Images and text by Mark Whitman

Climbing Kilimanjaro is definitely an adventure, but I’ve never personally looked at it that way.

Thousands flock to Tanzania every year with the sole purpose of attempting to reach what many colloquially call the Roof of Africa. Standing at 19,341 feet (5,895 meters), Mount Kilimanjaro is the highest mountain on the African continent and the tallest non-massif (free-standing) mountain in the world.

The mountain’s popularity among hikers can be attributed to its Seven Summit status and the fact that it’s a non-technical climb. This means that anyone at (nearly) any age can climb Kilimanjaro. Fitness and physical ability are also more flexible than on many other climbs. Canadian couple Esther and Martin Kafer reached the summit at the ripe old ages of 84 and 85, while armless and legless Kyle Maynard crawled to the top of Kilimanjaro unassisted in 2012.

Compared to these extraordinary feats, I’ve never felt that my young, able-bodied experiences on Kilimanjaro were very adventurous.

It then dawned on me, recently, that I had indeed been part of a Kilimanjaro experience similar to those described above.

My first experience on Kilimanjaro was with a childhood mate who had suffered from partial sightedness for most of his life.

When I first met Brad, we were both normal seven year old kids. I took to his adventurous playground antics and we quickly became friends. The first two years of our friendship were like those of any two boys.

Then one day Brad started complaining about his eyesight. He struggled to keep up with us in sports and couldn’t see the whiteboard in class. He soon moved to a new ‘special’ school. Brad had a condition called macular degeneration. His central vision had deteriorated to 10% of a normal person’s eyesight and his peripheral vision was impaired.

He was effectively blind.

His condition never broke his spirit, though, and despite his awful eyesight he continued to play squash, golf, and snooker (and excelled in the latter).

Over the years we went on a number of sailing and climbing adventures.

Brad went pushed himself extra hard to succeed at activities that people with perfect eyesight would struggle to excel in and, over time, this made me forget just how limited his sight was. His determination to be active and ‘normal’ made me discount his disability and assume he could do anything that he wanted to.

So, when Brad told me he wanted to climb Kilimanjaro I was game.

At the time I was living in London and he in South Africa, so we met in Nairobi and flew together to Kilimanjaro International Airport.

In Moshi we got our first glimpse of the awe-inspiring Mount Kilimanjaro. Seeing any great mountain for the first time and realizing that you plan to drag yourself to the top of it is a frightening and seductive feeling.

We began our trek the following day following the popular Mâchame route that sojourns through dense tropical rainforest. The paths on Kilimanjaro are surprisingly good and make for relatively easy going hiking.

The biggest challenge is the altitude. The human body is not meant to function at extreme altitudes and responds to the unfriendly environment in various ways, starting with mild headaches that can turn into severe migraines and nausea.

As you climb in altitude the air pressure drops lowering the air density and reducing the number of oxygen molecules available per breath. At around 12,000 feet (3,600 meters) there are approximately 40% fewer oxygen molecules per breath than at sea level. The human body is able to acclimatize to this change, but it does so slowly.

Unfortunately, Kili doesn’t give the average trekker much time to acclimatize. So, the onset of mild or moderate Acute Mountain Sickness (AMS) is common and summit success rates are relatively low on certain routes. Death from severe AMS and its Edema complications also occur on Kilimanjaro.

Like most sane trekkers, Brad and I had valued our lives more than making it to the summit, but we were prepared ourselves to endure mild headaches and even vomiting (fortunately the latter never happened).

I was the first to come down with AMS symptoms on day four. Brad, despite his eyesight, had been having an easy time on the climb.

We reached the summit base camp, Barafu (which means ice in Swahili). As the name implies, it is not warm on the exposed plateau, which sits at 4,600 meters. Nausea had overcome me and I stopped eating. Brad smugly ate my dinner while all I could do was watch and try not to vomit.
That evening we prepared for the final push. We would be woken at 23:45 to begin our summit assault on the slopes of Kibo. A gale force wind blew all night long, making sleep impossible. We thought that that surely no one in their right mind would try summit in this wind.

We were wrong. Wind or no wind, we were pushing on. The good news was that I was feeling a lot better. Apparently starvation and sleep deprivation help to alleviate altitude sickness (though I wouldn’t recommend trying it).

Brad had taken a turn for the worse. Half way up Kibo started complaining that his heart was beating rapidly. Like a good manly friend, I ignored his complaints and continued to kick his ass up the winding slope, majestically flattened at a crater rim to reveal the sub-summit milestone, Stellar Point.

Many people stop here, exhausted and and defeated when they realise that they have to complete another hour’s trek around the crater to Uhuru Peak and the summit of Kilimanjaro.

Brad nearly joined the ranks of those who pack it in at Stellar, but after a cup of hot chocolate his spirits brightened and, as the morning sun rose out of the African landscape, we continued on toward the summit.

After 5 days of trekking, headaches, long drops. and baby-wipe baths, the feeling of reaching the summit is sublime however short lived. A few congratulatory high fives and customary photos are standard; however, the knowledge of richer air waiting below makes departure from the summit even sweeter.

Mount Kilimanjaro is a dormant volcano. The main peak, Uhuru, is adorned with large receding glaciers that have left the slopes covered with fine volcanic glacial scree. Descent on the upper regions can effectively be done by sliding snowboard-style down the scree to base camp where the landscapes becomes rocky again.

The problem with fine glacial scree — as I learned in the worst possible way — is that it becomes easily lodged in one’s eye. By the time I reached Barafu my right eye was partially closed and left eye was completely shut.

I fell asleep exhausted and partially blind. How the tables had turned!

The following morning Brad, with 10% vision, helped me down the final stretches of Mount Kilimanjaro and for the first time in 20 years of knowing him I got a small glimpse of the challenges he faces living with limited eye site.

To climb Kilimanjaro is a great feat, but it was only on our final day as we left the trailhead for of Kilimanjaro l gained a deep respect the extraordinary determination and spirit that my friend had to develop to overcome his limited vision and a life that I, with normal vision, take for granted.

Have any questions about climbing Kilimanjaro? Just comment comment below and Mark will  be happy answer them.

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A tour guide always plays a big role in making a good experience, and ours was fantastic. I was also very impressed by how socially and environmentally responsible the trip was.

The Sea Safari started in a an inflatable motor boat with about 20 attendees. Our enthusiastic guide took the time to memorize the name of every person on the boat, and made quite a show of it. By the time we arrived at the first point of interest, he stood at the head of the boat and pointed out every passenger by name.

As we headed away from the marina we got a fantastic view of Puerto Vallarta just after sunrise.

Our first stop was a brief one, at a series of rock formations called Los Arcos with shapely arches jutting out of the sea.

The rock formations were covered in booby birds, which I had never seen before. Surprisingly, they bear little resemblance to the boobies that I was first introduced to by the television show Baywatch.

After around an hour we arrived at a small fishing village. The village is accessible only by boat. No roads lead in or out of it. It was super cute.

The waters near the shore were dotted with small anchored boats, which were covered in hordes of pelicans. It is very likely that I will never see so many pelicans in one place again.

The view of the unspoiled coastline was idyllic. (If you’d rather see some extremely unidyllic coastlines, check this out).

After a wander through the village and a bathroom break, we arrived at a river where our horses were kept. Actually, I don’t think they were horses. They were smaller, probably donkeys or mules. I was happy to see that they were well-cared for because I’ve seen many companies that don’t care for their animals so well.

There were flocks of butterflies in the air and beside the river in most places.

Our donkeys, or mules, or whatever they were, knew the trail perfectly. I rode the lead mule, and eventually just dropped the reigns because there was no need to steer him.

After thirty or forty minutes we arrived at a waterfall. Vallarta Adventures had a photographer on hand to capture the moment for people (and, of course, sell them their ‘moments’ later).

The waterfall was not ugly.

I decided to take my GoPro and swim as close as possible to the waterfall to take a waterfall selfie.

This is what I got.

After about an hour we hopped on our trusty steeds and meandered back to the village. On the way I took a mule selfie.

 We all hopped back in the boat and went snorkelling. So, I had a friend take a snorkelling selfie of me.

I am, as a matter of fact, the selfie master.

One of our guides managed to grab a puffer fish for me to take a photo of, which was pretty awesome.

Finally we arrived at Pizota, a private beach where they had set up an open bar, barbecue buffet, hammocks beach mats, and sea kayaks. It was pretty sweet. The coolest part for me, though, was that the beach was filled with holes dug by crabs.

The crabs were colourful, cute, and everywhere, digging away at their holes. What the holes were for, i have no idea.

A little away from the beach I found a cliff that was swarming with crabs. It was like the cliff was alive.

After a nice long beach break, we returned to Puerto Vallarta.

This trip was provided by the Puerto Vallarta Tourism Board, but all opinions are my own. 

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As a traveler, these are the types of experiences we grow to crave.

The Night Dive

I turned around in the water and saw my other two dive buddies, clearly thinking the same thing I was – I want to see the white glitter! Despite the fact that it was dark, and we had big square masks separating us, I could see the looks in their eyes.  Simultaneously, we all pointed our flashlights toward our chests, nearly extinguishing the lights, and started twirling, running our hands from side to side, and kicking around in the water, stirring up the plankton, which created a white glow. The bioluminescence was incredible, falling around us like white glitter, following our every move.

With every swish of the fin, we were putting on shows for each other. Somewhere a few meters away, our dive master realized we were squirreling around, mostly because he could no longer see us, and tapped his tank – the universal diving sign for “pay attention!” We giggled a bit into our breathing apparatuses.

Encountering Octopi

I had been jealous of some of the other dive groups, as they had seen an octopus or two during our dives in the Similans.  I had never seen one before and was dying to know what they looked like. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted an uncharacteristically white sea creature.  Immediately, he started morphing like a chameleon to black, then to purple, before settling on a nice beige that would allow him to blend in with the rock. I finally understood what all the fuss was about.  The changing colors put any art I could create to shame.

The Cherry on Top: Manta Rays!

“You’ve got a better chance at winning the lottery than seeing one, but it just might be out there,” a dive master said during our final dive briefing. He was talking about the manta rays – something we had all hoped to see, but never took as a given. It was my final of 18 dives for the trip, and I had yet to see one.  I was hoping today might be the day, but my expectations were managed.

About 20 minutes into the dive, I heard frantic tapping – it could only mean something amazing was nearby, and some other divers had just seen it.  Hoping we weren’t too far away, I spun around several times, looking up, into the blue, just about everywhere all at once. Then, like a plane gliding overhead, it soared over us, flapping its giant wings like an angel of the sea. If it were possible to cheer under water, the ocean would have erupted in roars and shrieks of delight from several dozen divers.

There’s something truly amazing about viewing sea life on their own turf.  I was merely a spectator, along for the show, keeping my distance but admiring everything I saw, taking in every moment with gusto. As a traveler, the ocean is another part of the world that I want to see every inch of.  If you’re like me, the Similan and Surin islands are sure to impress.

*Special thanks to Wicked Diving in Khao Lak, a great choice for anyone looking for an awesome diving trip in Thailand’s Similan Islands. 

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The truth is, not all adventure travel is dangerous. Most of it is actually quite educational. In the 21st century little of the world remains unexplored and families are just as capable of going on a good ol’ fashioned romp into the unknown as the bearded explorers of days past. These trips also provide an opportunity for parents to broaden their children’s knowledge of the world in a way that’s exciting and contribute to a life-long curiosity in other cultures and the natural world. Here are five trips from top-tier adventure companies designed to do just that.

Top Family Adventure #5: Madagascar

Image by bit ramone (OFF)

After seeing any of the popular Dreamworks animated movies based on this exotic island, what child would not be excited about visiting the world’s fourth largest island? Madagascar is a cornucopia of exotic fauna and flora including seven of the ten varieties of the iconic Boab trees, the endemic lemur, and the exotic colour-changing chameleon. Smaller wildlife highlights include the hissing cockroach, Dracula ands, and the Giraffe-necked weevil–enough to satisfy the appetites of even the most entomological-mined youngsters.

With a reputation as an educational destination that will keep even the most distracted child entertained, family-oriented tourism has become well-developed. Reef and Rainforest Adventures, a company specializing in family wildlife adventures, offers several itineraries from departing from London for around  $4,800 USD per adult and $3,900 USD per child to $7,000 USD per adult and $4,800 USD per child.

Top Family Adventure #4: Thailand

Image by Stuck in Customs

Floating markets, golden-roofed temples, white-water rafting, cave-kayaking, elephant riding, jungle trekking, ancient ruins, and world-class zippiness are all on the itinerary for a good visit to Thailand. That’s before even thinking about the incredible cuisine and white-sand beaches. A boom in tourism over the past two decades has enabled this country of exotic adventure to develop more and more resources for family-oriented travels. Now, the best of both worlds is available; Mysterious ancient culture and Indiana Jones-style jungle tours with all of the comfort and amenities necessary to cater to the needs of young children.

Thomson Family Adventures, a family travel company once dubbed by National Geographic Adventure Magazine to be one of the best adventure tour operators in the world, operates a family tour to Thailand (they prefer children 11+ for this tour) for around $4,190 USD per adult and $3,990 per child (prices very depending on the booking date).

Top Family Adventure #3: Utah

Image by andym801

One need not travel far to find epic landscapes for epic family adventures. The United States has its fair share of stunning geography, but few places can compare to Utah’s canyons–especially the otherworldly Zion Narrows. Spend your days hiking, biking, and picnicking in Bryce Canyon and Zion National Park, and, at night, return to the familiar comfort of your hotel (and its hot tub).

With 38 years of experience behind them, Austin Lehman Tours has been recognized by Forbes, Travel+Leisure, National Geographic Adventure, and National Geographic Traveller for excellent service. Austin Lehman offers family-focussed tours to Utah for $2,098 USD per adult and $1,678 to $1,888 per child.

Top Family Adventure #2: Egypt

Image by mexikids

Few destinations have the romance and cultural intrigue of the Pyramids of Giza. Explore these wonders of the world, sail the nile, and swim in the Red Sea during the day, and return to the comfort of a western-style hotel in the evenings.You can tour cities by horse-drawn carriage and, when it’s time to move to a new destination, travel by night on a sleeper train.  Educational and exotic, Egypt is fascinating for children and adults alike.

In recent years G Adventures grown to become one of the most prominent names in adventure travel winning several awards, including recognition from National Geographic Adventure Magazine. They offer a unique family tour starting from $1,749 USD per adult to $1,669 USD per child.

Top Family Adventure #1: Galapagos

Image by rabbit.Hole

After Darwin’s fabled trip to the archipelago that he called “a little world within itself,” the name Galapagos began to conjure in people vague ideas of exotic life and natural science. This holds as true today as it did when Darwin first visited, thus the Galapagos may be the most popular destination in the world for family nature tours. Here your children can be exposed to incredible sea life, flora, and fauna, as you cruise between islands on a yacht, snorkel and kayak in the sea, and walk among some of the best-protected and most distinct ecosystems in the world.

Geographic Expeditions has long been a favourite company of mine. Their trips are authentic, and their commitment to ethical and sustainable travel is unrivalled. They have been recognized by the likes of Travel+Leisure, Outside Magazine, and Conde Nast Traveler. Their Galapagos family package for 11 days costs $6,975 per adult and $5,510 per child.

Lead Image by Stuck in Customs

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I spent most of my time in Asia and, although I got to do a lot, there were some incredible trips that I just couldn’t fit in. So, based on what I did, and heard about last year, here are my top five budget Asian adventure suggestions for your holidays 2012

Asian Adventure 1: Trekking Borneo’s Lost World (the Maliau Basin in Sabah, Malaysia)

Image: Tianyake

It was like something out of a movie. In 1947 a pilot was lost in the fog over Borneo. Just as the fog cleared he found himself facing a rock wall. He circled around to find that the wall, nearly a kilometer high, enclosed an area of 588 square kilometers. It was later named the Maliau Basin and aptly dubbed The Lost World of Borneo. Exploration revealed that because of its isolation, the area had developed a unique tropical ecosystem. In 2006 alone more than 50 new species of plants and animals were found there. The exotic landscape has been called “Jurassic Park sans dinosaurs”. According to one website, less than 2000 people have visited the river and waterfall rich Shangri-La, and that only about half of it has been explored.

I heard about this place while looking for wild pygmy elephants on the island and was really disappointed that I didn’t have time to arrange a trip.

Borneo is more expensive than most other places in Asia, and the Maliau Basin is more expensive than most places in Borneo. However, it’s still cheaper than a comparably awesome trip to the Galapagos, Machu Piccu, or Madagascar. According to one visitor, a 3D2N trip for three people could be arranged for as little as $600USD (RM1900) per person, not including airfare.

Asian Adventure 2: Swimming with Sharks in the Southern Philippines (Malapascua and Leyte)

Image: Charlievdb

It’s no secret that the Philippines is a diving mecca. Most people seem to go straight to Coron and Palawan to explore the numerous WWII wrecks. While I was there last December, though, I did went looking for sharks, and was able to see three different kinds of sharks in two days of diving on two islands just a day’s travel apart. Most people go to Donsol to swim with whale sharks, but I like to go to Leyte. Donsol, I’ve heard, is very crowded and has somewhat poor visibility. I’ve gone swimming with whale sharks on Leyte twice and both times I was with only a handful of people on one banca boat and the water was crystal clear. This year I went to Peter’s Dive Resort on Leyte, which is one of the few (maybe two) resorts that offer whale shark tours. Peter’s has very nice clean rooms for from about $30 – 70 USD and charges around $90 for a day trip to swim with the whale sharks. Swimming with whale sharks does not require a scuba diving certificate. The sound of scuba gear tends to annoy the sharks, so everyone snorkels.

Next I went to Malapascua where I did my PADI Open Water course with Fun and Sun Dive and Travel. I completed my certificate in three days (it cost about $500 USD). Although I stayed elsewhere, the shop had rooms for about $20 USD/night). The day after I finished the course I went for two dives. On the first dive I saw the thresher sharks that Malapascua is famous for. On the second dive I saw a couple of reef sharks and a jellyfish. Theoretically, one could swim with all three kinds of sharks in three days (allowing one day to travel between sites).

Unfortunately, I’ve been spoiled by having these sought-after experiences for my first dives. Now, coral reefs and pretty fish just aren’t going to cut it for me.

Asian Adventure 3: Yeti Hunting in China or Kemerovo, Siberia, Russia

Image: Craig Damlo

Last year I read that Chinese scientists were mounting the biggest search for the Yeti in history and looking for volunteers to help out. Since then I have wanted to search the mountains of Asia for the fabled beast.

The most recent hype about the legendary hominoid, however, is centered around the Keremovo region of Siberia in Russia where scientists claim they are “95% certain” they’ve found evidence of the Siberian Yeti including footprints in the Azass cave. The Russian government has also said that they are encouraging tourists to visit the area.

I would love to join either of these expeditions and wander the mountains of Asia with my camera. It would be like an epic hiking trip, with a chance of Yeti.

Asian Adventure 4: Trekking Taroko Gorge, Taiwan

Image: Me

When talking to Richard from Barking Deer Adventures about getting a permit to climb Taiwan’s Jade Mountain (said to be the tallest mountain in East Asia) he suggested that I check out the trails in Taroko Gorge. The gorge is one of the deepest in the world and a spectacular sight. The sides are so steep and rocky that I had never thought it possible to hike there. However, as it turned out, the Japanese had built several trails through the gorge when they occupied Taiwan to monitor the aboriginal population and suppress rebellions. Many trail sections had to be blasted out of the sheer rock faces of the gorge. The result is some spectacular sections, including one 200m section of the Jhiulu Trail (dubbed the Vertigo Trail) where the trail is just a couple of feet wide with sheer cliffs rising and dropping several hundred meters on each side. Check out my Vertigo Trail video here.

There is a great guesthouse at the bottom of the gorge run by a guy named Rihan. He has rooms for around $25 USD per person. For $10 USD he’ll rent you a bike for the day. For another $10 USD he’ll drive you and the bike up the gorge, drop you off your trail of choice, and will lock up the bike at the end of the trail so that after you finish your hike you can cruise down the gorge back to the hostel on the bike. It is an epic ride.

Asian Adventure 5: Snowboarding Gulmarg, Kashmir, India

Image: Batshmidt

Gulmarg in Northern India is one of the coolest ski resorts I’ve heard of. It consists of two gondolas that will carries skiers and snowboarders over 1100m up Kongdoori Mountain. Torrential snowfall makes this among the best ski destinations in the world.

What makes it great, in my opinion, is that the resort is almost totally undeveloped and the skiing is all backcountry style. One Wikipedia contributor wrote that it’s not unusual to make ten runs in a day and find fresh tracks on at least a few of them.

Rooms here can be found for around $35 USD.

For these reasons it was rated by CNN International the world’s 7th best ski resort, and is on my must-do list this year.

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When I rented my motorcycle on my first day in Kota Kinabalu, I asked the owner of the shop where I could find bornean pygmy elephants, an endangered species found only on Borneo.

“Here.” He told me, circling an area on the east side of the island that comprised 1/10^th of the province. The province of Sabah is about 74,000 square kilometers, so the area that he indicated was probably about 740 square kilometers.

“Can you be more specific?”

“No. They’re always moving.”

I went to the northern part of that area hoping to find better information once I arrived.

I was staying at a hostel beside the Sepilok Orangutan Sanctuary.  There I ran into two Swedish nurses that I had met on my first day in Kota Kinabalu. We had met two pretty Dutch sisters the previous night, and I had stayed up very late talking to the younger of the two, a recent MBA graduate named Klara.

We planned to continue traveling as a group. The Swedish nurses and I had already visited the orangutan and proboscis monkey sanctuaries, but the sisters had not, so we decided that we would stay at the hostel one more day to give the sisters a chance to visit the sanctuaries. After that we would go south to Kinabatangan Park to take nature-watching boat rides on the Kinabatangan River.

I asked the staff at the hostel if they knew where I could find pygmy elephants. They did not. From what they told me, it sounded like nobody would. Even the experts rarely know where they are. Pygmy elephants are restless creatures. They sleep only two hours a day and spend the other 22 walking and eating. They can travel as far as 27 kilometers in a day so, even when somebody does spot them, they are often gone by the time word makes it back to the tour guides. To make matters worse, during heavy rains (like the ones that had been flooding the peninsula in the preceding weeks) the elephants tend to move into the jungle.

Despite this, that afternoon my chances of finding them improved dramatically. A few weeks before my trip I had emailed the Sabah Tourism Board to ask if they could recommend a guide to take me to see the elephants. I also mentioned that I would be working while in Borneo, and that I would be happy to write articles for their tourism publications.

That evening in Sepilok, with just five days left to hunt for the pygmy elephants, I received the tourism board’s reply. They said that they wanted photos of orangutans, proboscis monkeys, and pygmy elephants. In exchange for one hundred photos they would provide me with a room and board, a guide, transportation to Kinabatangan Park, and a private boat with which we could cruise the river.

I replied immediately. I wrote that I’d be thrilled to go, but would only have enough time if I left immediately. After a quick email exchange everything was arranged. My guide would pick me up in front of the hostel the following morning.

At dinner I told the girls about my trip. They were excited for me. They had found some good holiday deals, but mine took the cake.

“Do you know where you are staying?” Asked Klara. “Maybe they will have some empty rooms.”

I didn’t know. I only knew that I would be in the village of Sukau on the river. The girls decided that they would also come to Sukau so that we might find each other there.

Things could not have been better.

My guide, Thorpe, picked me up early the next morning. He was a slender Malaysian man with dressed head-to-toe in khaki and wearing a wide-brimmed trekking hat and large glasses.

On the ride Thorpe told me that the guiding company he worked for was the same one that the tourism board sent all of their major clients to: National Geographic, the Travel Channel, the BBC. I was epically thrilled that I was being guided by the same guy that took out NatGeo photographers, but, I was also intimidated. Thorpe had worked with the best of the best. I, on the other had, was young and new. I was afraid that my photography wouldn’t be up to par.

“Is there anything that you’d like to see today?” Thorpe asked me. “We won’t be go out in the boat until tomorrow morning.”

“I read about cave where they collect nests for bird’s nest soup.”

When I was young I had seen pictures of the bird’s nest collectors in National Geographic—slender Asian men climbing bamboo poles hundreds of feet up the sides of caves to pluck tiny nests from the walls.

“Ah yes. The Gomantong Caves. How tall are your boots?”

“Just above my ankle. Why? Is it muddy?”

“No,” he laughed. “Bat guano. If you want to get the good pictures you will have to climb mountains of bat guano.”

My first Bornean outdoors wildlife adventure was going to climbing giant piles of bat poop.

“Awesome!”

Two hours later we walked out of the jungle into a large clearing in front of the majestic caves. The entrance to the main cave was at least 40 meters tall. In front of it was a creek with an arched walking bridge. On each side of the clearing was a long rectangular wooden building on stilts. They were the bird’s nest collectors’ homes. Several were lazing in the shade beneath one of the buildings.

As we approached a man came out of the building on the left. He had shaggy hair, was missing several teeth, and was wearing flip-flops and socks. Thorpe asked him to show me one of the bird’s nests. If you took a hollow softball and cut it into quarters, the resulting pieces would be about the same size and shape as the nest. It was varying shades of brown and looked like it was made of melted plastic. He held it to his hand to show it would sit against the cave wall.

“They’re made only from bird saliva.” Thorpe told me proudly.

I thought it was strange that he would seem proud of such a fact.

Of course, Canadians chose the beaver to be their national animal, so who am I to judge?

“This nest is not a very good one.” He continued. “The color means that there are a lot of other things mixed in with the bird saliva. A white nest is pure. It’s worth much more.”

“Because it makes better soup?”

“Yes.”

“So, bird’s nest soup is actually bird spit soup?”

“Exactly.”

Bird’s nest soup is a perfect example why I love living in Asia—at least once a week you encounter something so brilliantly bizarre that you can only shake your head and laugh. It’s like living on one of the planets in Star Wars, except weirder.

I snapped some pictures and we continued to the cave. The bridge that crossed the creek connected with an elevated wooden walkway. At the entrance it forked, each path leading to one of the cave walls and then following it to the back, enabling people to walk a complete circuit. At the rear of the cave there was a large opening allowing the light to stream in. There were also two fair-size holes in the ceiling. We had come at the perfect time of day for photography. Brilliant shafts of light penetrated the massive dome giving it the appearance of a holy chamber.

The floor of the cave was covered by what appeared to be one giant black sand dune. At it’s peak it was at least 15 meters tall. On one side a small creek ran through it.

“Bat guano?”

“Yes. Bat guano.”

“I can walk on it?”

“Yes. But be careful. In some places it’s firm, but in other’s it’s soft. I don’t want you to get stuck.” Thrope grinned.

I didn’t care about the mountain of bat poop. I was too excited about shooting the cave. I pulled out my tripod, put my wide-angle lens on my camera, and climbed over the railing of the walkway, and began hiking up the black dune of excrement.

It was a surprising pile of poop—not at all what one would expect. It was dry and springy underfoot, but overall it was surprisingly firm—except in certain places where my boot would unexpectedly sink in and I’d have to try to pull it out quickly before the bat guano reached the unprotected skin above my boot. Some areas, which I avoided, teemed with cockroaches the size of field mice. Strangely, it didn’t smell at all.

Thorpe opted to stay on the wooden walkway. He had taken out a camera of his own and was also walking around the cave taking pictures.

Thorpe, it turned out, was an amateur photographer with a passion for wildlife photography. On our way back to the car we talked about gear.

“What do you shoot with?” I asked him.

“A Nikon D700.”

“Wow, that’s a really nice camera.” A D700 is a professional-level Nikon worth about three times as much as my high-end amateur D80.

My guide had a better camera than I did. This made me self-conscious. I began to think that I had been given this trip in error. Would my photos be good enough for the tourism board?

“What lenses do you have?” Thorpe asked me.

“I have a 50mm, a 35mm, and an 18-135mm.”

“You don’t have a telephoto?”

“No.”

“How are you going to shoot the elephants? We will not be able to get close to them.”

At that moment I realized that I really had stepped in a giant mountain of bat guano, both literally, and figuratively.

Read the final installment: Adventures in Malaysian Borneo Part V: The Eye of the Elephant

The post Adventures in Malaysian Borneo Part 4: A Mountain of Bat Guano appeared first on XpatMatt.

Photo courtesy of sgirolimetto on Flickr

What is Via Ferrata?

The word via ferrata refers to both a sport and to the course on which the sport is practiced. The sport of via ferrata is a type of mountaineering that involves hiking, scrambling, and mountain climbing assisted by ladders, bridges, cables, and stemples (narrow wooden steps attached to the mountainside with iron bolts). The courses where this is done, called via ferrate, are routes leading through rugged and precipitous terrain where difficult areas are made navigable by installations in the rock including ladders, cables, and bridges. This makes via ferrata somewhat safer, and much more accessible to untrained adventures, than mountain climbing.

Although it is easier and safer than mountain climbing, via ferrata still poses a great risk of injury. Although the risk of falling while doing via ferrata is smaller than when climbing, the likelihood of being injured in a fall from via ferrata is greater, partly because one is likely to fall onto the via ferrata equipment protruding from the mountain side and also because, due the design of via ferrate and associated safety equipment, it’s possible for a person to fall much farther than one would when using climbing safety gear and techniques. So, it is important to exercise caution and take proper safety measures.

That being said, via ferrata is rapidly gaining in popularity around the world with courses in at least 18 countries in North America, Europe, Asia, and the Middle East. The sport is most entrenched in Italy and France, and is growing very quickly in Canada and the United States. The highest via ferrata in the world, however, is located at an altitude of 3800 m on Mount Kinabalu (the tallest mountain in Southeast Asia) in the state of Sabah, in Malaysia.

Photo by slipah on Flickr

The home of Via Ferrata: Italy’s Dolomite Mountains

The Dolomite Mountains (a section of the Alps located partly in northern Italy) consist of sweeping valleys flanked by sections of tall spires and precipitous ridges. The valleys are gentle enough to allow one to hike to a very high altitude, but the ruggedness of the higher regions makes them all but impossible to climb without assistance. This makes them ideal for via ferrata.

The home of via ferrata, the Dolomites have more via ferrate than anywhere else in the world. Thus, one may climb these ‘iron roads’ to high altitudes and then follow them along elevated ridges and peaks where they are rewarded with unmatched views of the Alps beautiful vistas and valleys. With the exception of a professional climbing expedition, there is no better way to experience the variety and beauty of the Italian Dolomites than via ferrata. For a taste of what you can expect, check out the photos of via ferrata in the Dolomites below.

Photo by Giustino on Flickr

The History of Via Ferrata

Via ferrata is was borne from Italy’s need to move troops and supplies efficiently through the inhospitable Dolomite Mountains in order to battle with Austria during the First World War. It was probably in 1915 or 16 that the first via ferrate ladders and cables were fixed mountainsides.

Via ferrate back then were much less reliable than they are today. Over the years the wooden steps and ladders and rope have been replaced by iron ladders, metal stemples, and steel cables, and many new routes have been added by the Italian Alpine Hiking Club (Club Alpino Italiano), who are the main caretakers of Italy’s via ferrate. Many remnants of the First World War, such as trenches and dugouts, can still be seen along the via ferrate in the Italian Dolomites.

Photo by janette10 on Flickr

Plan Your Trip to Via Ferrata in Italy’s Dolomites

The most convenient international airport for travelling to the Italian Dolomites is in Venice. From there you can travel by car or bus to Alta Badia or Cortina d’Ampezzo, both of which are in close proximity to numerous via ferrate. Both towns have ample via ferrate facilities, maps, and guides to help you plan tour.

Both towns have accommodations for all budgets. If you want to be pampered after you day in the mountains, you will find plenty of luxury villas in Italy.

Lead photo by Stuart England on Flickr.

Trentino Dolomites Vacations

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When Jeremy told me that we were going to hike up a glacier and down the cave that a river had carved through it, I thought it would be an easy hike. I had been on several glaciers before, and they had all been reasonably flat. This one was much steeper.

“I thought you said you hiked this with your little brother and sister before.”

“I did, but I had ropes and two ice axes.” He told me.

We had no ropes and Jeremy only had one ice axe for himself.

I picked up a sausage-thick stick and broke it into two short pieces so that I could use the pointed ends to chisel holes in the glacier’s hard surface. As we began hiking up the glacier we discussed the consequences of slipping. We concluded that even if I slipped I could probably stop myself before reaching the bottom of the glacier where it abruptly ended and dropped ten meters into the lake. Even I slid all the way off the glacier and fell in the lake, the water was probably deep enough that I wouldn’t hit bottom. The iceburn caused by sliding over the glacier’s surface, which was covered in tiny shards of ice-gravel, would probably be the worst thing that would happen. So, there was no danger of serious injury or death, only that of a road-rash like wound and a short swim in a lake filled with icebergs.

Our plan was to climb the glacier to the mouth of the cave, which had been created by a river running through the ice. Here is a picture of the glacier.

We would attempt to climb down the entire length of the cave and come out at the bottom of the glacier into the lake. There we would determine if we could walk out through the lake, or if we would have to climb back up the cave and return the way we had come. Of course, having planned the expedition only hours earlier, we were grossly unprepared. We had only one ice axe between us, and had no ropes and no lights.

I climbed the glacial slope slowly, methodically chiseling out holes with my sticks and then plunging the sticks into them to pull myself up. It was a hot sunny August day and we were sweating, but the occasional gust of wind swept across the glacier sending shivers through my body. The glacier creaked and groaned in the sun, and we heard the occasional loud splash when a large chunk of ice calved into the lake.

About two-thirds of the way up the glacier we began moving towards the edge. We wouldn’t be able to get off the glacier at the top because as it shrank over the summer it had pulled away from the mountainside leaving a gap several meters wide and several meters deep. We found a place where a chunk of glacier had broken off and tilted away from the glacier. We were able to wedge bodies between the two slabs of ice and lower ourselves to the ground.

We continued our climb on the rocky mountainside, which was slick with water from the glacier we had climbed and others above. Eventually we reached the mouth of the cave at the top of the glacier. Here is a picture of the view.

And here is a picture of Jeremy looking down into the cave.

The cave was about two meters tall and ten meters wide. It had been created by a river running under the glacier. Frigid water splashed everywhere as it ran over the steep and rugged surface in tiny waterfalls. We were going to have to climb down the icy river.  Here is a picture of me climbing down the first pitch.

The first pitch was easy to climb down, though the water quickly numbed our hands and feet. At its base was a fork in the cave. We opted for the left, larger, cavern. As we continued our descent the cave became darker. Since we had no flashlights we had to rely on the dwindling light from the mouth of the cave.

The next pitch was much darker, steeper, and longer than the first. Jeremy tried to climb down the right side, and I the left. The pitch was climbable, but after several minutes in the dark groping for footholds with icy water running over our hands, our determination waned. Here is a picture of the water that was freezing our hands.

We climbed back to the top of the pitch to discuss the situation. It was clear that it could be climbed, but without light it simply wasn’t safe. Given that Jeremy had children, and I did not have backpackers insurance, we decided it would be prudent to abandon our hopes of descending the length of the cave and leave the way we came.

We returned to the mouth of the cave and descended toward the lake on the mountainside beside the glacier. At one point we walked under a small ice bridge. When we were about twenty meters past it we heard a loud crash. We turned to see that the ice bridge, which had contained hundreds of kilograms of ice, had collapsed where we had just moments earlier been walking.

On the way down I considered swimming in the lake. I had recently been whitewater rafting. On the trip we flipped our raft in the glacier-fed river and the water, although cold, had been bearable. I thought that a picture of me standing on an iceberg in a lake would be great for my blog.

“If I swim out to one of those icebergs in the lake, will you take some pictures for my blog?” I asked Jeremy.

“Are you an idiot?”

“Maybe.”

I took off my shoes and shirt and, before I had time to think about what I was doing, dove in and sprinted towards the nearest iceberg. This is what I looked like.

The water was freezing, but I wasn’t in it long. I reached the iceberg and climbed aboard. It slowly started tipping over as I stood on it. Jeremy snapped a few pictures before I dove back into the water. Here is one of them.

My body burned in the freezing water as I rushed back to shore. Once out of the water I toweled off with my shirt and we headed home satisfied. In the distance a fly fisherman who had seen my performance laughed loudly, his guffaws echoing across the lake.

How to Get to White Boar Lake

If you’d like to check out this beautiful little alpine lake, first, find your way to Marysville, British Columbia, which is located in the Purcell Mountains in the southeast corner of the province.  Drive north out of Marysville towards Kimberley. Less than one kilometer away you will find St. Mary’s Lake Rd. Turn left (west). Follow the road 16 km (to around the 27 km marker) and then turn left. You will cross a small bridge over the St. Mary’s River. Take your second right onto Hellroaring Rd. and follow it 1.6 km to Meachen Rd. and take a right. Follow the road 14 km (to the 16 km marker). Here you should see a sign for White Boar Lake. Take a left and follow the road to the parking lot. White Boar Lake is a 100 m walk down the hill from the parking lot.

Kimberley Vacations

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Emilie and I arrived Cebu city one humid February afternoon with the intention of leaving the next day to find a village where there we could get away from other travelers.  Over breakfast I thumbed through our Lonely Planet’s section on the Visayas. The book made it clear that the island of Cebu was too touristy for our mission. The closest island, Bohol to the south, would be less touristy, but would also be a difficult place to get away from other travelers. As I scanned the map looking for an alternative I noticed a speck in the straight between the Cebu and Bohol. It was labeled Cabilao Island.

The book contained only one paragraph about Cabilao Island. It said that it was eight-square kilometers, had one small village, and listed the names of two businesses that provided accommodations. It did not mention any way to get on or off the island, or any attractions on the island that would draw visitors. It was perfect.

By lunchtime we were on a ferry to Bohol, and by mid-afternoon we were walking among dozens of ornate local busses called jeepneys looking for one that would take us to the village of Calape. Calape was the black dot on our map nearest Cabilao Island.

We found our jeepney and crammed our stuff and ourselves into the back. When the jeepney was so full that nobody could move, it departed.

An hour later we arrived in Calape. The sun was beginning to sink into the palm trees casting long shadows across the potholed road. I looked in each direction. The road was lined with weather-beaten wooden structures for about 100 yards before giving way to jungle. The structures appeared to be stores, but I could not be sure because there were no signs and most of their doors were closed.

“What now?” Emilie asked.

“I guess we better find somebody with a boat and pay him to take us to the island.”

I walked up the road, looking inside open doorways to see if anyone was in any of the buildings. Inside one was an old woman.

“Hello.”

She looked up at me and said something in Tagalog. Then she shouted something over her shoulder. A man appeared in the doorway behind her.

“Hi. We’re trying to go to Cabilao.”

They looked at me blankly. I had thought that most people in the Philippines spoke English. I was wrong.

Outside Emilie was trying to talk to an old man who also didn’t speak English. A group of amused children watched the exchange. The news of our arrival spread quickly through the village and soon a small crowd surrounded us. One young man came forward.

“You go where?” He asked.

“We want to go to Cabilao Island.” I said and showed him the island on the map.

“Oh, Cabilao.” He turned and spoke rapidly in Tagalog to the crowd. Then he turned back to us.

“How will you go there?”

“Boat.”

“You have a friend with a boat?”

“No. We want to go to the docks.”

He turned and spoke again to the crowd. Everyone chattered for a moment, and then the crowd began to disperse.

A few minutes later a large sweaty man with a latino-style mustachio pulled up on a dirtbike.

“He will take you to the dock for 200 pesos (about $5 USD).” The young man told us.

“Can somebody there take us to Cabilao?”

“I don’t know.”

Emilie and I managed to squeeze onto the bike behind our rotund driver with our two large backpacks while I held my guitar in its hard case off the side. We drove first through the jungle, and then along dirt road to the end of a peninsula in the dwindling daylight. The air was thick with moisture and chlorophyll and the man smelled like sweat and rum. Of course, nobody had a helmet.

At the docks three fishermen were unloading the last boat of the day. They didn’t speak English, so I took a notebook and pen out of my bag. A spirited round of written bartering ensued, resulting in a price of 800 pesos (about $20 USD) each.  It was much more than we should have paid, but they had us over a barrel. At that point we didn’t really care anyways. We were almost at the island.

We reclined in the boat, proud that we had left Cebu that morning without so much as a plan, and managed to improvise our way all the way to Cabilao Island. We quietly gloated to ourselves about what awesome off-the-beaten-path travelers we were.

It was dark when we arrived.  The boat slid onto the sandy shore with a “shushhh”. We paid the fisherman, slung our packs, and started up the beach. About twenty yards inland stood a large building with bamboo walls, a grass roof, and light streaming from the windows.

A beautiful Filipino girl wearing a long flowered dress greeted us at the door.

“For two?” She asked.

Scattered throughout the room were several polished wooden tables surrounded by pale old Western tourists with wrinkly chicken waddle skin under their chins. Most of them wore t-shirts and speedo bottoms. As it turned out, the listings in our Lonely Planet, which included only names and telephone numbers, were not for cheap local hotels as the lack of description had led us to believe. They were first-class scuba resorts for fat rich Germans.  The people in the dining room stared at us for a moment before returning their attention to their schnitzel and gewürztraminer.

Defeated, we took an overpriced room, ate an overpriced schnitzel, and drank an overpriced beer. That night, while thinking back to figure out where we went wrong, I came up with three steps necessary to getting off the beaten path. We had failed in two.  These are the steps:

1)   Throw away your guidebook. Anyplace that is mentioned in a guidebook will have tourists by virtue of being mentioned in a guidebook.

2)   Get on a local bus out of town.

3)   When you arrive in a village with no tourists, hotels, or English speakers, where you feel completely uncomfortable and out of place, stop.

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