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.
At Christmastime, New Mexico becomes a land of lights, snowcapped peaks, and red chili peppers strung together and hanging from pueblo walls and lampposts.
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.
Then we strolled through a twinkle-lit savanna.
Strolled by a tree of parrots.
Went back in time millions of years to the Jurassic and gazed up at a brontosaurus.
Watched a cow get abducted by aliens.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.)
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.
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.
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.
Like murres, the “penguins of the north”, huddling in a rocky crevasse.
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.
my mom at Herbert Glacier, surrounded by bouldersflying 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.)
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 is dwarfed by Holgate Glacier, a “small glacier”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.
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.
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.
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.
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 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 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.
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 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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!
“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.
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.
a seaplane on vancouver harbor in the early morning lighta 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 in Stanley Parka blue heron feeds in Stanley Parkflora 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.
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!
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.)
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.
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 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!
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 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.
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.
When we looked out from our house in Calibishie, and from various points around town, we could see an expanse of red rocks beside the ocean. We had not yet found an obvious way to get to them, so after a restful morning, we set out to explore the sights closer to home.
calibishie’s red rocks
The Bradt guide led us to a tiny maze of narrow roads only a short distance from our house. After a few wrong turns, we found ourselves at Red Rocks Bar, where there was a sign saying that the path to the red rocks cost $2 (USD). A kindly bartender took our $4, pointed us towards the path, and informed us that his dog Roxy would likely join us.
roxy the tour dog
And she did! Our canine tour guide accompanied us for a short walk down to a sprawling expanse of wind- and water-worn cliffs of vibrant, rusty red, which contrasted sharply against the dark blue and aqua waters beyond.
I literally had to hold on to my hat due to a steady, cooling wind, which drowned out all other sounds. We each wandered solo to all the corners the sprawling rocks, perfectly smooth but for the occasional pockmark. The roar of the wind created its own kind of silence that in turn inspired a long moment of solitary contemplation, a sort of walking meditation with Roxy as our guru.
calibishie’s red rocks
We agreed it was the best $2 we’d ever spent.
We probably could have stayed longer, but if we had, we probably would have baked ourselves to a crisp unknowingly because the wind was. Back at the bar, we drank a couple beers and chatted with the bartender, who lit up a fat doobie.
batibou beach
Batibou Beach has the reputation of being one of the best beaches in Dominica, not known for its beaches. Tour books cautioned that you had to pay if you wanted to drive down onto the beach, which we were happy to do, following a narrow, unpaved trail through the trees and down a gradual slope to the stand. (In fact, the attendants claimed everyone had to pay, whether you drove or not, so good call on our part.)
batibou beach
It was a white sand beach, with palm trees, picnic tables, and a dude named William who had a small fire going next to a palm-frond hut. He was cooking up fish, a fruit called “bread fruit” (which did in fact taste like bread), and mango, all served on a banana leaf. For dessert, he hacked open a coconut with a cutlass (the term Dominicans use for machete), and we drank it straight from the coconut. (I found the trick to be imagining I was a Pawneean drinking from a water fountain.)
lunch on batibou beach
After lunch, we swam and did beachy things for a while before heading back to town for dinner at Rainbow Beach Bar in Calibishie. We had some bad luck with the drinks there (some truly disgusting rum liqueur thing that we mistakenly thought was going to be a rum punch), but damn the food was good. I ordered the lobster, and I got 3 small Caribbean lobsters, sliced in half for easy eating, grilled and flavorful, with garlic butter sauce. And from there we watched the sun set over Morne au Diable.
Our tour books said that as long as no cruise ships were in port in Roseau, we would not encounter large crowds, even at the larger tourist attractions like Trafalgar Falls. (Tip: cruise ships stop calling in May and don’t return till October. Yes, it’s hurricane season, live a little!)
Wednesday of the first week in May, we put this to the test and drove south towards Roseau, the capital city where the cruise ships port, and thus the most “heavily touristed” part of the country.
trafalgar falls
We got up early and made it to Trafalgar Falls by about 9 am. At that hour, the site was completely deserted—not even an attendant present to check our passes to the parks! It was a very short walk to the falls (10 min, not quite handicapped accessible, but easy).
Trafalgar Falls are an impressive pair of waterfalls, sprouting from opposite sides of a dark, forested escarpment. They are dramatic in the way that major tourist destination waterfalls tend to be, though personally I prefer the humbler, hidden ones, like Bwa Nef and Emerald Pool. But I have to admit that it’s a rare thing to see big dramatic waterfalls like this without fighting with a single other tourist.
It was too bad that 9 am also corresponded with the absolute worst time for photography. The sun was just rising behind the cliff, and the glare was unforgiving. Otherwise, the photographs unspoiled by other humans would have been fantastic.
We stayed for about a half hour, trying to get pictures for a while before we gave up and soaked up the experience. I did get some great pictures of lizards. (Did I mention that I was taking pictures of lizards everywhere in Dominica? I was. You’ll find I love taking pictures of wildlife, no matter how small.) By the time we left, a few other tourists and the staff had arrived.
one of the many lizards of dominica
Dominica is mountainous, so there are hiking trails all over the island, many of them very challenging. I enjoy hiking very much, but I am, let’s just say, a moderate trail hiker. I can walk for long distances, but steep vertical gains are not my friends and I do not pretend that I am up for them. My friend was recovering from a leg injury, and she was even less game for a challenging hike than I was.
(And you’ll note that nowhere in any of these Dominica posts do I even mention Boiling Lake, one of Dominica’s top tourist attractions. See previous paragraph. Also, a challenging hike that ends in a lake that I can’t even jump into to cool off? Double no thank you.)
boeri lake
We decided instead to take a trail that led to a lake that we could hop in at the top: Boeri Lake. Its trailhead was a short 15 or 20 minute drive from Trafalgar Falls. The initial vertical gain was fairly steep, but the views were worth it. The lush green mountains cascaded down to the shores of the Atlantic, which mirrored the sky so perfectly it was hard to tell where water ended and sky began.
view of the atlantic from the trail to boeri lake
The mountain peaks towards which we hiked swathed in gently meandering clouds, which dampened and cooled the land the farther north we climbed.
Lake Boeri was a smallish lake to look at it, its waters a bold shamrock green. Cool cloud forest or not, I was steamy by the time we reached the top and hopped in as quickly as I could deposit my bags and rip off my clothes. I was wearing a bathing suit underneath, to be clear, but honestly I didn’t need to be—not another soul was sharing the lake with us.
mountain swathed in clouds on the boeri lake hike
I set out to swim to the opposite shore, but realized quickly that the lake was actually quite a lot larger than it appeared. The water was delightfully cool and fresh, so much so that we took our chances and filled our water bottles without sterilizing (to no ill aftereffects).
Boeri Lake
I will say of the hike, for the benefit of those with mobility issues, it was a lot more challenging than the books make it out to be. The Bradt guide rated it as roughly equivalent to the Bwa Nef hike. It was far harder. For me, a woman in her 40s in reasonably good condition, it was an easily manageable, moderate hike. After the initial vertical gain, I found the most challenging part to be navigating the rocks on the trail, which were often quite slick from the mists.
For my friend recovering from a leg injury, it was definitely too much. It was only about a mile in-and-back hike, but our progress was slow so the hike took us hours. I spent a lot of time watching the clouds drift over the mountains and taking selfies and pictures of lizards and flowers while waiting for her to catch up. To her credit, she soldiered on.
another beautiful view from the trail
Boeri Lake had taken up far more time than we planned, so sadly we did not have time to make to the hot springs in Wotten Waven. Instead we grabbed a meal in Roseau and headed home via a new route. The coastal road from Roseau to Portsmouth runs along the west coast of the island between its two largest cities, and is by far the best road on the island. We watched the sun set over the Caribbean from our trusty car, as we ended our fifth day in Dominica.
