Author: Nicole

  • a getaway in the woods

    a getaway in the woods

    My first day in my Getaway, I awoke around my normal weekday time of 5:30, gazed out at the flecks of light beginning to show in the forest outside my window and shot a couple photos of the coming dawn. Then I snuggled my pup Felix, who was nestled beside me, and fell back to sleep. I dozed on and off till 9:30, the latest I’ve slept in years.

    a dog lies amid white linens
    Felix Relaxing in our Getaway Bed

    When eventually I dragged myself out of bed, I gave Felix breakfast and a walk. I made eggs and bacon on the cooktop. Took a shower and straightened up the space. Did the dishes. Went right back to bed and took a 2 hour nap.

    After I woke up, I took the dog for a walk on the nature trail along the stream. Fed the dog dinner. Read for a bit in the Adirondack chair by the fireplace. Started dinner prep. Built a fire. Opened a bottle of wine. Cooked a burger over the fire. Drank wine, read my Kindle, and stoked the fire until it was time for bed.

    a campfire
    Campfire Flames

    And that was a day at Getaway. Nothing says you can’t do more—my Getaway location was near the Shenandoah Mountains in Virginia, with plenty of hiking trails in the National Park, and vineyards and breweries in the other direction. But Getaway encourages you to take a break—“lock away your phone, connect with those who matter most, and enjoy free time in nature,” instructs their website. That kind of break was truly what I needed.

    I told myself there was nothing I had to accomplish that weekend. No agenda. On the second day, when I awoke to the staccato tapping of rain on the roof and raindrops creeping down the oversized window beside my bed, I settled into the prospect of a rainy day indoors, mostly lying in bed, sipping tea with my dog’s snout nuzzled against me while I read a book and planned some future travel.

    a camera, a mug, and a kindle in front of a large window
    Rainy Morning Vibes

    Getaway offers all of the good parts of camping, and none of the bad. Instead of streaming tv, I watched the sun rising through the trees, squirrels scampering through the dry leaves, and the flames of the campfire. Instead of a podcast, I listened to the flap of a crow’s wings flying overhead, a woodpecker tapping in the high reaches of a nearby oak, and dogs howling in the distance like their primordial lupine ancestors.

    At the same time, I had a solid roof over my head and slept in a soft bed with clean linens. Had a private toilet and enough hot running water for a decent length shower.

    The Getaway houses are thoughtfully designed tiny houses, constructed in with multiple tiers for efficient use of space. (Felix particularly loved this because he could easily get up and down from the bed, which he no longer can with his arthritis.)

    a small square black cabin on wheels
    Felix and our Getaway House

    The kitchen is equipped with all the basics: camping mugs, plates, bowls, and cups, one pot and pan, and a two-burner stove with a kettle. They provide salt, pepper, and olive oil packets free of charge, and charge only nominal fees for tea, coffee, water, smores—we are not talking hotel minibar prices here. Outdoors, you have all the supplies you need for making a fire.

    a small teakettle
    Teakettle in the Simply Appointed Kitchen

    As Getaway promises in its site’s “What should I pack?” FAQ section, you really can pack “Not much!”  beyond food and few changes of clothes. As soon as I thought of something that was missing, I found it wasn’t missing after all. “Nothing to store food in,” I thought the first night. The next morning, I found aluminum foil under the sink. “The lights are awfully bright in here,” I thought the second night, moments before seeing the tiny dimmer switch.

    Even Felix was provided for, for only a $50 fee. The puppy welcome kit included s’mores treats (no chocolate of course), poop bags (hint-hint), and a towel (hint-hint again). There was even a cable outside to keep a dog safely leashed but with freedom to move.

    Getaway is the perfect option for the novice outdoorsman. For those who like the idea of camping, but miss the creature comforts. For those trying to convince the wife or new girlfriend to try camping. For those who think sleeping on the ground is a young man’s game. For those who just need to get out of town to rest and recharge with minimal planning.

    All that said, Getaway is not cheap. Weeknights were comparatively inexpensive, but weekends were just as expensive as local rates for a much more well-appointed AirBnB. In some ways, it feels like a scam on yuppies, paying exorbitantly for a rustic lifestyle that is simply normal life for many people. If you want an inexpensive getaway in the woods, camping is a much better bet. That said, I loved it.

    a dog stands on the steps to a black cabin
    Felix Doesn’t Want to Leave!

    P.S. I’m not being paid for this review! I truly enjoyed Getaway and I would go there again, not least because Felix truly loved the place. (I am, however, open to sponsorships, should anyone be interested.)

  • 5 things to do in new orleans other than eating and drinking

    5 things to do in new orleans other than eating and drinking

    The city of New Orleans conjures for most people images of drunken debauchery. Drinking monstrously large hurricanes at Pat O’Brien’s. Waltzing down Bourbon Street with open beers in hand. Women flashing their boobs in exchange for Mardi Gras beads. Of course, there’s also the gluttony—oysters, fried fish, shrimp, jambalaya, gumbo, étouffée, beignets, po-boys. The list of New Orleans decadences is seemingly endless.  

    bottles of liquor

    Don’t get me wrong—I support all of those things. But for my third trip to New Orleans last weekend, I decided it was time to branch out a little bit and explore the city’s other offerings. The beautiful thing about New Orleans? You don’t actually have to choose: most of this can be done in conjunction with the eating and drinking. You can be culturally enriched and debauched at the same time.   

    1. Cemeteries

    New Orleans is famous for its aboveground cemeteries, necessitated by the high water-table in the flood- and hurricane-prone city. As one tour guide put it, “you don’t want to see Grandma floating down the street.” Gross.

    Over time, the practical necessity of aboveground burial evolved into a cultural and architectural tradition, reflecting the changing cultural influences on the city as it passed from French to Spanish to French to American hands. Wandering through the old tombs, you can find engravings in all three tongues, with dates ranging back to the 18th century. Some tombs are kept lively with (often fake) flower arrangements. Many stand proud and stately their white marble tarnished with black mold. Others grow decrepit with age.

    aboveground tombs topped with crosses
    St Louis Cemetery No 3

    If you’re up for a moody afternoon (we went on a cloudy day), you have a few options. St Louis Cemetery No 1 is the oldest (established 1789) and easiest to reach from the French Quarter. It also hosts the tomb of Marie Laveau. But, the guard helpfully informed us, it’s also the only one to charge an entrance fee. Instead we followed his recommendation and took a Lyft up to St Louis Cemetery No 3, established in 1854. For a $10, 10 min Lyft ride, we got free entry to a much larger (if less tightly packed) cemetery. (No 2 is apparently closed due to “vandalism and other concerns,” according to the Catholic church).

    2. Architecture

    If you’re sober enough to appreciate it, New Orleans is full of architectural delights. Sure there are some dramatic constructions like St Louis Cathedral, but for me the beauty of New Orleans lies in the smallest of architectural detail. Every house in the French Quarter seems to boast some special flare—detailed metalwork on the balcony, cheerful plantation shutters, daintily carved corbels.

    a building with detailed metal balconies
    grandiose balconies on Royal Street
    large townhomes with iron balconies
    tucked away on Dauphine Street
    a small white house with blue plantation shutters
    a more modest house down Royal Street with baby blue plantation shutters
    decorative corbels
    decorative corbels on Royal Street

    This was the first trip that I ventured outside the French Quarter. After taking a Lyft to St Louis Cemetery No 3, we walked back to the Quarter along Esplanade Ave and through Tremé, admiring the old Victorian mansions and Caribbean bungalows that lived side-by-side.

    old trees lining a street
    trees lining Esplanade Ave

    For a future visit: the Garden District.  

    3. Shops and Galleries

    Every time I go to the French Quarter I feel a little lost. In part, because of alcohol. In part, because I always seem to stay in a different part of the quarter and start off the trip with my bearings at a 90 degree angle. But I always seem to find my bearings, not by Bourbon Street, but by Royal Street, one block over. Royal Street is a little classier; here Bourbon’s bars are replaced with shops and galleries, some far beyond my price range, but delightful to browse.

    Each time I revisit shops and galleries from previous trips, and stumble upon new ones. In my first trip in 2012, I bought a black metal Mardi Gras mask with red detailing. I found that shop again on this trip, but not on the last one. On my second trip in 2022, I didn’t buy anything of note, but fell in love with multiple galleries and artists whose work cost thousands. This time I fell in love with a jewelry store called Fleur d’Orleans, whose proprietor makes jewelry inspired by New Orleans architecture. (I bought a pair of earrings inspired by her neighbor’s window.) I also bought a mask carved out of hibiscus wood. This shop seems absent from Google, but that’s all part of the mysterious fun of shopping in New Orleans.

    4. Swamp Tours

    For something totally different, this time I ventured outside of the French Quarter entirely. Outside of New Orleans. North of Lake Pontchartrain. Into the swamp. We booked the trip through Cajun Encounters, who helpfully picked us up in a coach (for an additional fee) not far from our hotel, and took us to the Honey Island Swamp. I can’t recommend the company highly enough. Everything ran extremely efficiently, and our coach driver and captain (Bam-Bam and Everett, respectively) were excellent tour guides. (Expect some prison-related humor from the captains.)   

    One thing I did not consider was that the things I associated with a Louisiana swamp—namely alligators—were cold-blooded reptiles, and therefore not likely to be active on a chilly, cloudy day in late January. Indeed, the alligators and snakes were nowhere to be seen. That made the trip a bit more low-key, but the boat tour among the partially submerged cypress trees hung with Spanish moss made for a scenic if eldritch morning.

    cypress trees and spanish moss in a swamp
    honey island swamp

    While there were no reptiles in sight, we did see a lot of racoons, including this blond one.

    blonde racoon with reflection in the water
    a blonde racoon hiding in the cypress trees

    5. Live Music

    You don’t actually have to go anywhere special to find live music in New Orleans. Musicians play on the street corners, like this saxophonist outside of Cafe du Monde.

    a man playing a saxophone on a street corner
    a street saxophonist outside Cafe du Monde

    Of course there are plenty of live bands on Bourbon Street, mostly catering to the popular tastes. I’m personally a fan of Famous Door, where cover bands play crowd-pleasing numbers from the 70s, 80s, and 90s. (But beware the jello shots.)

    a colorfully painted side of building with a cat playing a saxophone
    the mural on the side of the Spotted Cat, one of Frenchman Streets many live music venues

    This time I ventured a little outside of the French Quarter to the famous Frenchman Street. Here you can find some more authentic New Orleans live music—jazz, blues, funk. We plopped ourselves down at the bar of Snug Harbor Jazz Bistro for hours one evening, chatting with the impossibly young bartender and waitstaff, while listening to the jazz from the concert hall piped in through the speakers.  Then we ended up at La Maison, where we listened to a jazz quartet while the bartender in the back made us custom cocktails, then the Blue Nile for some blues, before going back for one last drink at Snug Harbor. Did I mention you don’t really have to pick between the culturally enriching activities and the boozing? Ah New Orleans, laissez le bons temps roulez!

  • christmas in the land of the luminarias

    christmas in the land of the luminarias

    In December, all around New Mexico, brown paper bags line the stucco tops of walls, the walkways leading toward front doors, and the edges of gardens. To the uninitiated, this might a strange configuration of objects more commonly used for carrying school lunches.

    luminarias on a pueblo wall

    But come nightfall, the bags come to light, transforming from paper bags to luminarias[1], dazzling Christmas light decorations unique to the American Southwest.[2]

    At Christmastime, New Mexico becomes a land of lights, snowcapped peaks, and red chili peppers strung together and hanging from pueblo walls and lampposts.

    a train of chili peppers hanging on a pueblo wall

    But Albuquerque particularly leans into the lights. In addition to the traditional luminarias, Albuquerque’s Botanical Garden also hosts the River of Lights. This year’s was the 26th annual light show. Despite spending almost every Christmas in Albuquerque for over 20 years, I had never been before. Probably because my mother had gone to the River of Lights without me many years ago and declared herself unimpressed.

    But over the years it has grown to be something quite spectacular. Now the largest light show in New Mexico, it has even gotten national recognition on the Great Christmas Light Fight on ABC. My mom saw that on the local news one night and decided that this year we had to go.

    We were not disappointed. Spread across a 1.5 mile path, the exhibition boasts 800 unique light displays, animated, and 3D sculptures. A family of penguins greeted us upon entry.

    light sculpture of penguins

    Then we strolled through a twinkle-lit savanna.

    light sculptures of elephants

    Strolled by a tree of parrots.

    light sculpture of parrots in a tree

    Went back in time millions of years to the Jurassic and gazed up at a brontosaurus.

    light sculpture of a brontosaurus, reflected in a pond

    Watched a cow get abducted by aliens.

    light sculpture of a UFO and cows

    Really the whole thing was magnificently done and great fun. It’s also for a good cause! In 2022, the event attracted over 120,000 visitors, raising over $1 million to support Albuquerque’s zoo and associated institutions.  

    A belated Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year to all! I’ll see you in 2024.


    [1] Apparently they are called farolitos in northern New Mexico. My family lives in Albuquerque where they are called luminarias. I’m not from there, so I just learned researching this post that the naming is controversial.

    [2] Ok, maybe not anymore. All traditions spread these days.

  • the amazing life of humpback whales

    the amazing life of humpback whales

    Prior to my Alaskan cruise, the only whales I’d seen on whale-watching excursions had been orca, which I’d seen on two separate excursions in the Salish Sea, courtesy the highly recommended Puget Sound Express. In Alaska, I desperately wanted to see some other varieties of whales.

    As I mentioned in my first Alaska post, I caught a glimpse of a humpback on the morning of my first day at sea, and I feared this first sighting would be my last. I needn’t have feared. Later that same day, my mom and I were passing through Cellar Masters wine bar. People seated by the windows began gasping and pointing, and we looked out the porthole to see a humpback whale breaching—again, and again, and again.

    There are multiple theories on why whales breach. They may be communicating to other whales across long distances, showing off their physical prowess, or just playing. As best I can tell, the scientific consensus has swung behind the former theory, but I swear this particular whale seemed to be performing for us.

    icy strait point

    In Icy Strait Point, we took a dedicated whale watching excursion that we booked through the cruise line. (Whale watching was basically the only game in town at this port call, aside from eating crab and some shops.)

    The guide on our double-deck boat told us that the waters around Hoonah are particularly attractive to humpbacks because it is situated at the confluence of multiple bodies of water, including the outlet of Glacier Bay, making the waters nutrient-rich and full of fish.

    It was about a 30 min trip out to the feeding grounds. As we breezed through jade green waters bordered by evergreen-cloaked islands, we passed by a few orca and humpbacks languidly swimming along, sleek backs arching above the water in a curve before a final flick of their tail. I wished the captain would stop for photo opportunities, but he wisely blazed onward to where the real action was.

    a humpback whale flips his tail

    Once we got to the feeding grounds, the whales multiplied. We lingered for a long time among a herd of about 10 humpbacks, arching and flipping their tails at us.

    We also got to witness a phenomenon known as bubble-net feeding, which is a coordinated hunting activity where the whales swim around in a circular motion deep underwater, blowing bubbles. As the bubbles create a “net” that the fish can’t escape from, the whales spiral up until they reach the surface. By now, their nets have created a dense concentration of fish, then suddenly—gulp.

    humpback whales feeding

    The thing I find most intriguing about this behavior is that it’s not an instinctive behavior. It’s a learned behavior that’s culturally transmitted.

    We’re so used to the anthropocentric worldview that describes animals as having “instinct” and humans as having “culture”. If I may adapt my own definition of culture as being “the social behaviors, norms, knowledge, customs, and habits of a group,” then whales totally have culture.

    This concept has appeared in some podcasts and documentaries I’ve watched since then—not just about humpbacks, but other marine mammals too—and I’m now officially fascinated by the concept of animals having culture.

    After the bubble-net feeding herd dispersed or dove, we lingered for a bit longer, watching a few loner whales, one of whom breached for us. (Sadly, my camera didn’t focus quickly enough, so I ended up with blurry photos of the breach, and a clear shot of the plume of water that erupted as he crashed back into the water.)

    four humpbacks swimming
    the back of a humpback whale arches in front of a tour boat

    kenai fjords national park

    Our second opportunity to witness the whales came after we had disembarked in Seward. We squeezed in one last boat excursion to Kenai Fjords National Park (courtesy Kenai Fjords Tours) where we saw more glaciers and lots of wildlife, including sea lions, harbor seals, puffins, murres, seagulls, one bald eagle… and lots more humpbacks and orcas.

    If the whale-watching in Icy Strait Point was spectacular, in Kenai Fjords it was something even beyond that. It was a mostly sunny, placid day, and the waters were smooth. It was almost as if the whales relished the opportunity to soak up some sun rays, because they just kept appearing, and we witnessed bubble net after bubble net.

    After a while we got a sense of the rhythm. When the whales begin making their bubble nets deep underwater, they make an intense sound. Unfortunately, those sound waves don’t seem to transmit above water in a way that is audible to the human ear (at least, I couldn’t hear anything). But the seagulls apparently can see or hear something, because in the minute or two before the whales emerged above the surface, the seagulls started going nuts, squawking and swooping, waiting to capitalize on the rush of fish that was about to emerge to the surface. Link to a video here.

    seagulls swarming above feeding humpback whales

    Then the whales would appear, skins gleaming pewter grey in the sun, baleen throats stretching out as they engulfed their prey.

    Oh yes, and more breaches, enough that I even caught them on camera this time, although still not that perfect shot at the apex of their arc through the air.

    Even the captain remarked that he could have watched this all day, but we had other things to get on to.

    Like a herd of sea lions, squabbling angrily on the rocks.

    three sea lions quarrelling

    Like a pod of harbor seals, lounging on a bed of seaweed.

    Like puffins bobbing on the waves.

    Like orcas, gliding through the waters on their own hunting expeditions.

    three orcas

    Like murres, the “penguins of the north”, huddling in a rocky crevasse.

    a murre spreads his wings

    But seriously, the whales. I couldn’t get enough.

    water streams off a whale's flipping tail

    previous posts on alaska

  • all about alaska’s glaciers

    all about alaska’s glaciers

    When people ask me how my trip to Alaska was, my quick, flippant response is, “a lot of glaciers and whales.” Which may sound as if I’m being dismissive of the experience, but the truth is, the glaciers and whales were both amazing. More to follow on the whales in my next post. Today, we’re talking about glaciers.

    Over the course of my seven-day journey, I saw a total of five glaciers (probably more if you count some fleeting glimpses): Mendenhall, Herbert, Hubbard, Holgate, and Bear. Honestly, I could not get enough of them. We got to see them from a few different vantage points: from the air (Mendenhall), standing on top (Herbert), and from the sea (Hubbard, Holgate, and Bear).

    I got some amazing photos, but pictures cannot do justice to the experience of being up close to these massive walls of snow and ice—the radiating cold, the aqua gleam in the sun, the groaning and cracking when they calve.

    According to the National Park Service, glaciers cover 23,000 square miles of Alaska. Only some of these are tidewater glaciers, which terminate at the sea, and from a boat, you’re only seeing a small part of the total mass the glacier. Behind the sea terminus and out of view from the water, the glacier may stretch for miles—in the case of the Hubbard Glacier, 76 miles, all the way to Mt Logan in Canada’s Yukon Territory.

    Prior to this trip, I had thought of glaciers as massive but stationary hunks of ice, because I’d previously seen only tiny remains of glaciers in places like the Alps and Montana’s Glacier National Park. I learned on this trip how much glaciers move. Snow falls in the mountains, compacts and compacts under its own weight, and begins a sometimes centuries-long journey from mountaintop to sea.

    Mendenhall and Herbert Glaciers

    Mendenhall Glacier is easily accessible from Juneau, and is 13 miles long, terminating at Mendenhall Lake. We didn’t actually visit this one, but we saw it from the helicopter en route to a lesser-known glacier in the Juneau Ice Field, Herbert Glacier.

    Mendenhall Glacier, seen from the air

    Glaciers are formed when the amount of annual snowfall exceeds the amount of annual snowmelt. Due to climate change, many glaciers are in retreat, which happens when the melting exceeds the snowfall. This is the case for most of Alaska’s glaciers.

    Both glaciers are retreating and melting quickly. In the case of Mendenhall, the melt has proven so rapid that Juneau has seen devastating floods in recent years known as glacial outburst floods (or, more colorfully jokulhlaup, in Icelandic). These happen when icemelt pools under the glacier until the pressure suddenly becomes too much and actually lifts the glacier up, providing a release for the water.   

    In July 2011, an estimated 10 billion gallons of water burst from the glacier over the course of three days. The phenomenon has repeated 30 times since then. In July 2023, shortly after we were there, it released its most devastating flood yet.  

    Herbert Glacier is retreating with far less drama, and I have to say it was still an impressive hunk of ice to fly over and land on in a helicopter.

    Herbert Glacier, on approach

    Up close the glacier’s surface is rough and riddled with pockmarks and electric blue crevasses.

    a boulder balances atop a crevasse on Herbert Glacier

    In places, it is even dirty, laden with hunks of rock ranging from gravel to boulders picked up from the mountains it carved on its journey.  

    a woman stands atop a glacier, surrounded by ice and boulders
    my mom at Herbert Glacier, surrounded by boulders
    flying to the top of the mountain at Herbert Glacier

    Hubbard Glacier

    Hubbard Glacier was another experience altogether. Hubbard was a stop on our cruise—not a port call, because there was nowhere to make port. But overnight on our last full day at sea, our ship made a turn north into Yakutat Bay, then proceeded further down the ominously named Disenchantment Bay. I awoke that morning to the sight of chunks of ice drifting by. By the time we had gotten our morning coffee, the ship was pulling in viewing range of the mighty glacier.

    Hubbard Glacier is nearly 7 miles wide and 350 feet tall at its terminus in Disenchantment Bay. It extends 76 miles inland to Mt Logan in Canada’s Yukon Territory—an icefield larger than the state of Rhode Island.

    Hubbard Glacier from afar

    You know all those glacier videos you see online or in National Geographic documentaries from Greenland or Antarctica? The ones where large icebergs break off of glaciers, demonstrating the unrelenting damage wrought by climate change? Perfectly true in those cases—glacier mass is shrinking worldwide, including in Alaska. But Hubbard is defying climate change and advancing rather than retreating.

    Which means that there was no reason to feel sorrow as the sun came up and the glacier began to grunt and groan, a sign that she was about to calve!

    Hubbard Glacier calving

    “Calving” is the name of the process by which masses of glacier detach themselves and float away as icebergs, or smaller chunks, known as “bergy bits” or “growlers.” The ceaseless movement of marine-terminating glaciers from mountain to sea means that even an advancing glacier drops calves.

    We were fortunate in the weather conditions, which allowed our ship to approach within half a mile of the glacier—the closest larger ships can get—before the captain set the ship on a slow turn to the starboard, allowing the ship to spin so that all side of the ship could get a good view. Or you could do what we did, and run back and forth between port and starboard sides so that for the couple of hours we were there, Hubbard was never out of our view.

    ice litters the water beside Hubbard Glacier

    We saw dozens of calvings that day, mostly little ones. I’ve had a lot of amazing days in my two decades of traveling the world, and the only day that topped this one was my safari in Maasi Mara in 2013. The overwhelming scale of Hubbard was phenomenal enough up close, and it became even more so when your realized that the ice you were seeing break off into the ocean was completing a journey that began in the Yukon about 500 years before.   

    Holgate and Bear Glaciers

    After we disembarked in Seward, we squeezed in one last excursion to Kenai Fjords National Park through Kenai Fjord Tours. I’ll have a lot more to say about this excursion in my wildlife post, but today I’ll focus on the two glaciers.

    I hesitate to say that Holgate and Bear were a bit of a let-down after Hubbard. We were in a much smaller boat after all, which let us get a lot closer to Holgate. (Bear we just passed by without stopping.)

    a tongue of a glacier sticks out between two crags of rock
    Bear Glacier

    They were smaller and not actively calving like Hubbard had been. But if Holgate had been the only glacier I’d seen on the trip, it would still have been a spectacular experience.

    a small boat in front of a blue glacier
    a small boat is dwarfed by Holgate Glacier, a “small glacier”
    spears of blue ice
    spears of ice crown Holgate Glacier

    Holgate too is advancing glacier that does calve; unlike Hubbard, it’s only 5 miles long. Not far to the east, Bear Glacier is retreating. Weird how that works, isn’t it?

    Such was my glacier experience in Alaska, and to be honest, it has left me craving more travel to frigid climes! I loved my trip north of the Arctic Circle in Norway in 2019, and now with a second spectacular northern adventure under my belt, I’m contemplating Greenland and Antarctica. And Svalbard, Norway. And Tierra del Fuego. These trips would probably not be very bougie, unless taken from the safety of a cruise ship (which Antarctica have to be), but there is something so spectacular in the unspoiled ruggedness of these places.

    two women in front of a blue glacier
    me and mom at Holgate Glacier

    previous posts on alaska

    still to come

    • all about the wildlife (especially whales!)
  • the towns of southeast alaska

    the towns of southeast alaska

    Our seven-day northbound Alaska cruise on the Celebrity Millennium made four port calls: in Ketchikan, Icy Strait Point, Juneau, and Skagway. Each one boasted its own culture and history, although sometimes we had to work to find it amid all the kitchy cruise ship shopping. Personally I avoided all the duty-free jewelry shops that seem to be a fixture in every cruise ship port around the world, and opted instead for the art and the food.  

    Traditional native art, mostly from the Tlingit and Haida peoples, was also on offer at every port. The art included masks, weapons, paintings, carvings, and scrimshaw. Much of the more authentic work was rather pricey, but also quite breathtaking for those with the budget. Personally, I came home with two paintings, a circular woodcarving of an eagle with a dreamcatcher at its heart, and a pair of earrings and matching necklace made of abalone.

    Salmon and other local seafoods were also on offer in most ports. Ever wondered what the real difference is between sockeye, coho, and chinook salmon? Salmon shops will let you sample all the varieties to see for yourself which one you like best.

    Aside from those commonalities, each of our port calls had different vibes.

    ketchikan

    Ketchikan was my favorite of the towns we stopped in. The town hosted an interesting blend of the native Tlingit culture and frontier culture. It hosts Alaska’s largest collection of totem poles, some of which are recarvings of older poles.

    a totem pole in red, black, and aqua
    one of ketchikan’s many totem poles

    The town’s most enjoyable portion was the historic Creek Street, which is a mélange of colorful frontier-style shops built on stilts over a stream that conveys spawning salmon upstream.

    two women in front of green, blue, and red houses
    Creek Street, Ketchikan

    The town is also the gateway to Misty Fjords National Monument, which we ventured into via seaplane, courtesy of Seawind Aviation. Misty Fjords is a vast wilderness, speckled with mountains, fjords, and lakes.

    two women in front of a lake and mountains, standing beside a seaplane
    our landing spot in Misty Fjords

    This excursion gave me one of my favorite photos of the trip, of two baby seagulls, whose mother was decidedly displeased with our presence.

    two baby seagulls floating in front of moss-covered log
    two baby seagulls in misty fjords national monument

    icy strait point

    Icy Strait Point, adjacent to Hoonah, was really all about the whale watching (much more to follow about the whales in a subsequent post). There is a small town there with shops, all of which is 100 percent owned and operated by Native Alaskans. (The aforementioned abalone earrings and necklace that I bought were purchased here, made by the girl who checked us out!) Another of my favorite photos was of the fishing gear in town, a testament to the local economy.

    fishing nets with orange floats
    fishing nets in icy strait point

    juneau

    Alaska’s capital was honestly the least interesting of the towns we visited. Here, more than anywhere else, the part of the town we visited was just a succession of kitchy cruise port shops, with many of the same offerings, but little of the charm of Ketchikan’s Creek Street. The main thing to do in Juneau seemed to be to get out of Juneau and enjoy the surrounding wilderness. Two major glaciers lay just outside of the city: Mendenhall, whose sudden melting caused a major flood that wiped out houses in Juneau shortly after our visit, and Herbert Glacier, which we landed directly on top of in a helicopter! I’ll have a whole post on Alaska’s glaciers to follow.

    two women standing in front of a yellow helicopter on ice
    me and my mother on herbert glacier

    While I have slightly pooh-poohed Juneau as a town, I do have to acknowledge the excellence of Tracy’s King Crab Shack. After days of disappointing meals aboard the Celebrity Millennium, we were really craving some real Alaskan seafood, in particular crab. We ordered a combo meal that came with a crab bisque, crab cakes (inferior to the Chesapeake variety, but I’m biased), and your choice of two varieties of king crab (red was better than golden). Best meal of the trip by far.  

    skagway

    Our time in Skagway was disappointing, although this was not entirely Skagway’s fault. The most popular excursion out of Skagway is the White Pass and Yukon Route Railway, which we booked… and unfortunately, the weather was truly terrible, spoiling the views. Most disappointing of all, we did not actually get to go into the Yukon, but stopped right at the border between British Columbia and the Yukon.

    a lake surrounded by mountains
    a rare sunny moment on our journey through British Columbia

    The town of Skagway really embraced the old-timey frontier vibe, befitting its role as the gateway of the Yukon Gold Rush starting in 1897. The town probably would have been enjoyable to walk around for longer and take in more of the well-maintained historical buildings, but by the time we returned from the disappointing train voyage, we didn’t have much time or energy to do so.

    previous posts on alaska

    alaska: a tale of whales and glaciers

    still to come

    • all about the glaciers
    • all about the wildlife (especially whales!)
  • alaska: a tale of whales and glaciers

    alaska: a tale of whales and glaciers

    I awoke on our first morning at sea and snuck out onto the chilly balcony. The sun rising behind spotty clouds gilded the sea in ribbons, while further in the distance, a mountainous landscape drifted by.

    a blue and pink sunrise
    sunrise on our first morning at sea

    Up on the tenth deck, I got distracted on my quest for coffee and joined other bundled passengers at the stern. Speaking in hushed morning tones, we watched the smooth water ripple in our wake and wash up against the islands that dot the narrow straits of the passage north from Vancouver.

    a ship's wake in smooth water under a cloudy early morning sky
    smooth waters early the first morning

    “Look!” I whispered loudly, pointing to a spot where I’d seen a puff of water and a sleek back arch. “I think that was a whale!” The other early birds clustered around me to see the tail of a humpback whale (I would later learn) flick up as it dove deeper down into the icy sea.

    The glimpse came so quickly, I was disappointed. I hadn’t even had my camera with me. I needn’t have feared. Over the course of the next seven days, I would capture literally thousands of pictures of whales (or in many cases, water where whales had been just seconds before). 

    An Alaska cruise is a bucket list item for many people, and so it was for my mother. For years, she had been declaring Alaska her plan for her 70th birthday. At times, it almost seemed impossible that it would happen, due to obligations at home. It took intensive planning, but through sheer force of will she made it happen. She landed in Vancouver on the day after her birthday, and we set sail the next day on the Celebrity Millennium.

    Booking an Alaskan cruise can be bewildering. More than a half dozen cruise lines offer sailings throughout the summer, ranging from 7 to 14 days, each a subtle variation on the same itinerary. We selected a northbound only 7-day sailing because my mother could only spare 7 days from home, and we figured we would see more of the coastline if we sailed in only one direction.

    I am an experienced traveler, but somewhat of a novice cruiser, so I had only the vaguest concept of the vibes of the different lines. This post from The Points Guy was helpful in narrowing down which lines had the right vibe for us, and from there we chose the Celebrity Millennium based mostly on a good sailing date and a good deal. We sailed out of Vancouver on 21 July, and made port calls in Ketchikan, Icy Strait Point, Juneau, and Skagway, before disembarking in Seward on 28 July.

    More to follow on our adventures in Alaska in subsequent posts, for today, I will review our experience on the Celebrity Millennium.

    Celebrity Millennium

    The Millennium is the oldest ship in the Celebrity fleet, the first of the Millennium class ships launched in 2000. We liked Celebrity when we were booking in part because its ships were somewhat smaller than other lines, with a capacity of just over 2100. The environment was accordingly fairly cozy for a mid-priced cruise.

    a cruise ship with a blue and white hull
    the celebrity millennium

    lodgings

    We stayed in a veranda room on the 7th deck—crucially, on the starboard side of the ship, which was important to us when booking since we’d only be transiting northbound. I appreciated having the veranda, because it allowed me to pop out and take pictures when we were passing by something particularly scenic first thing in the morning. But truthfully, we spent little time in the room and could have saved ourselves some money by booking a room on a lower deck with a porthole, which we were told by other passengers were large. Our room was comfortable and well-equipped enough by cruise ship standards.

    amenities

    In true bougie style, the amenities I took most advantage of were the spa, the hot tubs, and the pool. The spa area also hosted a gym, of which I did not avail myself at all. I greatly admire the dedication of those who work out while on vacation, but I am not one of them.

    As one would expect, the spa was expensive, so I only went for one treatment—a seaweed wrap massage, in which one is wrapped up like a burrito in a green, muddy, soothing goo. It’s messy, but a delight for sore muscles and a perfect way to warm up after a cold day whale watching in Alaska.

    Speaking of great ways to warm up, we made a fair number of trips to the solarium, which is an enclosed area with four hot tubs and a pool of sorts. I say “of sorts” because this was not the type of pool you swim laps in. It was more like a massive hot tub, only a couple degrees cooler than the hot tubs. On either side were submerged lounging couches that bubbled, each large enough for 3-4 people. We spent a good many hours laying in the bubbles, staring up at the day or night sky.

    There were also hot tubs and a pool in the open air, but we did not visit them. Alaska is chilly, even in July, y’all.

    food and drinks

    The food was the biggest disappointment on the ship. We dined in the Metropolitan dining room each night, and did not explore the specialty restaurants. Perhaps we would have been more satisfied if we had spent the extra money on dining, but I think we kept hoping that Metropolitan would improve, and that we’d just had bad luck the previous nights.

    Every night we were offered three courses: appetizer, entrée, and dessert. Every day half the menu changed, half stayed the same throughout the cruise. All of the entrées I had sounded fancy enough—prime rib, duck a l’orange, barramundi—but they were all really just so-so. Meat was often overcooked, and the vegetable sides were boring, potatoes and carrots and such. Even one of my favorites, french onion soup, was oversalted. I do recommend the escargot, which compared favorably to the real thing in France.

    a woman in a black dress with a ship's railing and lifesaver behind her
    formal night on the celebrity millennium

    Booking the dining room was also an issue. I had requested an early fixed dining time when I booked (traveling with a 70-year-old), and Celebrity had never bothered to inform me that the fixed dining times were all booked up. This led to a lot of confusion, and tense exchanges with the hostesses, who simply could not guarantee us a table. Eventually we agreed on a fixed reservation at 5:45 after a couple of frustrating days.

    The bars were much better. We explored most of them, but the two I will make special note of are the Martini Bar, Cellar Masters, and the Sky Lounge. My mother discovered a love of martinis on this trip, after we shared a martini flight on the second day. We returned to this spot repeatedly over the trip.

    six martinis
    martini flight

    One deck up, Cellar Masters was a nice wine bar that offered a quiet spot for a day drink, quiet lounge music in the evenings, and a round-the-world wine tasting with our sommelier from the Metropolitan on our final afternoon.

    The Sky Lounge I recommend for its views alone. Situated at the fore of the 11th deck, it was the perfect spot to come relax and enjoy the view as the ship set sail in the evenings—as long as you didn’t too much mind the trivia games taking place on the stage (which I kind of did).  

    entertainment

    We didn’t go to too many of the shows. There was a pair of acrobatic Ukrainians who were very good (Slava Ukraina!), and a Broadway hits show that gave my mother vertigo, so we didn’t make it through the whole thing. I will say that for daytime fare, I adored the ship’s naturalist, Celia Garland, who offered lectures on whales, otters, seals, and bears during the days. She also narrated our encounter with the Hubbard Glacier from the bridge. She was incredibly informative and engaging, and I’m officially obsessed with her Instagram account.

    Speaking and whales and glaciers, they were truly the twin highlights of the trip, and I’m going to have whole posts on each of them in weeks to come. Next up though, the towns of southern Alaska. More to follow!

  • wandering vancouver

    wandering vancouver

    “It’s the perfect drink for a hot day like this,” said the server at the Fairmont Waterfront of the Harborside Spritz, helping me decide which cocktail to order. We both laughed when I observed, “I love that this is considered a hot day in Vancouver.” The entire day had been sunny while barely topping 70 degrees.

    an orange colored drink in a wine glass with ice and a straw
    a harborside spritz at the Fairmont Waterfront

    It was mid-July, and I was less than 24 hours from embarking on a 7-day northbound Alaska cruise departing out of Vancouver—a bucket list item for my mother, who had just turned 70 the day before. I arrived on Wednesday night on a direct evening flight from Dulles to Vancouver and had the better part of a day to kill before my mother arrived Thursday afternoon.

    With a 3-hour time change, I awoke early, and did what I always do in a new city: I walked. A lot. I took some pictures. I walked some more.

    My starting place was the Fairmont Waterfront Hotel, which was located just across the street from Canada Place, a convention center that doubles as the cruise ship terminal. I picked up my go-to Starbucks order (latte with almond milk) and started working my way west along the waterfront.

    The north shore of the peninsula on which downtown Vancouver is situated is lined with running trails and dotted with seaplanes and marinas. I squinted into the glare of the morning sun off the crystalline waters of Vancouver Harbor and watched the seaplanes take off and land for a while, trying to capture the perfect shot. I did not succeed. Buggers move fast.

    the silhouette of a seaplane in sparkling water
    a seaplane on vancouver harbor in the early morning light
    boats in a marina with mountains in the background
    a marina on vancouver harbor

    stanley park

    Stanley Park occupies a 400-hectare Brazil-shaped spit of land, awkwardly sticking out the end of the peninsula. Given more time, I would have explored much more of this urban forest. Even as it was, I spent several hours of my morning photographing pondside cattails, bees on flowers, and a blue heron feeding.

    a cattail
    a cattail in Stanley Park
    a heron stands on a branch plucking food from the water
    a blue heron feeds in Stanley Park
    a honeybee on a pink flower
    flora and fauna of Stanley Park

    Rather than delving deeper into Stanley Park, I looped around to the south side of the peninsula and walked along the seawall and beaches that line English Bay. All the time my eyes were cast towards the bridges that crossed over the mainland, and more importantly, Granville Island, which was one of my must-visit destinations in Vancouver. How do I get to those bridges, I wondered.

    granville island

    I pulled out my phone had one of those rare moments of travel kismet—ferries! Of course in a maritime city like this there would be ferries. And just my luck, there was a ferry stop located just a few hundred feet away.

    Perhaps I had not thought of ferries because, unlike Seattle’s massive ferryboats, Vancouver’s are adorably tiny. The False Creek Ferries, of which I became a patron that day, look like the little toy boats you give toddlers to play with in the bathtub. I do not say this to disparage—they were cute, convenient, and efficient.

    No more than 20 min after I discovered the existence of the ferries, I found myself on Granville Island. This is precisely the type of place I’m drawn to everywhere I go. Like Pike’s Place in Seattle, Eastern Market in DC, Reading Terminal Market in Philly, or Spitalfields Market in London, it’s a place where raw fish, art, artisanal chocolates, jewelry, cured meats, and fresh cut flowers are all sold side-by-side with no apparent contradiction. I can and have wandered these sorts of places for hours, wanting to buy everything but ultimately buying little to nothing, overwhelmed by choice.

    In this case, I had lunch at a little German place and bought my mom some birthday chocolates then ventured back to the False Creek ferry terminal. I took the scenic route, all the way to the other side of the narrow inlet that bisects Vancouver, and disembarked at the Plaza of Nations.

    From here I meandered back through Chinatown (which did not have terribly authentic vibes, though I’m sure it must have been a real Chinatown at one time), and the Gaslight District, where I would have liked to spend more time perusing the shops, restaurants, and bars. But by this point I had been walking for at least 7 hours, and my mother was supposed to be arriving sometime soon (after several flight delays).

    I sat in the outside patio of the bar, I ordered my Harborside Spritz, and I rested my aching legs.

    That night I treated my mom to a seafood feast at Riley’s Fish and Steak. All I had really wanted for my mother’s birthday was a fancy seafood restaurant (but not so fancy that the portions were pretentiously small), with a view of the water that we have to walk too far to. We ordered The Deluxe seafood tower, plus an add-on of scallops, a side of brussels sprouts, and a bottle of white. For my seafood-, wine-, and water-loving but unpretentious mother, Riley’s checked all of the blocks except the view of the water.

    a seafood platter with crab, tuna, oysters, and mussels
    the deluxe seafood platter

    Believe it or not, this was actually my first time in Canada. I’m starting to get why all the Americans in a Handmaid’s Tale who managed to get out fled to Canada (geography aside). I found Vancouver to be a very picturesque, livable city, with lots of nature and greenery inside the city, lots of biking and running paths, seemingly fun neighborhoods like the Gaslight District. And did I mention that locals consider 70 degrees to be a “hot” day? Vancouver, you are on my list of cities to flee to if the US turns into Gilead. O Canada!   

    sun setting behind a city, water, and seaplanes
    the sun sets over vancouver harbor

    Up next: about that Alaskan Cruise!

  • practical tips if you’re planning a trip to dominica

    practical tips if you’re planning a trip to dominica

    You definitely should plan a trip to Dominica if…

    You are the type of person who enjoys slightly more off-the-beaten track travel and don’t mind being deprived of some of the comforts of home. If that’s you, and you enjoy hiking, snorkeling, or diving, there are tons of options. We only hit a couple of hiking trails, and many would have been beyond my capabilities, but if you are hardier than me, you can really go nuts here.

    It’s also a great spot for whale watching, which we did not get a chance to do. It seemed like most of the boats went out on Saturdays, so include a Saturday in your itinerary if you want to do this.

    If you are looking for a vacation where you can combine fun adventures with pure peace, relaxation, and beauty, this is an island well worth a visit.

    On the other hand, being in a country that doesn’t cater to tourists has its downsides. You probably should not plan a trip to Dominica if…

    You’re the type of person who likes to be waited on hand and foot while on vacation, who likes to have all the amenities, or even who wants to spend much of a Caribbean vacation on the beach. It’s not an island known for its beaches, and it is not a highly developed island, so some things are just difficult or inconvenient.

    If you want to take it easy on vacation and not have to problem-solve, this is probably not the island for you.

    If you’re going to give it a try, here are some practical things to be aware of before you go:

    driving

    In previous posts, I promised more on the driving. In some ways it’s easy. If you are comfortable or willing to get comfortable with left-side driving, there’s one major road that circumnavigates the island, and one that cuts across. Just know where you are relative to the sea, and it’s pretty hard to get lost.

    But most roads aren’t well-maintained. The Roseau-Portsmouth road was a notable exception. There aren’t many sidewalks or parking spaces, so you you’re always dodging the hazards of people, cars parked on either side of narrow streets, and the gullies.

    Gullies were our term for massive gutters that line the streets in certain areas. They are initially terrifying because they are obviously wide and deep enough to engulf your tire and ruin your day. Navigating them while also getting used to the dimensions of a new rental car and left-side driving is a bit of a nail-biting experience.

    Then of course there’s the mountainous, curvy roads are probably steeper grades in some places than would be allowed in US road construction. If you’re comfortable on mountain roads already, this part is the least of your problems. But if you’re not, or if you’re a nervous driver generally, you’re probably going to have a rough time. I am comfortable on mountain roads and not a nervous driver, and it took me about two days as the primary driver to adjust. (Although I was also adjusting to driving on the left.) 

    a verdant mountain under puffy clouds
    driving down this mountain was a blast

    weekends and holidays

    Much but not all of the country shuts down on Sundays, so plan accordingly. We correctly anticipated that many things would also be closed for International Labor Day (1 May) on Monday. We had not anticipated bonus Labor Day on Tuesday. We had planned around a 2-day gap of everything being closed, but the third day threw us off. We basically lost a day of sightseeing, and I was legitimately worried that we would be forced to live off Kind bars and trail mix the whole day before we finally found lunch.

    finding food

    Speaking of which, unless you’re staying in Roseau, bring some snacks with you. I wasn’t kidding about the Kind bars and trail mix. I always bring snacks like this when I travel, and I almost never need them, but in Dominica I really did. For the most part, we ate one real meal a day and subsisted on snacks brought with us from the US, local mangoes and other fruit (a highlight!), and what little food we could scrounge from the “grocery stores”, most of which were not really worthy of the name.

    Imagine trying to live off what you can buy at a 7/11 for a week (just the dry goods part, not the revolting hot dogs and pizza). You could get rice, beans, frozen meat, shelf-stable veggies like onions and potatoes, eggs, and bread, but for the most part the shelves were stocked with canned foods. We did have a local fruit and veggie stand, which was handy when there was someone there.

    a hut with fruits and the Dominican flag
    our local fruit and veggie stand

    If we had been smart, we would have asked the caretaker or the housekeeper how to get fresh fish at the beginning of the trip (we learned too late that there was apparently a fish truck that comes around Calibishie blowing a conch shell), and then we might have been able to cook more at the house.

    I will say we stopped at a grocery store in Roseau, and that one was stocked with pretty much everything you would expect in a western-style grocery store. But Roseau was more than an hour away, and it appeared to be the exception country-wide (even in Portsmouth).

    money

    Credit cards were accepted some places, but it was mostly a cash economy. The country uses the East Caribbean Dollar (XCD), but also accepts USD pretty widely. As a rule, I hate being that American who insists on paying in USD. Although I came armed with 500 USD in cash as a backup, my plan was to take out XCD from an ATM and mostly rely upon that.

    However, the functioning of the ATMs (or perhaps their connectivity to US banks) was spotty, and at times our supply of XCD dwindled perilously low while we waited for the ATM gods to smile upon us. Most people were willing to take USD, but Bank of America gave me my $500 in Benjamins, so breaking them was a challenge.

    At the Red Rocks Bar, when XCD were running very low, I asked the bartender if we could buy 2 beers with a 100-dollar-bill and get our change in XCD. He initially told me yes, of course, but didn’t actually have enough XCD in the till. Lesson here is bring your ATM card, but also plenty of small denomination US bills.   

    safety

    Those were all the inconveniences. One thing we never worried about though was safety. We were two women in our late 30s-early 40s, and literally never had any physical concerns for our safety or even a real fear of being robbed.

    (Don’t get me wrong, we locked the house and the car, but that’s just what city-dwelling Americans do.)

    Truly the people were lovely, friendly, and helpful everywhere we went, but in a way that felt authentic—not the phony, overly trained customer service that you find in resorts or heavily touristed areas (totally picturing a White Lotus resort right now), but genuine niceness.

    In Portsmouth, a man approached us with a gallon-sized Ziploc full of weed in his coat, and even he was perfectly lovely when we politely declined to purchase his wares. “Dominica, where even the drug dealers are kind.” Free offering for the Dominica tourist board.

    where to stay

    I can’t recommend the Villa Passiflora more. Someone put a lot of thought into the construction of this house—sustainable hardwood decking, trim, and shutters. A layout that captures the breeze and makes air conditioning largely unnecessary. Beautiful furnishings and knickknacks all supposedly sourced from local craftsmen. The view is amazing, the water temperature in the infinity pool was perfect, and the landscaping was meticulously maintained. We had many avian visitors, both inside and outside the house.

    a black bird with a red breast perching on a table with a hat
    a morning visitor

    There were just two of us, so one of the three bedrooms went un-opened. But the third one looked to be the same size as the one I stayed in, which was smaller than the master bedroom where my friend stayed. I would say you could fit up to three couples, a family of 4-5, or a friend group of 3-6 (depending on how comfortable you all are sharing beds).

    Staying on the north side of the island had its plusses and minuses. On the plus side, it was an easy drive from the airport in Marigot, so when we arrived near sundown we didn’t have to drive too far in the dark. The area is known for being heavier on the ex-pats (although we didn’t seem many), and there was plenty to see and do in our immediate area. On the other hand, see notes above about the food / grocery situation.

    If you want more resort comforts, there are a few around Portsmouth, including an Intercontinental. Aside from that, I would not stay in Portsmouth. If you want more convenience, like a Western-style grocery store, you could look for AirBnBs or hotels around Roseau (the Fort Young Hotel looked appropriately swanky). We didn’t make it down that way, but the southern side of the island caters more to divers. If I ever went back I might spend a few days at a dive resort down there to experience that side of the island more.

    So that is it! My final post on Dominica. Stay tuned for my next series on my summer Alaskan cruise!


  • the end of the island

    the end of the island

    On our last day in Dominica, we headed south again… all the way south this time. We returned to Roseau, where we visited the botanical gardens. This was on the wishlist of my travel companion, and we had run out of time to visit on Wednesday, our previous day in the south.

    the capital, roseau

    She enjoyed taking pictures of all the tropical plants. I assisted by scanning the plants with my plant-identifying app, Picture This, and providing the species names, since the plants were mostly unlabeled. She said, more expertly than I, that many of the plants would have been difficult to encounter elsewhere, making it a worthwhile venture for those so inclined.

    We found the Old Town of Roseau generally unimpressive, with only a few buildings that even evoked a French Caribbean charm. For the most full-on bougie moment of the whole trip, we stopped for a drink at the Fort Young Hotel’s Palisades restaurant. It was by far the fanciest place we’d been the whole trip, and we enjoyed a lovely mojito by the water.

    scott’s head

    Scott’s Head lies at the southernmost tip of the island. It was there that we journeyed on our final afternoon to feel that we had experienced the island tip to tip. We stopped at a nice seafood shack called Chez Wen and soaked up the ocean views for one last day. I ordered cajun shrimp with garlic bread (an excellent choice, because I could dip the garlic bread in the sauce) and “banana salad” which was kind of like a potato salad with unripe bananas as the base.

    a rowboat on a beach
    a rowboat on the beach in Scott’s Head

    At the final tip of the island lies the Cachacrou Peninsula, which hosts the remains of a British fort, used to defend the island from the French in the 18th century. The drive up was intimidatingly steep but the view was worth it. (Indeed, this is the quintessential postcard view of Dominica.) Even from above, we could tell how perfect the waters would be for snorkeling.

    a colorful village at the tip of a peninsula
    Scotts Head, as seen from Cachacrou Peninsula

    champagne reef

    Speaking of, our last stop was Champagne Bay, one of Dominica’s top tourist sites. Snorkeling had been on our must-do list, but our day where nothing went as planned forced us to delay to the final day.  

    I’m a certified (though still fairly novice) scuba diver, so I’ve done by share of beach entries. They’re always harder than boat entries, especially with scuba gear, but even without this was a rough entry. The beach was rocky with a gradual drop off, but the flippers they gave you weren’t the kind that came with booties to assist with walking on rough terrain. The choices were walk in with flippers on, or struggle over the rocks barefoot, and there was no way to do either with anything resembling grace.

    Aside from the rough entry, it was a spectacular snorkeling site. I will say that I found the site’s nominal draw—the “champagne” part of the reef, where underwater geothermal activity is supposed to make you feel like you’re swimming in a glass of champagne—a bit underwhelming. But it was a well-structured reef with lots of the same fish you’d see anywhere in the Caribbean. I also saw Caribbean Reef Squid, all lined up like they were in a regiment, which was new to me. Best of all, I saw a Hawksbill sea turtle, whom I watched for such a long time that he probably thought it was being stalked.

    On our swim back, I floated along the edge of the reef, which dropped off dramatically into an azure abyss.

    Driving, packing, and airport bustle aside—so ended our time in Dominica.

    previous posts on dominica