The service is called Whai Whai and it focuses five cities in Italy: Rome, Venice, Florence, Verona, and Milan. Apparently they are also preparing a guide for New York City. The way it works is simple. Players begin by sending a text with a code indicated in the guide (for those with smartphones an app is available). They are given the option of desired length of play, difficulty level, and starting location. A series of enigmas are sent to the player where local knowledge is required to solve the problem before the next destination is revealed. As the adventure unfolds, you are treated to a unique narrative that brings to life the history of the city in the most creative and unexpected way.

Each guidebook can be played twice with a different set of challenges and stories. That way you can truly discover a complete and different perspective of the city. Players can also challenge friends to a game of “discover the city”. Instead of individual adventures there are two separate adventures that start and finish at the same location. That way you can see who discovers the city fastest. A bit like “The Amazing Race”.

I really love this service because I’m always looking to discover the underbelly of a city rather than the traditional tourist treks. Not only will you see the real heart of the city, but you may stumble on some fantastic dining experiences as well! Here is the website – http://www.whaiwhai.com/en/

The site coins itself as an “inspiration engine”. To live up to this worthy label, the service needs to be simple yet very appealing, both visually and emotionally. Therefore, they have ensured that the interface is above all simple and easy to use. As such Wanderfly focuses on three variables: A user’s budget, time frame, and interests. The interests are represented by well-designed and approachable icons that range from food and culture to “eco-friendly” and nightlife. Destination options can be tailed to specific regions or cities or they can be kept wide open for a real surprise. It is almost like spinning a globe and choosing a destination by stopping it with your finger to determine where you are going to visit. The big difference is that you’ll know everything you need to get there and to make the most of your trip once you land.

The way that Wanderfly collects trusted information to make for a truly inspiring travel recommendation is that it searches 22 trusted sites which include Expedia, Foursquare, Yelp, and Lonely Planet. With the information gathered from those sites it recommends a trip complete with destination, flight, hotel, and activities. With the recommendation, users can customize these options and book through Expedia or that can simply flip to the next suggested trip. As a means to add another layer of social to the experience, Wanderfly allows you to directly connect to friends in any of your potential destinations through Facebook.

Wanderfly is based out of New York City and currently features more than 1200 global destinations. However, many more destination are to come. Apparently they are also working on quickly taking their service to the next level by adding concierge packages, restaurant reservations, travel products, and event tickets. To make the experience more social they are also exploring user-generated content, group-planning tools, and a widget to allow outside travel parties to integrate into their site.

You can visit their site to play around with their service. Happy travels!

Torontonians are fairly active people and they love sports. The city is littered with gyms, it contains several North American sports franchises, its citizens have been trying desperately to get an NFL team, and even the Ultimate Fighting Championship has targeted Toronto as a critical market for its global expansion. Gosh, even the people look pretty fit. The Harbourfront reflects this aspect of the city’s DNA. It has a boardwalk that rivals that of Miami’s South Beach. Trees pepper the miles of pedestrian trails, complimented by quaint marinas and spacious patios. The view onto Lake Ontario is equally soothing.  It truly is a visual gem that sparkles that much brighter when freed from the clutter of the crowds. If you make your way to this area in the morning you will find local joggers and cyclists. To them, this lovely neighborhood is their morning getaway. You will also find the more daring fitness fanatics that start their day with a paddle around the harbor.  If you’re up for it you can easily join them, the Toronto Canoe & Kayak Center welcomes members and non-members alike.

As much as Toronto has a healthy side, it equally revels in the more indulgent side of life. Again, the Harbourfront delivers for its citizens. During each summer the Harbourfront Centre hosts World Routes, a celebration of global cultures brought to life through their food, art, music, and creativity. Torontonians from all corners of the city make their way here to savor the cuisine and take in the entertainment. The World Café is a favorite. Think Disney’s Epcot Center meets a NYC street Fair. Yup, true international flavor served up with a good dose of authenticity and honest prices. I absolutely love it.  A word of advice, avoid the weekends since it gets a bit crazed with waves of families and attention-grabbing roller-bladers. An exception to this warning can be taken on select weekend nights. As part of the World Routes festival is a constant stream of late-night concerts and performances. Most of the annoying body traffic will have ceased allowing you to really take in the entertainment. Granted, a popular performer, which is common during the regular Canada Day and Beats, Breaks, and Culture weekends, will draw a notable local crowd. Nonetheless, the experience is awesome. Why? The outdoor stage coupled with the lake breeze and flickering lights from houses on Center Island make the moment so sensory and emotionally riveting.

Fortunately, the evening doesn’t have to stop after the stage lights are turned off. One of Toronto’s legendary nightclubs is just down the road – The Guvernment. Most of the world’s top DJs have performed at this established dance Mecca so it continues to draw the city’s “scenesters”. More eye-candy for either sex will be hard to find anyplace else. Therefore, you may be in for a long night. So a bit of fuel is likely in order. Harbourfront easily delivers. Right across the street from the Harbourfront Centre is Habeebe’s Shawarma, arguably one of the tastiest late-night Mediterranean places in the city. A great way to enjoy his tasty dishes is to sit on the waterfront benches. They are only a few minutes away and are on the way to the club. Once at the Guvernment you will have a plethora of vibes to choose from. The place has multiple rooms, each with different artists playing different music styles. There is even a rooftop patio that would be the envy of New York City hotel bars.

In addition to late-night excess, Torontonians also enjoy daytime pampering. Harbourfront ensures that this desire is thoroughly met. The traditional solution is a stroll through Center Island, a beautiful land strip just off the mainland. Massive ferries chug back and forth several times per hour. However, there are other more local daytime retreats: beautifully designed lakeside man-made beaches. Design and renovation are defining attributes of this ever-growing city. Once again, Harbourfront is a key contributor to this dynamic. Previously unattended docklands are being transformed into Chicago-style pedestrian oases. A personal favorite is Sugar Beach. Built right beside the old RedPath Sugar factory, it has a stunning view onto the water and the sandy surface is spotted with cottage-inspired wooden lawn chairs and sun umbrellas. You may find yourself drawn in for the entire day.

Harbourfront truly is a micro-representation of the energy, diversity, and cultural richness of Toronto. However, it is important to see beyond all the tourist trappings to walk among the locals. Only then the magic of Toronto becomes apparent. Only then do you start to feel the love that the citizens have for this great city. Only then can you experience a true travelers delight.

It is not that long ago that the Western world painted images of Turkey that weren’t too appealing, let alone magnetically exotic. Instead we were treated to stories that stirred up reservation, perhaps even fear. Think about the film “Midnight Express” and you’ll know what I mean. Now, times have truly changed. You cannot mention Istanbul in any conversation without someone speaking fondly about their recent visit or their absolute desire to travel there. The world’s best DJs have epic sets from Istanbul or Bodrum as part of their discographies that dance music lovers clamor over, travel and cooking shows enamored by Western audiences have entire episodes dedicated to Turkey, and even mass pop-culture reality shows such as The Bachelor with millions of adorned fans have parts of their season on-location in Turkey. Oh yes, Turkey has done a true 180 in the critical eyes of the World’s media. Is it justified? Absolutely. I would even say it deserves more admiration.

Part of its praise and likely part of its past misunderstanding lie in its location. It is ground zero where the world’s great cultures collide. East truly meets West in Turkey. You need only look at how Istanbul is segmented: One side of the Bosphorus (waterway that links the Sea Of Marmara with the Black Sea) is called the Europe side, the other is called the Asia side. Within the city you can shop in the West’s most common stores and enjoy the social life of Europe while hearing the beautiful and hypnotic chants emanating from the city’s countless mosques. Visitors from all around the Middle East mix seamlessly with Europeans and North Americans. It has something for all tastes while not disrespecting either culture. A beautiful and sophisticated balancing act that only centuries of experience can master. This expertise manifests itself beautifully in the local fashions.  Not only do you get traditional Muslim attire next to Western exhibitionism, you also get a unique middle ground. Stunning outfits from European top designers blend organically with ornate headscarves which creates a look that is at the same time arresting while not being provocative.

Speaking of provocation and the adoption of select cultural rituals, one must see a Besiktas FC football match while in Istanbul. Football is the world’s most popular game and cities the world over have avid club fans making trips to the local stadium amazing experiences. Ask an Argentine about fan experience and he will tell you to see a match in Buenos Aires, a Spaniard will tell you to experience a match in Barcelona, and a Brit will tell you to not bother because he doesn’t want you taking his seat. Either way, football has some well established, world-famous, and powerful fan experiences. I’ve been fortunate to have experienced several across the World, from France to Germany to England to Spain to China. I’ve even had the honor to experience elimination round World Cup football. However, I’ve never witnessed such passion and energy as in Istanbul. Literally every single person in the stands at the Besiktas match was on their feet chanting. The volume was unparalleled. Our local friend said that the stadium boasts the loudest game in football history. This could very well be true based on what we experienced. Sections of the stadium taunted others to a “chant-off” while others rallied the entire crowd to sing their war cry. The starting line at an F1 race would have a tough time beating the volume emanating from the tight and aged Besiktas stadium. The visual experience was equally powerful. Towels rustled in the air making for the brightest and most electrifying display that would make the most notorious NBA crowds jealous. The entire stadium jumped up and down, much like a tribal dance accept on an epic scale. Honestly, this is an experience that will be etched in your memory. Just a word of caution, wear the team’s colors!

Another glorious experience filled with color is a visit to the Spice Market. No, I am not referring to restaurant at The W. I’m referring to the ancient market where spices were traded among merchants. It is found just off the coast of the Old City at a neighborhood called Eminonu. While not as big as the Grand Bazaar, it has most of what you can find there and the vendors are much more willing to negotiate (at least with foreigners). Don’t get me wrong, it is still a tourist trap but we felt the experience to be richer and more enjoyable. Here you can get to know a tiny bit from the locals: where they are from, what they find interesting, and so on. Some will be curious about an aspect of your attire or demeanor. This is your ticket to conversation. Grab it and enjoy the ride. In my case, I kept on being asked whether I was a boxer or a fan of Rambo. I’m a bit built, but Rambo! Anyway, I played along and some of the conversation that ensued was priceless. The characters with whom you will engage in conversation are equally priceless. We bought spices and teas from this guy who looked like a cross between Borat and McLovin. Pants too high for the health of future child-making and gold accessories that would make Mr. T envious, this guy needed to be cast in a film. Joking aside, he treated us to a wonderful journey of spice, herb, tea, and candy exploration. The aromas and tastes were so acute yet so appealing. If you do not take the time to do this, you will miss out on what the market really has to offer. Moreover, this experience coupled with the venue, and a dose of imagination, allow for a sense of what might have been experienced centuries ago. It can truly be that captivating.

This leads to another treat of Turkey: living history. Arguably the most vivid taste of the past is at Ephesus (or Efes). This is the most well-preserved Roman ruin in the Mediterranean. It was the Roman Empire’s capital city of Asia. Funny, even the Roman’s viewed these lands as the gateway to the East. This glorious city housed around 200,000 people during its heyday. Walking down the main road you can tangibly feel Roman life: columns lie to the one side, buildings to the other side, and far below a glorious edifice stands majestically in-front of a city square. A side-step into the terrace houses provides an even richer view of everyday Roman life. Murals and mosaics line intricate quarters. These houses and their artistry would be the envy of the finest architects today. A few steps further past the square sits alongside a mountain a 24,000 person capacity auditorium. How these people at those times built this giant alongside such challenging geography is jaw-dropping. It is seriously difficult not to be humbled by Roman accomplishment. I found myself standing still, just gazing at the marvels around me. It was beautiful. Then I got bumped by one tourist, then another, then another. Yes, tour bus time kicks in at 10 – 10:30AM. Try to avoid it. They don’t seem to have a capacity on the grounds, and it felt like the original number of citizens roamed the ruins. A taste of the real thing, maybe, but having it to yourself by coming a tad earlier may be nicer.

Another ancient experience that truly warrants avoidance of peak visitor hours is going to a Hamam. A traditional Turkish bath is a very social endeavor, so peak hours can get very awkward very fast. An overflow of less-than-appealing nudity coupled with potent body odor can be discomforting. So, go early and leave in the relaxed state you expected. We visited one of the oldest in Istanbul called Cagaloglu Hamami. Just the right amount of people were present making the experience authentic yet highly relaxing. The ritual is heavenly: Shower, scrub, massage, scrub, bathe, hot room, bathe, beer (the last one I added). Karin decided to spice up her visit by wearing her masseuses bathrobe to the shower, much to the laughter of the other workers sitting around (by the way, men and women have their separate Hamams). You enter the main area that is wall to wall marble with a huge marble table placed in the center of the room. This is where the massages take place. Along the walls are many water basins where individual patrons sit to bathe and scrub. The oval covered roof has small slits for light. The shape creates an acoustic melody where conversations bounce off the walls creating a series of echoes. Turkish and Arabic flood the room putting you further in trance. Before you have time to get totally sedated, the masseuse calls you over to the marble alter. I had a guy who bore an acute resemblance to an obese Tom Selleck. His heavy hairy self leaned into every massage, cracking my back and likely two or three other body parts. It sounds painful but was actually awesome. Then came the scrub. Honestly, this was different. I’ve had my mom clean me as a child but having a grown man clean another grown man seems off. However, it was surprisingly pleasant. Once all is done, you go to your change room, sit for a while and have some tea, then leave. New and rejuvenated, it was a superb way to start the day.

Activities are endless in Turkey. However, boat rides are part of the cultural fabric and must be relished. Whether you are in a bustling city such as Istanbul or at a vacation town such as Bodrum or Fethiye, you will find magnificent boat trips. In Istanbul, the crown trip is along the Bosphorus to the Black Sea. It is a six hour tour that stops along multiple historic sites. You pass by a wide array of visual wonders such as ancient castles, sea-side mansions, ship yards, and even extravagant open-air night clubs. In Bodrum the vibe is much more relaxed. Replace harsh wooden benches with plush pillows and replace architectural wonders with archeological masterpieces. The characters also differ a great deal. Instead of the photo hungry tourist you will find the flirtatious locals dancing with overly happy elderly ladies. Later those ladies are in the water more than the 12 year olds and smoking more ferociously than 24 year olds. A mind-opening experience, believe me.

Finally, the most noteworthy part of Turkey is the food. It is truly an experience like no other. Heavenly, exotic, divine, glorious, intense, mouth-invigorating, tantalizing, and many more words can be used to describe this diverse and distinct cuisine. The biggest export is the Kebab. Late night snack of choice in many big cities around the world, it conjures up thoughts of grease and lasting smell. However, in its land of origin it is very different. The meats are rich in taste but without the negatives of their overseas cousins. The sauces are succulent but light. The fish is spiced but far from over-powering. The vegetables are fresh but lightly dressed. The many varieties of food warrant serious exploration. Do fancy and road-side. Do restaurant and cart. Do salty and sweet. Do it morning, lunch, dinner, and late dinner. When Anthony Bourdaine did a piece on Turkish food in his show No Reservations, I couldn’t wait to get here. He raved and raved about the brilliance of the food and mastery of the cooks. His admiration was far from the praise I will give this cuisine. I’d actually just visit for the food!

Yes Turkey is a destination that is appealing for so many different reasons. Everyone wants to be here and it has something for everyone. We’ve only explored two outstanding destinations but there are countless more. Every corner of this wonderful land is overflowing with richness in history and geography. We want more of this land. It will see us again soon.

To see my collection of photos from this trip please visit www.flickr.com/frankmertens

Started by two professional photographers, Photours was designed to eliminate being rushed through scenic locations. Instead, the trip makes a point of finding and staying at inspiring sites. On top of adequate time, the tour offers photo tips and suggestions making the vacation perfectly paced and ideally educational. Destinations are Europe-centric, ranging from day trips to week plus expeditions.

Photours also gives each participant a detailed workbook filled with details of the themes used on the trip. Pricing varies with the length of the trip and the travel involved.

Have a look at the Gallery and decide whether you feel it is right from you.

Until next time.

See website here – http://photours.org/

Travel guides are great but often leave much up to the imagination, or worse  are a bit dated in their information. There are a growing number of apps and web services that are addressing this opportunity. Some serve existing travel sites, and some are on their own. The attached video is of a pilot service from France that not only gives you a good idea of what is interesting in select cities and neighborhoods, it gives you in-depth information about those interesting spots. It accomplishes this task by leveraging existing online information tools and social networks. As you navigate a select location you can choose among different apps (which range from Wikipedia to Facebook to Yellow Pages) to give you the information that you wish to get, be it third party friends of third party companies.

This truly brings a useful aggregation platform to all the mobile apps being created around travel. Therefore, you can really explore cities in a way that has never been done before. The result: an experience that will hopefully be like no other, and memories that will want to be shared.

Until next time.

The United States of America is a vast country with almost every type of geography. Great mountains soar into the clouds towards the West. Vast plains spread along every direction covering several States that border Canada, lush marshlands litter the South, and endless deserts cover the South West. The image of America is made up of all of these. But pure Americana in the eyes of foreigners is arguably the landscape of the South. Think Easy Rider and the romance of the open road and absolute freedom. This imagery is what keeps a warm spot in everyone’s heart, if ever so small, for the USA.

It is this world that we attempted to discover in a four day road-trip that is a recommended must-do for anyone wishing to truly understand the essence of America. The journey will seem pleasantly endless and the memories will be etched into your soul tagged with countless smiles and stunning pictures.

Phoenix was where it all started. The plan was simple: Drive to Sedona, go to Flagstaff, hit the Grand Canyon, venture on Route 66, gaze at the Hoover Dam, and finally be seduced by the glitz of Las Vegas. If we leave you with this, a MapQuest will most certainly lead you in a false direction where so much visual richness will remain an interpretation in a dusted Hollywood DVD shelved in your playroom. We may have fallen into a similar trap if it wasn’t for the friendly advice of locals combined with a touch of adventure. The result was some of the most surprising and random discoveries, unbelievable topographic changes, and humbling cultural immersions.

The goal was to head straight from Phoenix to Sedona. However, a local friend suggested that we explore the fringes of the city on our way to Sedona to get a flavor of posh Phoenix living. Off we drove to Scottsdale and the outlying area of Carefree. Nestled into the red rock mountainside were stunning 8 plus bedroom houses equipped with helicopter pads and all. The colorful desert fauna and towering cacti masked the sheer scale of these houses. Not one “for sale” sign could be seen. Clearly the real estate bust that hit brutally hard in this town did not affect these residents. Even store mega-chains seemed arrogantly chic in this neighborhood. A commonly big-box architecture of our beloved Target was replaced by a low-profile Cali-style clay building blending harmoniously into the native surface rock. After we got a taste of the wishful-life, we blazed into the desert.

Nearing Sedona, sand and stone was replaced with green brush. A sign along the roadside lured us to Montezuma’s Castle, a historic Indian site a few minutes to the side of Highway 89. The name is misleading as it suggests towers and moats. Instead you are treated to much more. The “castle” is an entire ancient village built into a cliff several hundred feet above solid ground. The engineering genius is inspiring. The fact that these structures exist today is a testament to their building prowess. However, the beauty of these homes could not contain the local tribe. They apparently suddenly moved on to the lands of the North seeking better fortune, as did we. So off we drove to Sedona.

Upon entering Sedona city limits, the jaw-dropping landscape humbled. The foot came off the accelerator and a gentle cruise-mode kicked-in. It is not surprising that this is the New Age capital of the world. The beauty and might of nature is mesmerizing. Several hundred Western movies were filmed here. The grand mesa structures and striking red cliffs that you will remember from films your dad used to watch will come rushing into your head. You desperately want to get close to this unique landscape. Our SUV suddenly became very handy. The best trail to get close and personal with the mountains is called Schnebly Trail. The unpaved and extremely bumpy dirt road is breathtaking. The red cliffs soar into the rich blue sky to the one side of you and sharp granite mountains peer into your car to the other side. It almost feels like you are being watched. Perhaps for protection, perhaps for an opportunity to strike, the landscape leaves you guessing but increasingly enchanted. You can’t help think of what it must have been like on horseback back before civilization, where every step forward posed danger, be it from the wild, nature, or Indians. Yet ever step forward made you increasingly fall in love with your surroundings. It is simply that magical a place.

After a day of awe, nothing pleases more than a place to reflect and stay content. The Oak Creek Brewery is the perfect place. This local brewery is a bit off the beaten track in Sedona but it is worth seeking out. The patio is wonderful, the décor is authentic, the live music is surprisingly good, and beer is incredibly tasty. It is not surprising that this is a place where locals meet. I’d suggest the wheat beer.

Early morning in these parts is so peaceful. It is not surprising that the Indians that you interact with are generally so calm and soothing. We stumbled on a bunch of them at Coconino Oak Creek Viewpoint, which is on the way to Flagstaff on Highway 89. This stop was unplanned. It was once again the power of the landscape that brought on this discovery. From a sparse and Savanna-type landscape in Sedona you are quickly engulfed by thick pine as you drive away from this quaint town. The dense forest reminds you of Canadian mountain landscapes. We felt compelled to stop and take it all in. Fortunately, we did so because we were treated not only to another breathtaking view but also to a native Indian “flea market”. Hand crafted goods were on display at remarkably good prices. We bought an authentically carved arrow, with traditional paint, feathering, and all. The meaning of certain carvings and colors, the sources of the wood and stone, was shared by the Indians. The crash course in local native Indian history was fascinating. A gorgeous morning became all that more radiant.

We peeled through Flagstaff to avoid the July 4th preparations. Our goal was to hit the desert prior to landing at the Grand Canyon. Yes, we decided to go the long way, entering the Canyon from the South Rim. A local had advised us to do so because we would be introduced to the heart of Arizona, a land full of Indian reservations, vast ranches, and desolate rest stops. The recommendation was priceless. Imagine the scene in “The Terminator” where Sarah Connor is driving her Jeep through the desert and stops at a gas station to record on her portable tape recorder. This is where we were, and her isolation and freedom is what we felt. In addition, we were treated to spectacular views of feeder canyons to the Grand Canyon lined with beaten Indian farming shacks, and bare trading posts. Just being there was both exciting and a bit haunting. Images from “The Terminator” were replaced by those from “No Country For Old Men”. The overload of imagery was intense. It is so powerful because the mere thought of driving through these parts at night would have you screaming like a teething infant.

If this onslaught of emotions wasn’t enough high for one day, the first view of the Grand Canyon nearly swept us off our feet. The sheer size of this formation is beyond words. The fear that consumes the body as you peer down into the depths of the countless valleys is indescribable. It is mind-blowing to think that Indians actually lived along these cliffs. It is equally mind-blowing to see Chinese tourists venture beyond the viewpoint barriers to stand proudly on overhanging rocks as their family members snap furiously away at their cameras. The silliness of some of these tourists is remarkable. Anyways, I digress. You simply cannot be physically and emotionally unfazed by this natural wonder. Your significance is humbled, life’s daily troubles are erased, and your disrespect for the earth that you stand is brought to the fore. Mother Nature is truly great.

With every new viewpoint, more detail of the Grand Canyon becomes evident. One of the stops is where the first Inn stood and where the first trail for tourists was laid down at the early part of the 20th Century. The Inn stands no longer but the trail remains. We ventured down for about 40 minutes (which turned out to be an hour back up). However, the trail seemed to go on for miles more. A hiker was returning as we started our walk and told us that the trail goes for about 2 hours down (or 4 hours back up). At parts it is so narrow that you are almost paralyzed with fear. A strong grip of the mountainside and that “funny feeling down there” slowly subsides. What replaces this feeling is absolute joy. To be able to get so close to something so great is simply awesome. Moreover, some of the most spectacular photos can be taken from this trail.

Now here is the important lesson: Do not enter the Grand Canyon from the North Rim. This is where most tourists commonly enter. The mob is insane and some of the beauty is lost in the yelling and screaming of kids, wives, and grand-parents (yes they scream too). To truly appreciate the Grand Canyon, you need some space to reflect, gaze, and take it all in. You almost want it all to yourself. You want to feel like those early Spaniards and trappers that discovered the Canyon. At most, you want to be able to share your exhilaration with a select few. The North Rim will not give you this. Instead, you will feel as though you are wandering through the Zoo on a weekend during Summer Holidays just as they’ve started “Exotic Animals Month”. No joke, it’s that bad.

So what more must one visit to graduate from Americana 101? One hint: Easy Rider. Yup, the road to Las Vegas can be travelled via Route 66. You can get on this historic road at Seligman, about 70 miles away from the Grand Canyon. You will be tempted to race through this desolate little town. However, we recommend that you drive slowly to take in the kitch that laces the city streets. Many buildings have some of the most ridiculous decorations all to take advantage of the mystique around Route 66. Some of these hilarious constructs are definitely worth capturing on camera. Once outside of the town, the aura of this magical road consumes you. Bikers regularly pass on your opposing lane. Abandoned motels and gas stations litter the roadside, victims to the blazing heat. Old car carcasses are occasionally spotted raped by the desert brush. The visuals are unbelievable because you think that the movies that pay homage to this enchanted road exaggerate. Yet honestly, they do not. Everything that you would imagine that Route 66 is about is true. The rawness of America is discovered, the openness of America is felt, the extravagance of America is seen, and the simplicity of America is revealed.

A few stops are a must. First are the Grand Canyon Caverns: huge limestone caves that are over 200 feet beneath ground. The US military planned to use them as fall-out bunkers during the Cuban Missile Crisis. The canned reserves planned for the 2000 plus people to be housed in this underground layer can still be seen to this date. The grandeur of these caves is ill represented by the buildings that greet visitors. Think of old saloons where tumbleweeds dance across the entrance and you will get a sense of what the real estate resembles. The dated 50s rock and wood paneling makes you feel as though you’ve entered a different era, and the greasy tour guide makes you question whether the Adams Family is real. Fortunately, the tasty and homemade apple pie reminds you why getting stuck in a past decade has its benefits.

The second must stop is a tiny General Store in Hackberry, a tiny settlement hanging on for dear life on the curb of Route 66. The store has arguably the most complete and authentic collection of Route 66 paraphanelia. Old cars surround the garage. Countless old signs fill every vacant wall space inside and outside of the building. Coke bottles from the early 50s lie dusted on the floors. The gas pumps haven’t been used for over 20 years. To cap it all off, the men’s washroom is plastered with pin-up posters from every year since before I was born. All that is needed here is Tom Cruise to roll in on his motorcycle and Top Gun outfit. Seriously, this authentic general store offers an incredibly unique peek into American history. It is absolutely stunning.

For all intents and purposes, once we’d left Route 66 intact, graduation from Americana 101 was complete. However, the greedy travelers that we were, Las Vegas still awaited us. A quick gander at the Hoover Dam (to say that we did it) and the bright lights of Vegas were upon us.

Las Vegas is a great way to finish off a brilliant trip into Americana. The horrific cheesy décor and annoyingly basic patrons that hang desperately onto every last sound at the slots help you realize how low you should never go. These city highlights also help remind you that absolute entertainment is important, that creativity pushed too far has its place, and that college kids aren’t learning much these days. Just kidding, they do know how to drink uncanny amounts of alcohol in the most grueling heat without passing out, a feat worth praise (I suppose). In all honesty, the artificiality of Las Vegas feels almost like a culmination of the trip from Phoenix with all its sights, as it truly is Americana on steroids.

So, if you are curious about what makes America still admired the world round, if you want to understand what is the backbone of the great Superpower if you want to see what has inspired generations of hit movies, then a road trip from Phoenix to Las Vegas is a must. The South continues to truly define the United States of America. Few places on earth can provide as much cultural richness, geographic diversity, and historic significance. You will have a greater appreciation for the Stars and Stripes. If you don’t believe me, give it a go.

Until next time.

Few countries in the world do not have leagues that cater to it, but few leagues cater to the very best from countries worldwide. Out of these few global leagues, which one would you expect to be at the tip of most youngsters’ tongues in Shanghai? Which league would be top of mind for rising stars in Brazil? Which league intrigues oil tycoons from the Middle East? Yes, it’s the Premiership League in England.

What is so magical about this league? Well, I recently went to my first match at the Emerites stadium in London to watch Arsenal and the experience gave me a hint of what the answer could be: ritual. Granted, the familial aspect of the clubs is important, as is the heritage of each team. However, neither would have their power without the ritual. Allow me to explain.

So what is this ritual? Well, to boil it down to its most primitive definition, it is the dress-pub-match-pub routine, which is lived by most, if not all, the spectators. This routine consumes the day. Given the size of these stadiums that are tucked into dense urban residential neighborhoods, the community is automatically engulfed by the day’s match. Every pub is filled with team colors, every restaurant is packed with men getting in a last bite, every fast food chain is boiling over with fans looking for “lager-absorbing snacks”, every corner store is stuffed with patrons looking for “match fillers”, and the list goes on. The bottom line is that every business values each home game, and thus every local businessman can’t help but become a devoted fan. As a result, I am not remotely surprised that the community would put up with a great deal of “less-than-favorable” fan behavior. In essence, they are protecting their kids!

Beyond the magical summoning of the neighborhood collective spirit, this ritual also creates the stage for the week’s “meaningful conversations”.

English Football has a rich history and has been vital to life in England for ages. Unfortunately, this wonderful past and positive societal role is undermined by the more sensational reputation of “the birthplace of hooliganism”. Honestly, I think that this aspect of the English Football culture has its role in the allure of the clubs in Britain. After all, the passion that corresponds to hooliganism adds energy to the collective dynamism of the spectator crowd, which makes the fan experience electric, even for players. However, I don’t want to make this a key point. Let’s focus instead on the energy that this ritual brings to each match.

The rumbling that echoed throughout the stadium as I entered Arsenal’s home was so utterly unique, so incredibly powerful. It was simply impossible not to be consumed by the spirit of the game, and the dominating personalities of the Gods of Football. Few sports environments can rival this. Not even the religious followers of the New York Yankees could elevate their supporting voices to the level that was in the Emerites Stadium. Now try to put yourself in the boots of the professional players waiting in the dressing rooms below. They must hear the noise above. I don’t care how new the building is. This must only increase as they make their way to the pitch. I can only guess how overwhelming the electric power must be. Ultimately, these players are today’s version of the stadium rockers of the 70s. With this context, it starts to make more sense why the allure of Premiership Football is unmatched.

Imagine all this energy momentum culminating when the staring 11 run onto the pitch. How can these players not feel the vibe, get addicted on the vibe, tell their pals across oceans to feel the vibe?

Back in the stands the start of the match neared. As the noise escalated, I tried to take a step back and take it all in. A quick glance around the crowd brought a noteworthy observation: there were very few women. Now, I wasn’t expecting legions of passionate “Footie Females”, but the sheer lack of any feminine presence was something that I have seen in no other live sporting event. On judgment, this reinforces the power of the ritual. It is the pinnacle of “boy’s night out”, male-bonding at its grandest. As I would later find out, some seats have been owned by local families for decades. Dads take their sons to the match every weekend. Generations follow this ritual. Consequently, the impersonal influence of corporate seat ownership is minimized (which certainly has tamed some traditionally passionate and rowdy sports crowds such as those in Hockey). In addition, family ownership of seating assures high attendance and knowledge of players. Both of these realities influence the potency of a Gameday’s energy.

Up to this point, the ritual has brought together a community, alcoholically fueled the neighborhoods men, influenced the vocal power of the supporters, and energized the players. As both teams each strategically place eleven on the pitch, and the referee places his lips on the whistle, the fevered crowd can’t restrain itself. The result? Song, the next detail in the ritual. Only war songs of the past can rival these chants. They certainly beat the pathetic North American choruses such as “Go Leafs Go”. I’ve been mesmerized by these chants which have been used to great effect in historic songs by Pink Floyd. Live, their hypnotic allure becomes obvious. The Stadium graduates from sports venue to religious temple. Some become over-consumed. The already high energy becomes super-charged, which, at times, lights select fans’ short fuse. However, this reality only ensures a unique experience and, subsequently, the attraction of the ritual.

As the game progressed, another part of the ritual emerged: banter. Arsenal wasn’t playing to its full potential. Meanwhile, many of the gents to either side of me seemed to really need a dose of optimism so that they could face the upcoming workweek. Since it wasn’t happening, harsh words were slung at the pitch. This was like public therapy for many of these local folks. I don’t suppose the players realize all the roles that they play in their supporters’ lives. If they knew, the pressure would likely cripple their game. But, I digress. The public display of displeasure further electrifies the environment sparking great discussion among some and friction among others. Again, the experience is only enhanced by this dynamic.

The banter and resulting interactions lay the ground for the post game ritual. Essentially, it mirrors the pre-game mixture of food, alcohol, and tiny over-packed establishments. The level of celebration clearly depends on the outcome of the game. In my case, the outcome was positive. The pub, therefore, was equally pleasurable. The wind-down moment was at hand.

The frigid temperature outside was forgotten, the upcoming workweek was not considered, the horrid state of the economy a locked-away concern. All that mattered, all that was discussed, was the game. Those final hours of male bonding, of dancing with lady-lager, were meticulously enjoyed. After this, I too yearned for another chance to be taken away by the ritual. My next trip to the UK is already booked.

Until next time.

Mexico is without doubt the premiere holiday destination of the North Americans. I have only ventured to this country for work. My decision to avoid it for pleasure was motivated by the many horror stories that I have heard about safety. Granted, this naïve and cowardly disposition was prior to my stay in Asia where many vacation destinations were adventurous. Now back in this side of the world with a thicker skin than before, Mexico was a must. I took it easy, choosing to head to Playa del Carmen, a quaint but popular vacation town in the Yucatan Peninsula.

My arrival at Cancun Airport almost solidified the sketchy reputation of Mexico that was etched in my mind. Karin and I were picking up our bags and heading to our bus when we were guided to a sea of uniformed men helping us identify our tour bus. This felt legitimate enough. Thirty minutes later and after a hard sell to visit another resort to “simply be motivated to choose it next time” legitimacy turned to rudeness then to scam. The man offered to undercut tour costs for our desired tours as long as we visited his “hotel”. He made bizarre requests such as showing your ID with credit card underneath. Apparently this was to show that you have money. Now why on earth would he want to send me to his hotel if he thought that I was living on food stamps? He also wanted a deposit. Again, why would he want me to put down cash when it is him trying to sell me? Admittedly he was a good con. He found my weak point and laid into it. I am a man of my word and he quickly played the angle of, “ok I’ll cover all costs but you just have to promise that you’ll just come to my hotel. It is the only way that I’ll make a commission. I have your word, right?” I nodded and bid him farewell. Once on the bus, I googled “Cancun airport hussle” and quickly found answers to my suspicions. These are guys who try to get tourists to invest in property. They may very well offer discounted tours as a form of compensation for their pitch, but this is not certain. Another interesting fact that my Google search found was that credit card and bank card fraud is rampant in Playa Del Carmen. Fake bank machines, hidden cameras pointed at legitimate ones, etc. are common. Now remember, this guy was telling me to show up to his “hotel” and show my driver’s license with credit card underneath. Geez, I would have been the biggest sucker and most pained vacationer of all times if I’d fallen for this! Thank god, I wanted to make sure I really understood what I was being pitched and that it wasn’t some local custom that I needed to consider.

Communication among locals and visitors has apparently been strained for centuries. When the Spaniards first arrived to this lavish part of the world, they asked the native Mayans where they were. The locals responded, “Ou Ou Ka Ten” (not sure about the spelling but the phonetics are right). The Spaniards replied with gratitude – before they destroyed everything else, but that is another story for another time – “Ahhh, Yucatan”. Unfortunately they didn’t realize that Ou Ou Ka Ten in Mayan means, “I can’t understand you”. So this area is actually the Peninsula of people who don’t understand one another.

When we arrived at our resort, this comprehension issue was reinforced. It was late and we were looking forward to relax in our Junior Suite, taking a bubble bath in our Jacuzzi. Instead we opened our door to find a room with 5 beds (one was the couch which had been pulled out into a bed). Unless Karin went Branjolina on me without my knowledge, I saw no reason for all these beds. Moreover, I saw no possibility in cleaning all these “family members” with one shower. Where was the damn Jacuzzi? We quickly dashed back to the reception to tell them that there was a mix up. On arrival at the front lobby, we found two other couples complaining about the same topic. Apparently, the hotel moves people to other rooms whenever there is a complaint. This is a great gesture. When they do so and don’t bother checking their logs on upcoming check-ins, this kind gesture turns into a royal screw-up and pain in the butt. Fortunately, we kept our cool and were put into our paid room. The other guests weren’t so lucky. What I found hilarious is that our incident was not an isolated case. Every time we went to the front lobby to ask for the time or change money there was at least one couple there arguing about an incorrect room-booking. In retrospect, this is pretty funny. Everything else at the Sandos Playacar is excellent. They just have to sort out their ridiculous computer system.

Silliness also seems to be a common trait of visitors to these parts. Countless people venture into town feeling that utilizing local currency is just an option. Would they feel comfortable if they went to their corner hot dog stand in New York City and expect the guy to accept Indian Rupees or English Pounds? Of course not. However, they are shocked when they pay for a taco with US Dollars and get back half of what they expected… and in Pesos to boot.

Speaking of boots, what on earth is going through many tourists minds when they put on their clothes in a vacation town? First off, someone has to put into law a sandal policy. Unless you have a letter from your pediatrician that multi-strap sandals are imperative for your foot to heal after that horrific fungal surgery that you went through a few weeks back, you should not be allowed to wear those things. They are an eye-sore and scream pervert or child molester. Joking aside (well somewhat joking), I am utterly amused with the fashions that vacationers here feel totally comfortable to sport. During one wonderfully romantic dinner at our resort, Karin and I were visually assaulted by this American tourist who came prancing into our picturesque poolside, candle-lit dinner setting, with a pair of jacked-up three-quarter length cut acid-wash jean shorts, wearing no belt, a tucked-in golf shirt, and long white socks with clunky New Balance shoes. To top off this runway-worthy ensemble, our hero groomed himself with a plush Tom Selleck mustache coupled with a vibrant Patrick Swayze mullet, circa his Youngblood movie days.

However, we all have a bit of redneck in us. The desire to do crazy wilderness adventures, the hunger for a bit of motorsports, and so on. Luckily, Playa Del Carmen is loaded with this stuff. I was only able to participate in a few of them: ATVing and Zip-lining. The Yucatan is actually made of a thick jungle bordered by pristine white sand beaches and cut-up by dirt paths. This terrain is ideal for an ATV. There is one major caveat that you need to consider and then act on when taking such a tour. Do you want to go fast? If the answer to this is yes, then be sure to get the last ATV in the tour line. If not, you will be stuck between aunt Sofia who is experiencing her first ride an a motorcycle and uncle Jack who abides by every rule to the tee and is livid when others don’t do the same. Net net, you putter along at a snails’ pace and cause the Honda motor to sink further into depression as it asks only for someone to use it to its full potential. By taking the last vehicle, you can allow the slow pokes in front of you to putter ahead while you wait idle for half a minute or so. Then, gun it. Repeated, this action ensures that you truly have an adventure tour. On the stretch where you hit the beach sand, this tactic guarantees that the ride is what you paid for. Another hair-raising tour is the military-style zip-line rides over the jungle canopy. I wasn’t expecting this to be anything special, but the Tulum Extreme tour was awesome. First off, the towers from which you travel over the jungle are gigantic. The sheer size gets your heart pumping. Once on the ride, nervousness quickly turns to exhilaration. On top of this thrill, you are treated to a repel down a 20 meter drop and a 40 minute snorkel in an underground fresh-water cave. Our tour guide was especially funny. A classic moment was when he picked-up some locals on the road to the zip-line site. As they entered the van, he shouted in English, “be careful of your wallets”. Quickly several tourists scrambled for their bags. As it would turn out, these were hired hands at the zip-line site. Sergio, as he was called, laughed at the paranoid tourists. Karin and I also keeled over laughing, almost choking on our gum.

As a matter of fact, gum as we know it today owes its existence to the Mayan Peninsula. Mr. Adams, founder of the company known today for powerhouse brands such as Dentyne, Clorets, and so on, came to this Mexican region many moons ago and was mesmerized by this chewy stuff that local Mayans extracted from trees. They put it into their mouth and chewed on it to clean their teeth. When he asked its name, he was told it was “Chickleta” (again my spelling is off but the sound is right). This literally means clean mouth in Mayan. He took the tree sap from which the chewy wonder was made back to America and the famous Chicklets brand was born. Of course, he added flavors and sugars to turn this originally healthy sap into a chewy candy. Hey, we’ve been good at goofing up nature’s wonders haven’t we?

A recent “official” wonder of the world is Chichen Itza, a gargantuan Mayan temple three hours inland from Playa Del Carmen. This is well worth the ride. A glimpse into the great Mayan past is a must while you are in this region. They were a great civilization, who created the most advanced writing in this part of the world and were advanced astrologists, among many other noteworthy talents. The guides that take you to this marvelous place provide many insights into their people’s past. However, a pre-read would be encouraged so that your visit to Chichen Itza, Tulum, or any other Mayan ruin is a richer experience.

However, for all its history, amazing sights, and extreme activities, Playa Del Carmen is above all a party town. It is an odd mixture of Borocay mixed with South Beach with a speckling of Venice Beach. The vibe is fantastic because the people are happy, the food is exceptional, the bars are creative and unique, and the stores (or street-side shacks) are magnetic. Right now, this great little place has not succumbed to the “Spring Break Syndrome” which has taken victim a nearby Cancun. I fear that it will eventually do so because it is just an awesome place for fun, sun, and other pleasures. Therefore, you should head here soon and do so during a time in the year where school is NOT out. When you do book a trip, be sure to stay for at least ten days. There is simply too much to do for any shorter stay. I made that mistake this time and am already trying to figure out when to return next.

Until next time.

If you like this photo, check out other nice shots from Mexico at flickr.com/frankmertens

Hello Everyone,

If I were to ask what place on earth epitomizes beer, what place would you mention? Would it be a pub in London? Maybe. Perhaps the Budweiser Brewery? No no, that wouldn’t be it. Would it be beautiful Ireland, the birth place of our beloved Guinness? That’s getting a bit closer but not the answer. The central nervous system of beer can be found in one city during one month of the year – Munich during Oktoberfest.

This past weekend, I visited this pristine city during its not so pristine legendary festival. I decided at the last minute to take the train from Frankfurt to Munich to spend a night and enjoy ghastly large mugs of beer, pretzels, and half chickens. Many have told me that Oktoberfest was a once in a lifetime experience. These assertions were more than correct.

The party is so infectious that it starts well before you actually arrive in Munich. After having done some work and reading on the train, I felt a bit hungry. The German railway offers some of the best snacks in the meal wagons. So, I made my way along the narrow path in the modernly designed ICE train. People were sleeping, reading or enjoying each others company. As I neared the food wagon a swell of noise increased. There was laughing and shouting. Yup, fellow “Oktoberfesters” couldn’t wait for Munich. They had to bring Munich to them. The wagon was rammed but the atmosphere was electric. Then, without any provocation, the singing started. A few folk songs warmed the crowd. Then the countrymen and women that brought us such classic rock megabands such as Scorpions dug into the depths of glam rock. A man led the charge and began singing… wait, wait… “Come on feel the noise”. The entire wagon became energized and sang at unimaginable decibels. All knew the song, all knew the lyrics. It was truly hysterical.

The electric vibe from the train paled in comparison to what awaited me on the “Wiese”, or “field” in German. But before I go into that let me account my first impression of Munich as I exited the train from Frankfurt. One always mocks Germans for sticking to their tradition of wearing Lederhosen. I now know why this subject of ridicule will never go away. Everywhere you looked men and boys of all ages and even races strolled around in these silly outfits. Fortunately this humorous site was offset by the far more appealing one of the traditional garments of the Bayerische Frauen, or women from Bayern. They too were tightly worn by a surprisingly large percentage of the population. You somehow feel compelled to grin (well at least I do).

A quick stop at the hotel and I made my way to the Wiese. I encountered numerous stumbling men in Lederhosen. There is something right but immensely funny with a hammered man in leather shorts and an obscure top. One of them approached me and asked for the direction to the Wiese. It was only a half a block away from him but clearly his sense of direction and sight was a bit shaky. He looked at me, then my pointed finger, then back at me. “Danke”, he said. As I walked away he dropped his funny pants and relieved himself in the middle of the sidewalk. I laughed.

Entering the field my jaw dropped at the sheer size of this event. Huge tents littered the entire kilometer wide (certainly what it seems) terrain. Amusement rides of all shapes and sizes separated the tents. Roller coasters, bungey drops, bumper cars, you name it, the ride was there. Now isn’t that just a bit masochistic? You fill people with unorthodox amounts of beer and then send them hurling through the air upside down. Only in Germany.

More impressive than the torturous distraction offerings were the volume of visitors. Honestly, I would have to say that hundreds of thousands of people filled the Wiese at any one time. The pathways were shoulder to shoulder full. All the tents were over capacity. There were line-ups 50 people long at each ride. It was simply insane. After trying to get into 4 different tents I was beginning to think that I had better return the next day in the morning. Apparently there are already line-ups at 11AM and if you did not reserve a table your luck may be out. I wasn’t in the mood for poor fortunes so I kept at it and eventually came across a tent that was letting people through in dribs and drabs. The waitresses would come to the people waiting and pick those who she felt would be good for her table. It reminded me of scenes outside Studio 54 in NYC (from what I’ve seen in photos and films). I encouraged one of the waitresses to pick a group of 3 so that I could tag as the 4^th person. She agreed and I was on my way to the true Oktoberfest.

We were guided to a long wooden table and were rammed between a group of younger locals and two older men at the foot of the bench. A round was quickly ordered. The beers came faster than an already prepared burger at McDonald’s. More impressive was that this little frail blond girl comfortably carried eight of these liter (or more) mugs. It was astounding and, actually, a bit sexy. We all cheered one another and in no time became befriended with our neighbors. The friendship was surprising given that you are mixing an excessive amount of men, alcohol, and lack of space. Nonetheless, the vibe was awesome.

A great atmosphere usually includes singing. Well, just as the “Come on feel the noise” crew on the train, the people around us in this tent were also chant hungry. It really all started with a bunch of Kiwis. Four rugby players from New Zealand began singing the All Blacks Maury chant. They did it with such conviction that I actually wondered whether they were members of the team. Regardless, their passion fueled the crowd. As they finished there was a roaring applause. Shortly after another group nearby started their own chant (either a local song or football cheer). This spawned a different group to also entertain the crowd with their musical expression. The Kiwis had started a “chant off”. It was hilarious because few actually had any oratory skills. Aside from the huge New Zealanders, everyone either shrieked or screamed with a raspy voice.

The night on the Wiese eventually came to a close. However, the beer filled partiers had no desire to stop celebrating (myself included). The scene was actually quite amazing. Tens of thousands of people poured out of a field into the city of Munich. From someone sitting in a café down the road it must have appeared as if a mob was approaching. I left the tent with a group of people sitting along my bench. We all wanted to hit another spot before calling it a night. However, the aimless destination and beer-slowed-pace disassembled the group block by block until eventually I was left with two others. We tried to get into one spot, then another. Everything was full or simply didn’t want us. My Oktoberfest came to a close.

The next day, I woke up feeling, well, a bit heavy-headed. The sun streamed down on the magical city. The endless gardens brightly displayed their autumn colors. The stunning city architecture carved up the blue sky. The warm air sparked laughter with kids of all ages. But all I wanted to do was sleep a bit more. However, I forced myself to get a move on. While heading back to the Wiese was out of the question, I did spend some time wandering the old-city. My beer haze seemed to give the city even more allure.

Finally, I boarded the train back to Frankfurt. I decided to park myself in the food wagon to grab a nice bite and do some reading. Apparently, many Germans figured that Munich didn’t provide enough beer to their system. Very shortly after departing the station, several groups of 30+ men and women streamed into the wagon and ordered multiple rounds of beer. The trip back to Frankfurt was highly entertaining, where two groups of men attempted vigorously to attract the attention of a group of beer guzzling women. The lines that flew back and forth would have made the most shameless womanizer cringe. The experience was complete.

So if you like beer, you owe it to yourself to visit Oktoberfest in Munich. No beer town or event can rival it. Expect the unexpected. Bring a hearty amount of headache pills, and take the train.

Until next time.