Journeys of a Lifetime in March

Welcome back to my new monthly series on Nomadderwhere, one which highlights the incredible trips one could take in that current month - thanks to a vibrant book called Journeys of a Lifetime by National Geographic. Each month I pick a couple adventures from each section in the book in order to provide you inspiration for 365 days from now. Read the brief description to whet your appetite, and click on the trip name for further information (links provided by National Geographic...of course you could be a gritty backpacker and make it on your own).

Across Water

Sampo Arctic Icebreaker: Crunch across Finlands waterways in this 75 meter ship, and psych yourself up for a quick dip in the icy sea - protected by a thermal watertight suit, of course. Book well in advance. This looks awesome.

The Lower Zambezi River: What an incredible ride in between Zambia and Zimbabwe, where I actually saw elephants swimming, massive crocodiles sunning, and hippos pop out of nowhere - scaring the living daylights outta me.

By Road

From Cairo to the Cape: Africa is a trail map, and this is the main route. Bike it, overland it, drive it, but I beg you...don't walk through the Sahara. Give yourself at least two months, more like four, to make the trek, and you'll really feel like you know Africa.

From Delhi to Agra: Try shrine-hopping in India, avoiding the bulk of the heat and rain in March. Aside from the usual must-dos like the Taj Mahal and Agra Fort, be sure to visit Fatehpur Sikri to see a well-preserved palace complex with an interesting history...no, really!

By Rail

The Shinkansen: The mother of all train systems. The Japanese are so time-efficient, the driver will humbly apologize if the train arrives even a minute behind the expected TOA. All you'll be thinking on this trip, aside from how clean and swanky everything is, is scenery...scenery...scenery...ooooh, cherry blossoms!

Venice Simplon-Orient-Express: Definitely not for the backpacker type, this line from London toParis to Innsbruck to Venice is possibly the most luxurious train in the world (ex: bring your black tie). Mark off two days and one night in March 2011 and take one of the year's first rides across the Alps and Dolomites.

On Foot

The Grand Traverse: Amble the great divide between Fiordland and the Southern Alps in New Zealand's South Island, and make sure you get there in time for the clear views in March. A five day trek with camping lodges on the way; it sounds like you need to book ahead to witness this masterpiece of nature.

The National Mall: After Japan, why not doing the Grand World Tour of Cherry Blossoms (not a real trip) by hitting up D.C. thawing trail. Bring some stellar walking shoes to visit all the memorials, but don't forget your artsy scarf and cat-eye glasses for the museums next!

In Search of Culture

Venetian Legacy: After taking the luxurious train from London to Venice, why not continue onward by stepping back in time, to when the Venetians were on top of the trading world. Take a ferry to Cyprus, via Greece, to view the cultural and economic influences on the harbor cities - town halls, mansions, fortresses, and all things tall, flashy and handsome.

Moorish Spain: Wind around Sevilla, Cordoba, Granada and Ronda to observe the remnants of the region once called the most civilized and properous in Europe (for 400 years, I might add). The Moors were partial to using Arabic architectural elements, bling in the form of gold leaf, and serious tricks with water fountain construction.

In Gourmet Heaven

Malbec in Mendoza: I don't think I need to do too much convincing with this one. Here's all you need to know: Argentina, mountains, wine, meat...done. Oh, and I can't forget, the first weekend of March holds the Vendimia, or harvest, festival. Don't you dare miss that!

Margaret River Wine Region: Man, I'm all about the wine this month. Visit the very bottom left of Australia in March, and you'll not only have beautiful red teeth from all the lovely wine tastings but also ears ringing from the sweet music of local events and festivals. While you're there, why not check out where the Indian and Southern Oceans converge. Kir-Splash!

Into the Action

Dogsledding in Alaska: Go just about any cold month and experience your mushing fantasy; however, venture up to Alaska in March and try your skills on the Iditarod trail, which will be held at that time. Not sure how much of a spectator sport it is, with its 1,151 mile course, but surely the scenery and will of the competitors is awe-inspiring.

Vermont's Catamount Trail: Can you ski across an entire state? Why not give it a try? Because it's hard...but, boy, what a story you could tell your friends back at home, through your chapped lips. Take a month and meander up or down the trail through the Green Mountains, stopping in country inns along the way. Be sure and carb load with lots of maple syrup!

Up and Away

Heliskiing the Alps: It's exactly what it sounds like: skiing on new snow overlooking the entire mountain range of the European Alps. Whether you go through France, Austria, Switzerland, or Italy, it doesn't matter. Base yourself at one ski resort or move around across borders. All you're going to remember are the amazing views and the adrenaline rushes.

Victoria Falls by Microlight: I was fortunate enough to experience this on my golden birthday, when I turned 23 on the 23rd. Get up early in the morning, put on a helmet, and board a kite with a lawn mower engine attached. Fly into a surreal world above the trees where you can see hippos swimming, elephant herds wandering, and the world's largest waterfall spew water of gigantic proportions.

In Their Footsteps

Route Napoleon: Why march in March along Napoleon's footsteps post-exile in Alba? Why, for authenticity of course! Make your way from Cannes to Grenoble, although I imagine you won't be greeted by mobs of supporters calling you "emperor," Oh well, at least you'll see some pretty cool scenery.

Tolstoy's Russia: Witness what inspired Leo Tolstoy to create work, such as Anna Karenina, by following his trail of museums and influential cities. Be certain you take a day (or two) trip to Tula, where he was born and now lies today. Tula also marks the location of his experimental school, friends, favorite natural surroundings, the peasants he worked with, and his novels' conceptions and creations. Enjoy the brisk winds of Russia in March!

How's that brain? Spinning with innumerable desires to traverse continents and climates? Pull out a pen and prioritize your life by putting one or more of these trips at the top of the list. And by planning a year in advance, you'll be quite able to save, prepare, and anticipate the rigors of your adventure in every way. Check back in April for the Journeys of a Lifetime you could partake in next year!

Where are you inspired to travel to next year? Leave a comment and be my new friend.

Video of the Week: African Favorite Things

Revamping a classic musical number with a twist on Africa. These lyrics were written while bumping across Zambia on my Dragoman overlanding experience on the Big Journey in 2008. I know this is ridiculous, but I couldn't help myself...

A wee musical number explaining my favorite African moments from a 2008 East African overlanding experience. http://nomadderwhere.com

Lyrics:

Cockfights and beach nights and living in classrooms, Drago employees and bush camping cook groups, Elephant charges and subsequent screams, These are a few of my favorite things

Peering out tent flaps at African hippos, Learning sign language and swimming with locals, Feeling at home up in Bujagali, These are a few of my favorite things

When I throw up over Maggie, Cov'ring KJ's lap, I simply remember I'm Zanzibar bound, And then I don't feel so bad

Jambo and mambo, Cheesy camondeezi, Sailing in dhows and learning Kiswahili, Red Bulls and Cholos and beach break dancing, These are a few of my favorite things

Jinja hitch-hiking, couch-surfing Kampala, Canoeing Zambezi and perfect Uganda, The instant traveler camaraderie, These are a few of my favorite things

When my new friends have to leave me, A rolling stone so sad, I simply remember I'm living a dream, And then I don't feel so bad.

Why I Hate Indian Bureaucracy: Day 149

The shower was near scaldinga heat that leaves your skin itching for more harsh comfort but it was the hottest I've had in weeks and it stayed that way I steamed out the biters encircling my naked frame my arms radiated like dry ice It's the signal of a shift, a baptism and wash and it's a time I allow tears to fall It's the right time, as right as any

It could also be a sleepless wee hour a loaded walk towards the sunrise sometimes a dusty, corrugated road away from waves These moments don't have to be cliche but they sure like to be Emerging from the bathroom a new woman leaving piles of bubbles and clothes for the next passer-by a pair of crying eyes waiting at a train car window fearing the chugs that will tear the space wide.

The Pity of an Expiration Date: Day 143

Chapter Three: Leaving Dar, Looking for Livingstone The creases of my eyes remained dry. My pupils fixed on the back of our new drivers' heads in the new cab...of the new truck. I felt ashamed at the somewhat "poor little rich girl" moment, this sadness for the changes in company and wishful abandonment of the leg ahead. Young Peter, the other spry hoodlum like me on the truck, stared at me in disbelief during the first breakfast, hours after leaving our old guides in Dar, and after a long silence exclaimed, "Why the hell are you so freaking miserable?"

This trip of mine is about the people, and this trip of mine isn't about the people. I haven't made it a main mission, but I seem to acquire great companionship on every leg of this journey...which only makes the transitions more emotional, the events more enjoyable, and the introspection less important and more avoidable. It took me a while to forget the loneliness caused by the loss of those expiration friendships, and in the meantime, I fought to get back in the state of mind conducive to self-discovery...while bouncing, yet again.

Driving across the entire width of Tanzania in two 12+ hour days gave me plenty of miserable, staring-out-the-window time...and then I saw the water, again. Lake Malawi tricked me into thinking I was lounging again at the seaside and somehow connected by water to my soul's content state and my lost friends. But it didn't make sense that this massive body with waves and sand had no shells or salt. The existence of Carlsberg' Elephant beer, however, made me 7.2% less aware of the recent past and, finally, more present with my new company.

The evening's bungalow parties, isolated from the old Drago passengers and dripping with humor and contentment, made me smile. But during the day, when these seven new pax paired off to spend their heftier bank accounts on activities, I took my travel notebook, iPod, and sarong to the "beach" and submerged into a world where those around me don't exist and my mind scales, traverses, and swims great distances to the point of bodily exhaustion. I wrote all day and started sleeping a lot more.

There is a perfect spot at Kande Beach for sun-downers, where a piece of the bar's patio juts into the sand like the bow of a ship. I sat there in the afternoon one day, listening to nothing but the often neglected songs from my audio collection and putting every passing mental bite on paper. And then I stopped, balled my outlets into my clothing, and started running into the lake, feeling equal parts regret and exhilaration as more and more of my dry skin and suit became drenched.

I had to go out at least 150 feet before the chilly water was deep enough to envelop me, and at that distance, I dipped my head into the lake, only to emerge feeling as though I just realized where I was and what I was doing there.

In the movie, its the moment when the weight of the past pulls the audience in, utterly concerned for me, and the soundtrack by Hans Zimmer or John Williams crescendos as I enter a place where tears can finally fall. And here, where my head returns to air, more aware of the confusing side of life, the camera sits, half-underwater and spaced from me, as to not disturb this pivotal life moment. It was at this moment that I felt very strongly the abnormality of my path and the certain disappointment that will come when parts of my soul remain unfulfilled.

There's simply no way to do all that I feel called to do in life, and since I cannot silence these needs, my heart will never feel weightless. Sometimes, a cloud covers the sun beams in the day...and this was one of those times.

As much fun as being deep and emotional is, I didn't want to be the young, dark, sleepy girl for the next two weeks, especially when passengers from the prior leg knew how light-hearted I can be. So I went about meeting the young German girl and the new Drago crew.

Lara, a 20 year old from Dusseldorf traveling with her father, provided nice companionship, even though our dialogue struggled to transcend the language barrier at times. Though they both expressed their intentions to do their own things, Lara found trouble getting space from her father, so she spent much of her time feeling obligated and unlike herself. Made it a bit difficult to become better friends.

I tried to bond with Lucy. Every fiber of that girl's being is dedicated to the life she leads, her job and calling to be an overlander. Free time she spent performing engine checks, managing the finances, filling out meticulous paperwork, and many times doing jobs most other overlanders delegate to other people. She always refused the free bed at each camp site for her mattress atop the truck and ate last to consume all the less appetizing tidbits of the meal, avoiding the bagging for leftovers. I cannot say that she didn't make time for her passengers, as she was always around to offer me some chit-chat, but there was no distracting her from the life she loved. Her demeanor was reassuring and nice to observe in a world where many are unhappy and I struggle to find the same contentment...but I still remained without a good connection on the trip.

I shared some drinks and chatter with the co-driver, Mark, and some laughs with the cook, Vesh, but I was spoiled by my comrades from the past...and very aware of the kind of people I like to be around. I found my type; didn't know I had one.

Goodness, what depressing material. Have I mentioned how beautiful Lake Malawi was by hammock? Or the enjoyment I reaped from going grocery shopping with Vesh and Lucy? It wasn't all gloomy thoughts from start to finish, and, actually, the trip went steadily uphill, starting with the road to South Luangwa National Park.

Four hours of corrugation, dust, and potholes were broken up by a roadside meal, next to the smallest scorpion possible to exist, and a parade-like drive through the cliche idea of Africa, where we sat on the truck roof and waved at the screaming, running Zambian children...until they started asking for sweets. There was the frequent low branch that caused us to fold in half at the waist and duck for cover, getting scratched from shoulder to butt. Incidentally, the truck ended its journey to the camp site covered in unripe mangoes.

The Luangwa river is the natural border between the National Park and the human world. This strip of water is murky entirely, its surface almost motionless except for the occasional, and quite frightening, eye, ear, or tail of a human-munching killer, breaking that serene surface with a terrorizing presence. The adjacent bank is nothing but riddled with footprints of hippos and crocs. Up the bank, no more than 100 feet is Flatdogs camp site, our home for three nights.

Each tent kept its distance from each other and other obstructions by one meter, at least, the average width of an adult elephant. No food, trash bin, drying clothes, or window ajar were left in the presence of the nut case baboons, which stalked the grounds waiting for human error.

We all took our chances with the weather at night, leaving the flies in the tent bags and tying up the tent flaps, in case we arose in the wee hours to the sound of munching beyond the nylon walls and wanted an unobstructed view. This was hippo grazing ground: the ground within a inch of each tent. A half-asleep bathroom outing in the middle of chow time could and would honestly cost you your life. Nothing about dangerous toilet breaks gets old.

The paucity of upgrades made tents in high demand, so Lisa, a cast member of the Golden Girl-Drago era, and I joined forces and decided upon erecting our tent on a tree platform, which hovered just out of reach of an out-stretched elephant trunk. At this slightly improved elevation in this more inspirational location, I felt compelled to write something more typical of my mind, something searching for meaning and laced with satisfaction of my present state. I had recovered.

Three nights among the wildlife...days spent in the park, at a nearby village, and a third at stationary peace...all wonderful. Our game drives were fruitful and diverse, involving, at one climactic moment, the intense, defensive roar of a dining leopard, coming no further than five feet from our jeep's front tire. With a thinner group, we went on a village tour an hour away...and for the first time in weeks, the experience felt welcoming, interesting, and downright fun. This may have been caused in part by the chances to both visit a witch doctor and to join a village shake session...where, once more, my own capabilities fell short of African hips.

Maybe more smile-inducing than that, I finally sat up front in the cab and played DJ with my own music, appealing to the group and pleasing myself as I heard the likes of Stevie Ray Vaughan and Space Capone reverberate off mud brick huts. Those days in the bush were turning points for chapter three. I lost the loneliness of heart and spent more time laughing, laughing at the Germans who waited a half hour in the bathroom because an adult elephant with monstrous tusks munched by the doorway, trapping then in awe inside.

Canoeing down the Lower Zambezi river, which borders Zimbabwe, was the main event for many of the passengers on this leg. By the time the Drago journeys started, I had completely forgotten the expected itineraries, including the exciting highlights due ahead of us.

En route to the canoeing safari starting point, we stopped to camp at a dark, unfriendly locale run by a racist, drunk, and incredibly abrasive Dutch man. The drive day was long, and, for the first time, we arrived after the sky lost all evidence of color or light. No one was in high spirits, especially when we realized the spirits cost more than they would at a posh restaurant in the USA.

And then we heard a scream. He called her name over and over in breathless pain. I heard it in the back of my mind, and suddenly the woman I was talking to started sprinting up the hill towards her fiance's yelps. The Irish couple left for Lusaka an hour later to wait outside the best hospital in Central Africa until opening time, Chris' ankle propped up on bags and padded with ice and a homemade splint. The horrible Dutch owner was stingy with adequate lighting by his cabins, and, with that, we lost those people most excited about the canoe safari as they flew home to reset his broken bones. I started walking with sure footing immediately.

We were paddling with the current, floating at a steady clip near the trusty guides and smiling from the recent elephant sighting. Lisa was in front, and I concentrated on keeping us on course and not splashing her back with each hand switch. The green streamed by the left side of the canoe at the same time we experienced an unsettling tousle.

Surprisingly little flashed in my head at the moment I thought I was going to die. I froze and simply thought, "whoa...crocodile." To our utter relief, it was a stump streaming with weeds, one of the five biggest dangers on the canoe safari, behind hippos, crocs, elephants, and the blazing African sun.

Zambia on the left and Zimbabwe on the right, we covered 40 km in two days, avoiding wading hippos, crossing elephants, and sun-bathing reptiles in some situations that were far too close for comfort. Meals were picnics under trees on islands claimed by neither country. The dangling of flesh over the sturdy, fiberglass canoes was only o.k. if you insisted on getting that part amputated.

At designated points along the way, when safety was fairly certain, we swam in the Zambezi, whose micah content makes it shimmer like magic water. Our guides, knowledgeable on every aspect of the outing, followed in true African man fashion, flirting with every unattached woman on the trip. Completely uninterested, I used this extra attention to become informed on the Southern Hemisphere's constellations and to get added security while swimming in beast-infested waters.

This flirtatious Martin thought I would be interested in discovering some lion poo, but in the seconds we stooped to investigate the dried clumps, we heard a scream. I turned to see a flash of blue as Vesh frantically fastened her pants while fleeing from a charging mother elephant. Once again...the fun of bush toilets...makes the walk to the heated tile floors and quilted paper seem boring, eh? Lara and I had a perfect vantage point of the mammoth's advance and Vesh's all-star sprint to safety. We used each other for balance as we doubled over in belly laughter. It was still funny hours later.

Perfect orange sunsets on bubbling landscapes. Bush fire camps and good books. An almost alarmingly close connection to nature. A break from sitting on a truck. All just a few wonderful things about a canoe safari on the Zambezi river of Africa.

And, of course, just when I am finding some comfort with this group and our dynamic, the leg to Livingstone comes to an end. I became almost tear-choked thinking about the perfection of my coming Golden birthday, a day that would include a flight over the world's largest waterfall by microlight, relaxation, free drinks, and a sunset cruise alongside our ghastly friends from the canoe experience. The Germans honored the stroke of my day with a shot and a hug, sure to let me know I was around people that would make the day [that I care far too much about] special.

The microlight took off from the dirt runway without much power or effort, and the lack of ground contact sent a surge of terror from my wide eyes to my sudden death grip on the handles. It was a surreal satellite view of the interwoven borders of Africa's Z countries. The mist rose slightly, and it was almost too much when the pilot dropped us sideways, swirling down like a leaf towards the thundering water below. My helmet's visor gathered the mist that stung my exposed chin when our shadow cast over the rainbow. 15 minutes flew by...pun intended.

After continuously refusing free drinks for weeks from the friendly new passengers, I decided a birthday isn't a bad time to take advantage of such generosity without mounding guilt. The sunset cruise gave us all an excuse to shed the normally nasty and rather masculine clothes and showcase our classy sides.

Before boarding the boat, we posed with Claudia, our trusty steed, before they opened the doors to blare a zesty version of "Happy Birthday" while bringing out a melting pink and white cake. We brought it on the cruise to share with all those people not with our swingin' party. I soaked up the African birthday anthem, a smile from ear to ear, and chopped the pastry up for all the strangers that sang to me, telling them, "I hate not getting cake when it's someone else's birthday." Obviously, thoughts and words were uninspired that fine dusk.

That night, back on land, I hugged many people goodbye and retired for a last night of tent-a-licious slumber...but not before the camp site's bar band tried to pay me a tribute by playing my favorite song. Only one guy knew "Little Wing," so the attempt was spotty and lacking finesse...but I sat on the floor about a foot from the bass drum with yet another broad grin on my 23 year old facade.

I came to Africa. I saw five of her sprawling countries. I think to say conquered would be misleading, but I definitely didn't let her get the best of me. I laugh in the face of malaria...for now.

TWA...That Was Africa.

Exit DragoWoman.