum width of an unbelievable 140 miles, this watery highway is so wide, it’s impossible to see the other shore most of the time. In keeping with this huge scale of things, the nation’s capital is a city of monumental buildings, tree-lined streets, immense public squares, and broad, multi-lane boulevards, all reminiscent of an oversized Paris. The oldest public square in the city is the Plaza de Mayo, the historic beating heart of the metropolis that has been at the center of many of the milestone events in the city’s history. Mass, speeches, protests and song Around the square are several important buildings including the Metropolitan Cathedral where Pope Francis held mass for 20 years and the Casa Rosada, seat of the national government.  The square has long been the focal point for public gatherings, either in support of or to protest against successive governments, a tradition that reached its apex with the monster crowds that came to hear Eva “Evita” Peron speak from the balcony of the Casa Rosada in the 1940s. The sophisticated city’s opera house, the magnificent Teatro Colón, is also something of impressive proportions.  The horseshoe-shaped auditorium has 2,500 seats, which is more than London’s Covent Garden, plus standing room for 1,000 more, and six floors above ground and three floors below it.  Many of the world’s greatest superstars have performed here including Luciano Pavarotti who was one among many to claim the theater’s stunning acoustics place it among the top five classical music venues in the world.   Birthplace of the tango Superlatives touch almost every aspect of life in Argentina including dance, of course.  Buenos Aires is the birthplace of the tango, one of the most popular dances in the world.  The mesmerizingly seductive partner-dance is synonymous with Argentina where the steamy dance evolved in the late 1800s in dance halls and brothels in the low-class port districts along the Rio de la Plata.  It roared onto the international dance scene in the 1920s. Here in the nation’s capital you can see some of the finest professional tango dancers in the world performing electrifyingly sensational dance moves seldom seen anywhere else, and hear musicians who have raised music and song accompaniment to an art form.  An exceptional evening of such entertainment can be had at Gala Tango, one of the most famous and long-running shows in town. Gauchos on the Pampas When we think of Argentina we also tend to think of exceptional beef and the legendary horsemen known as gauchos who corral great herds of cattle on the vast grasslands known as the Pampas.  They’re first mentioned by name in the 18th century records of the Spanish colonial authorities who considered them “the dregs of the Rio de la Plata,” no more than “outlaws, cattle thieves, robbers, and smugglers.” Today, gauchos, still traditionally dressed in distinctive flat berets draped across their heads, knotted scarves at their necks, and knives stuck in belts or in a leather holster at their side, are hard-working cowboys often leading a rugged outdoor life on horseback in all kinds of extreme weather.  They can be seen patrolling the herds of cattle roaming the rich grasslands that cover five provinces of South America, all of Uruguay and the southernmost state of Brazil, a total expanse of 460,000 square miles. There are many ways to experience life on an authentic estancia (ranch), watch gauchos demonstrate their exceptional horsemanship and wrangling skills, try horseback riding for yourself, or a typical Argentine barbecue cooked over an open pit. You can find helpful resources online like www.gauchoexperience.com. The first vineyard No mention of Argentina could pass without raising a glass to its historic viniculture going back almost 500 years. During the Spanish colonization of the Americas, wine cuttings were brought first to Santiago del Estero in northern Argentina in 1557.  The first recorded commercial vineyard was established there by Jesuit missionaries, followed by an expansion of vineyard plantings into Mendoza three years later.  During this time, the missionaries began construction of complex irrigation channels and dams that brought rich, mineral-laden water down from the melting glaciers of the Andes to sustain the vineyards, as they still do.  Argentina today is the fifth largest wine producer in the world with the province of Mendoza producing more than 60% of the country’s output. One of the best places to stay in Mendoza and take a wine-tasting tour from is the Cavas Wine Lodge situated in the foothills of the breathtaking Andes surrounded by vineyards. This luxury resort boasts individual retreats among the vines, with each romantic hideaway featuring a private plunge pool, a whirlpool spa, open fireplaces, a spacious double shower, and an upper-floor terrace with panoramic views of spectacular sunsets over the mountains enjoyed fireside with a glass of Malbec. The sport of Princes and Kings Of course, the country has many other well-known attractions. Argentina is credited globally as the capital of polo, the world’s oldest known team sport, which has been played here since 1875. 

A South America Adventure – 2022 A South America Adventure 2022To View the PDF of the adventure! Click here to view pdf In addition to being a record of a memorable journey for us, this book is for our good friend Argentinian-born Livio Ferrari, who served as a superb facilitator and guide throughout our three-country tour.

CARIBBEAN COOL AT CHIC LA SAMANNA Playground of the Rich and Famous La Samanna is a Caribbean luxury resort on the half-French, half-Dutch island of St. Martin (Sint Maarten) perched above a two-mile stretch of gorgeous deep-sand beach fringing the azure waters of the Caribbean. When Rochester Iron & Metal CEO James Frankel first set eyes on its 55-acre site more than 50 years ago, he bought it immediately, planning to build a vacation home there for his family and friends. Apparently, he didn’t realize until the deed was done the site was zoned for commercial use only. But, undeterred, he went on with his plans, creating a hotel instead. He and his wife Nicole named it after their three children Samantha, Anouk and Nathalie, combining the first letters of their names and adding the French prefix La. First Spotted by ColumbusThe island was first sighted by Christopher Columbus on St. Martin’s Day 1493, causing him to name it Isla de San Martín. However, although he claimed it as a Spanish territory, he never landed on its shores and Spain never considered settlement of it a high priority. On the other hand, the French and the Dutch both coveted the island for colonization and trade. They contested possession of it for almost 200 years, seizing bits of territory back and forth, until a treaty was signed in 1648, agreeing the northern half of the island would be administered by the Dutch and the southern by the French, as it is today. In modern times, the dual-nationality island has become a popular vacation destination and a favored stop for multiple cruise ships since it was declared a duty-free port in 1939. In 1996, Orient Express Hotels (now Belmond), owner of some of the most legendary properties in the world, acquired La Samanna and launched a top-to-bottom renovation program that left it as soothingly refreshing as a tropical breeze. First Spotted by ColumbusThe island was first sighted by Christopher Columbus on St. Martin’s Day 1493, causing him to name it Isla de San Martín. However, although he claimed it as a Spanish territory, he never landed on its shores and Spain never considered settlement of it a high priority. On the other hand, the French and the Dutch both coveted the island for colonization and trade. They contested possession of it for almost 200 years, seizing bits of territory back and forth, until a treaty was signed in 1648, agreeing the northern half of the island would be administered by the Dutch and the southern by the French, as it is today. In modern times, the dual-nationality island has become a popular vacation destination and a favored stop for multiple cruise ships since it was declared a duty-free port in 1939. In 1996, Orient Express Hotels (now Belmond), owner of some of the most legendary properties in the world, acquired La Samanna and launched a top-to-bottom renovation program that left it as soothingly refreshing as a tropical breeze. Recovery from Hurricane IrmaUnhappily, Hurricane Irma devastated the island in 2017 blasting it for eight hours with sustained winds of over 180 mph. More than 90 percent of the buildings were damaged and a third completely destroyed. After that disaster, La Samanna underwent a stunning $20 million refurbishment placed in the hands of Belmond’s trusted London-based design consultants Muza Lab whose many other triumphs include the Belmond Copacabana, the Mount Nelson in Cape Town, and Alpina in Gstaad. Today, La Samanna provides all you would expect from an über-chic hotel and much more besides, including VIP fast-track progress of you and your baggage through the crowded, slow-moving arrivals hall, and a special fast-exit service through customs on your way home, a real boon in the Covid era. La Samanna also offers a romantic candlelit dinner-for-two on the beach, champagne sunset cruises, helicopter rides, a two-hour snorkel cruise to the nature reserve of Creole Rock, or an ‘Escape to Tintamarre’ – an exhilarating pre-dawn boat ride to an uninhabited island where you can snorkel with rare hawksbill turtles in unparalleled beauty. Duty Free PortOf course, there’s always the option of duty-free shopping, especially for watches and jewelry in the Dutch-side capital of Philipsburg. But this is where the docks are. Avoid mid-week when multiple cruise ships unload thousands of passengers on the same day. A gallery on the hotel grounds doubles as a studio for the artist Sir Roland Richardson, an eccentric, multigenerational islander knighted in 2007 by Queen Beatrix of the Netherlands. Known as the father of Caribbean impressionism, his famous works feature the ruby red tropical flamboyant tree, turquoise seascapes, lush mountains, orange mangoes and pastel-hued skies. Celebrity HauntThe pioneer of Caribbean cool, La Samanna still channels all the glamour of the days when the likes of Jackie Onassis, Robert Redford, and David Bowie graced its halls. Countless other stellar guests have followed in their footsteps, includingVersace, Dionne Warwick and CNN’s Anderson Cooper.Glamorous and cosmopolitan, this is a resort to see and be seen. La Samanna has two pools (one heated), three tennis courts, three restaurants, four beach cabanas and a spa. Striped parasols and elegant loungers create a chic ambience while the super friendly and attentive staff sport pink shorts with blue-and-white shirts. A trio of boutiques sell cosmetics, resort wear and beach essentials. All the guest rooms are ocean-facing, but the cottages and villas provide an extra level of privacy and space. Some VIPs request one of the eight clifftop, three- or four- bedroom villas each with a butler, a private infinity pool, and spectacular views, especially at sunset. All rooms in the clifftop main building also face magnificent views but the most requested rooms are any of the beachfront rooms A through E situated directly on the sand, just steps from the dazzling sea. Room rates depend on location and season but as a general guide a deluxe ocean view suite can run around $1,450, a one-bedroom beach front suite $2,350, while a clifftop villa with private pool and

HIDDEN GOLD IN ANCIENT GREECE It was an unexpected find. A vineyard producing world-class wines in the Western Peloponnese of Greece on the plateau of the Ichthis peninsula. It was August. We were visiting Olympia, the UNESCO World Heritage site that’s the birthplace of the Olympics. During the ancient games, athletes smothered their naked bodies with mud to protect themselves from the effects of the broiling summer sun. We opted for a wine-tasting at the Mercouri Estate, 32 kms away. We drove into the courtyard of a lovely 150-year old Italianate mansion surrounded by tall rows of dark green vines. A tasting had just begun. We joined the group sitting around weathered wooden tables in the shade of spreading umbrella pines. The Gulf of Corinth glimmered below a ridge just a few yards away. It was a perfect setting. But I left the group to be introduced to Vasilis Kanellakopoulos, Managing Director and the fourth-generation family member to manage the estate. Theodoros Mercouri bought the land here in 1864, planting the first vineyard with Refosco grapes imported from northern Italy. By the end of the 19th century, wine from the estate was being exported all over Europe. Small seacraft landed at the private dock next to the estate, swung the oak barrels of wine on board and sailed off to Trieste. In 1930, grand-daughter Leonidas Mercouri laid the foundations of a more modern wine production facility with underground cellar storage for 300 tonnes of wine. The old lady is still alive and resides in the mansion on the grounds. But for the last 20 years, its been the third and fourth generations turn in the barrel and they’ve done even better. The estate now owns several plantations covering a total of 50 acres. It grows more than 15 varieties of grape of both Greek and international origin. Their wines are shipped all over the world. And they’re now achieving international recognition. Their flagship is Mercouri Estate, a dry red with an annual production of about 80,000 bottles. But its their small batch whites that have caused taste buds to quiver. Their 40,000 bottle dry white Foloi brand pressed from grapes in Pisatis has been winning recognition at the annual Concours International du Vin for the last five years. This August the 2008 vintage received a Four Star rating from the UK’s prestigious Decanter magazine. But their Kallisto brand from vineyards in Ilia is the new super star. It’s “citrus and freshly grated lemon aromas with the scent of pear in the aftertaste” is a winner. The 2008 first and only vintage so far had just received rave reviews, top accolades and a cork-popping Decanter Five Star rating. Unfortunately, only 2,800 bottles were produced and they were almost all gone. Vasilis is Greek, meaning he’s a warm, gregarious, fun-loving family man who enjoys earning a living from the land he loves. He generously sold me one of his last 12 bottles of Kallisto for seven Euros ($10). I rejoined the group outside feeling like an ancient athlete. I’d journeyed from far across the sea to Olympia, and the gods had smiled on me. I was returning in triumph with a rare and precious prize. The US distributor of Mercouri wines is Athenee Importers and Distributors Ltd. Tel: (516) 505-4800. Email: andrea@atheneeimporters.com  

lost city of the incas First published in 2018 in The Log Magazine of the international Circumnavigators Club Machu Picchu is a pre-Columbian Inca site located almost 8,000 feet above the Urubamba River valley about 50 miles northwest of the city of Cusco, Peru. Often referred to as “The Lost City of the Incas,” it was unknown to the outside world until 1911 when the American historian, politician, and explorer Hiram Bingham rediscovered it and brought it to international attention It was declared a Peruvian Historical Sanctuary in 1981, a UNESCO World Heritage site in 1983, and in 2007, Machu Picchu was voted one of the New Seven Wonders of the World. The site was once a royal estate, part of an Inca Empire so vast an extensive network of roads and trails connected it covering almost 25,000 miles across what are six countries today. Of course, much of it has long since disappeared, but part of an original Inca Trail still climbs through the mountains to Machu Picchu. Despite its remote location amid impassable mountains, the famed site receives almost 1.5 million visitors a year. Today, there are two ways to get there. You can obtain a permit and scramble along the original high altitude, energy-sapping mountain trail, and arrive four days later; or go by train, relax with a cocktail and arrive soon after lunch. We took the train. But calling it a mere train is almost an insult. This one is named the Hiram Bingham, and it’s as legendary as the great explorer it’s named after. It’s owned by Belmond, the company operating 48 iconic hotels, trains and river cruises around the world including the glamorous Venice-Simplon Orient Express. Like that European classic, the Hiram Bingham’s 1920s Pullman-style carriages of highly polished wood, gleaming brass, fine fabrics, and antique fittings effortlessly evoke the style and elegance of the bygone golden age of travel. Freshly washed and scrubbed, the Hiram Bingham’s royal blue and gold livery gleams brightly in the morning sun as it waits for our departure. Hawkers in traditional Peruvian clothing toting colorful, hand-woven bags hustle passengers from all over the world. A Perurail guard standing on the platform reads a clipboard and assigns seats. Once on board, some head for the bar, others gaze out of the antique observation car to watch poplar-dotted plains, terraced slopes and distant snow-capped mountains slowly recede behind us. By the time the stately lunch is served, we’re rumbling along the Urubamba River valley past rocky escarpments and tumbling landslides. We catch a glimpse above of trekkers and their local porters on the edge of a perilous mountain footpath braving the hazards of the Inca Trail and its sometimes ferocious, man-devouring mosquitos. Three hours and 20 minutes later, we arrive at Aguas Calientes, a ram shuttle community on the banks of the Urubamba in a deep gorge at the foot of the mountains. Somewhere above was Machu Picchu, which novelist Erica Jong described as “hovering between earth and sky balanced on a ledge of cloud.” We squinted up at the massive peaks draped in dense jungle undergrowth but could see no sign of our final destination, a fact that kept it known only to a relative few for almost 500 years There’s an edgy gold rush feel about Aguas Calientes. It has a large and assorted itinerant population, mostly peddling cheap goods at high prices. There are a few small restaurants and hostels, plenty of bustling tourists, hikers and campers, and dusty buses leaving for the citadel every few minutes. Such a shuttle takes Hiram Bingham passengers on the last leg of the journey up a steep and narrow, unpaved road, slowly switchbacking higher and higher into the thin air. At the top, we check into the 31-room Machu Picchu Sanctuary Lodge, conveniently also owned by Belmond. There are several reasons we decided to stay here. It’s the only hotel on the mountaintop. It’s immediately outside the sanctuary entrance less than 50 yards from the gates. It literally overlooks the site, allowing guests to experience both the tranquility of sundown long after other visitors have gone, and the peaceful serenity of dawn. In the morning, you’re among the first to enter the sacred site. Once through the entrance, there’s a short climb up a staircase and a brief walk along a stone path. Then you step through an arch and out into the open for a stunning panoramic view of what must be the most breathtaking ruins in the world. The Hiram Bingham leaves Cusco Monday through Saturday. A round-trip ticket costs about $400 and includes a welcome cocktail, gourmet lunch, an observation car and entertainment. Belmond also operates the Andean Explorer for more extensive travel in Peru.

TALE OF THE DRAGON It was in China that I suffered what I thought was a stroke.  That was frightening enough, but where we were made it even more disturbing. We were stranded overnight in an unknown all-Chinese hotel not of our choice and we were the only Westerners we’d seen for hours. Paula and I were on our way to visit the Li River Valley, the spectacular UNESCO World Heritage site on the southwestern edge of China.  We’d set off that morning from Lijiang, an ancient Chinese town with 800-year old bridges and waterways in the northwest of Yunnan Provence. We were intending to change planes in Kunming, the capital of Yunnan, for a final flight 473 miles south to Guilin situated on the west bank of the fabled river valley. We were able to land in Kunming without a problem but going any farther was not on.  A typhoon had slashed across Kunming the previous night flooding the airport buildings.  When we arrived, we had to scamper over planks across the waterlogged terminal to get to higher ground.  All outgoing flights were cancelled. We were going no farther. Outside the terminal, all was chaos, noise, confusion, milling crowds and clogged traffic, and it was still raining. A Chinaman in a uniform we didn’t recognize, pushed through the crowd toward us. He held a clipboard of names and said something we didn’t understand but indicated a bus with a gesture that we did.  We got on.  Everyone on board appeared to be Chinese. We had no idea where we were going or who we were going with, but we went anyway, leaving our luggage in the hands of the gods. We weren’t too worried.  Although the bus had no recognizable markings, we guessed it had been organized by our airline. They were shipping us off somewhere until we were able to fly out, our luggage would eventually join us, and all would be fine in the morning. What we didn’t know was it would be two more days before we’d finally get out of town. We arrived at a nearby hotel, which looked more tired than we were, where someone spoke a little English and we learned the facts. Up in our room, we relaxed.  I slumped back on the bed, when suddenly my body was gripped with pain and I couldn’t move. I was paralyzed, only able to lift my head off the pillow.  Paula hovered, then frantically ran down to the front desk to seek help. I was left starring up at the ceiling with all kinds of thoughts bumping into each other wreaking havoc inside my head. I thought about weird oriental remedies I’d heard about and the ancient, needle-based pseudoscience of acupuncture.  I wondered if someone would soon burst into the room armed with a quiver of pins, juggling birds’ nest soup and two turtle eggs. I’d seen medical treatment in this country before.  On a Yangtze River cruise earlier, we’d stopped at a small fishermen’s village near the Three Gorges Dam; a seemingly medieval community in the shadow of the largest technological wonder in the world.  When the dam was completed soon after our visit, the village, its old temple and shrines, and dozens like it in the valley were drowned and lost forever. We explored the ancient settlement walking down a narrow, cobblestone street that snaked parallel to the slow-moving, tea-colored river. Three men sat on upturned crates poring over an improvised game of Go the oldest continuously played board game in the world, more complex than chess.  A woman with a broom looked up and smiled rows of rotten teeth as we passed. Another held a baby over a refuse-clogged gutter while the child peed. The street was lined with a few ramshackle, open-fronted shops and humble lodgings. Some dwellings had open spaces where windowpanes should have been.  I curiously peered into one taking in a primitive concrete room as grey and grim as a prison cell. Three or four murky glass jars with suspicious fleshy contents rested on a shelf that was no more than a grey concrete slab protruding from the wall.  In the center of the cold and gloomy room was what looked like an old barber’s chair with stuffing bursting out of a large tear in its seat.  Beside it, was an old metal bucket half-filled with blood and offal.  Above it, was an antique dentist’s drill that might have been used in Marathon Man, the chilling 1976 classic starring Dustin Hoffman and Laurence Olivier as a sadistic dentist. Remembering that room lying on my back in a hotel bed in Kunming, it occurred to me, that maybe this wasn’t the best country to be in when paralyzed by an unknown cause. Thankfully, Paula returned with the hotel manager and good news.  Much to our total surprise, not only was there a doctor on the third floor but apparently one with a fully equipped emergency room. They were going to take me there right now. If I’d expected a trauma center bristling with stainless steel instruments shrouded in transparent plastic, I was disappointed.  The reality was it looked decades old, basic and utilitarian, like something you’d expect to find in a Soviet Gulag.  But, under the circumstances, it looked hopeful. A young, female doctor asked me to lie down on a surprisingly warm cot with a small TV at the foot of it tuned to a Chinese morning show.  She gave me unidentified pills, a shot of something, and I promptly fell asleep.  When I woke up an hour or two later, I felt fine but she wanted to administer something else. She handed me a bowl of creamy, sweet broth and told me to drink it all.  It was yak’s milk, Tibetan survival food long believed throughout China to have many health benefits. I had a new respect for Chinese medicine. It may seem primitive by western standards, but we know many of their traditional remedies have stood the test

MEALS ON WHEELS I never thought I’d sit in a bathtub while traveling at 60 mph. But I did, while sitting in an Art Deco bathroom with marble tiles and gold fittings on a train. Clearly, this was no ordinary train. This was The Blue Train, one of the world’s leading luxury trains. It offers all the comforts of a luxury suite just a few steps away from the food, wine and service of a world-class hotel, while you roll by a stunning, blood-orange sun setting on some of the world’s most dramatic scenery. In the easy-living heyday of the 1920s, boasting everything from card tables to ceiling fans, to hot and cold water on tap, the Blue Train was considered ‘a palace on wheels.’ Described as The Window on the Soul of Africa, it ran from the old Victoria seaport of Cape Town across the vast open vistas of the Western Cape’s Klein Karoo to Pretoria, just north of Johannesburg, an overnight journey of about 1,600 miles. But in 1977, the traditional route was extended to reach the Zambezi River and one of Nature’s most breathtaking displays of raw power, the legendary Victoria Falls. Kings, Presidents, celebrities, and tycoons have traveled on this magnificent, five-star moving hotel.  Elegant eveningwear or traditional African attire for dinner is still mandatory.  Menus feature a selection of local cuisine that might include such local delicacies as Karoo lamb, ostrich fillet or Knysna oysters, accompanied by the best from the Cape’s winelands, all offered in the finest traditions of what used to be called the Silver Service. Today, the northbound train makes a one-hour stop in Matjiesfontein, an historic Karoo village that has been faithfully preserved just as it was in the 1900s when ostrich plumes were the rage of fashionable Europe and this was a center for ostrich farming. On the journey south from Pretoria the train stops in Kimberley, center of one of the largest and most concentrated gold mining operations in the world. Price of a one-way ticket is around $1,300 per person.  That may be a lot for a train ride but not if it’s on your bucket list of unique experiences that are the stuff of legends.  

IMPRESSIONS OF INDIA I’m writing this sitting at a small, round table under an open-sided teak pavilion on the edge of the vast expanse of Lake Kumarakom, a place described as ‘paradise untouched by time.’ Here at the water’s edge, lush green pockets of water hyacinth and duckweed clog the shore and graceful sari-clad women trim the hibiscus. It’s still hot. But the sun, which minutes ago threw a bridal train of gold across the peaceful gray waters, has now begun sinking, casting a rose glow behind a handful of shallow fishing skiffs receding into dark silhouette. I’m in Kerala in southwest India on the fabled Malabar Coast. A 90-minute drive from the ancient city of Kochi through open rice fields, rural hamlets and dense tropical vegetation will bring you to this obscure but legendary corner of India. Here’s where you’ll find ancient history and an intricate network of brackish lagoons, canals, rivers and lakes that puncture a long sliver of land parallel to the Arabian Sea. Known as the Kerala Backwaters this remote region has long been listed in the traveler’s bible The 100 Places to See before You Die. It seems appropriate to begin my story here for this is where voyagers from the west first set foot on the subcontinent. They were looking for spices. First the Arabs, then the Romans, but it was Portuguese adventurers led by Vasco de Gama in 1498 who are credited with formally establishing what became known as the Spice Route. They were motivated by a medieval Europe that valued pepper even more highly than gold. Soon, Kerala became the richest trading center in the world fought over by half of Europe for centuries. Once, more than 200 ships a year ferried spices from here to far-off Mediterranean ports where one pound of pepper sold for 20 times its original price, making princes out of merchants. But today, it’s not pepper or even tea that first comes to mind when we think of India. For many, India conjures images of low hygiene and high tech; slums and overcrowding; the poor and maimed; undrinkable water, cows, Slum Dog Millionaire, and the Taj Mahal. It is all that, but spend time here and you cannot help but leave with other impressions more complex and layered. The billion-plus people living here have a diverse range of cultures, languages and beliefs that have left their mark. You’ll see it expressed in their classical, visual and performing arts; in their opulent jewelry and eye-popping costumes; in a plethora of deities, intricately carved temples and simple roadside shrines; even on the sides of vibrantly painted trucks and busses. You’ll see it in their ritual bathing in the sacred waters of the Ganges at Varanasi and the endless cremations on the ghats on its banks. Add to this everyday kaleidoscope of color, the impressions left by the magnificence of the Mughal Empire and the golden age of the Maharajas. This was a time of incredibly ostentatious wealth expressed through art, poetry and architecture. From the 16th to 19th centuries the Maharajas, their wives and courts lived in decadent luxury most famously evidenced perhaps by the Taj Mahal. 20,000 laborers, calligraphers and artists from as far afield as Syria built the world’s most famous romantic monument. A thousand elephants were used to bring in its raw materials. Precious stones were transported from China, Tibet, Sri Lanka and Afghanistan. Other great architecture of this bygone era can be seen throughout India in city centers, mountaintop forts and lakeside palaces, in temples and tombs, in parks and gardens, caves and mountainsides. Near Jaipur, for example, is the Amber Fort a massive complex of ramparts, gateways, pillared pavilions, palaces and courtyards, that sprawl across a mountaintop so inaccessible, most visitors ride painted elephants up the steep ramps to its entrance. In Udaipur, the City Palace, still home to the Maharaja of Udaipur, dominates one side of a tranquil lake in which other palatial residences carved out of dazzling white marble seem to float like sugared confections on its mirrored surface. Within the City Palace, almost every surface is decorated with murals, mosaics, porcelain tiles, glass and semi-precious stones. In one courtyard alone, 5,000 pieces of tinted glass were used to create the four peacock murals adorning the walls. Then came the Raj in 1858. For almost a hundred years, the British crown imposed direct rule and Queen Victoria was proclaimed Empress of India. English became the common language. Schools were built on British models. Legal and parliamentary systems were put in place, and a cross-country infrastructure begun. British architects built vast emporiums, Victorian mansions, hotels, schools and churches, polo grounds and cricket clubs, in a rush to create a home from home for the British in their centers of power. Much of this era leaves a distinct impression too, in Delhi certainly but perhaps most poignantly in Mumbai, which was then Bombay. Surrounded on three sides by the Arabian Sea, India’s most populous city is a magnet for rich and poor. Here, acres of makeshift shanties skirt gleaming steel-and-glass high-rises pushing skyward. But here on the city’s waterfront is India’s defining landmark of the Raj, a massive commemorative arch known as the Gateway to India. Next to it on one side is an exclusive sailing and yacht club. On the other is India’s most storied hotel, the Taj Mahal Palace. This aging dowager has had a facelift since the old days of Empire. But on the fourth floor, little has changed. Discrete waiters still serve afternoon tea on a glass-enclosed balcony overlooking the harbor. Siting there, it’s easy to imagine uniformed British officers and their ladies waiting for the arrival of the next packet from London.   Many ancient cultures, beliefs and traditions remain. But spices are no longer traded to the Portuguese. The Maharajas’ tiger hunts and fleets of Bugatti’s are gone. The British have long abandoned their clubs and parade grounds. But in many ways it’s all still there, just waiting