Weird, wonderful, and adrenaline-fuelled adventures around the world

Kyrgyzstan

Snow-capped mountains rise in the backdrop of a remote village in Kyrgyzstan.

<h2 dir="ltr" id="part-i-dream">Part I: Dream&nbsp;</h2>

An old Kyrgyz woman turned from the stove, a red-hot spoon steaming in her hand. Before I could flinch, she loomed over me, her calloused hands holding my chin with a vice-like grip, and she pressed the scalding metal to the back of my throat.&nbsp;
I hear my father&rsquo;s voice echoing in my head, &ldquo;God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change&rdquo;.&nbsp;
I wish I could tell you that she was a witch doctor, a hoarder of jars and remedial elixirs promising to restore the HP of weary, wide-eyed travelers. But truthfully, I was too weak to ask. And nor did I care. I was too transfixed by the spectral shapes circling us, fairly certain they were shadows only I could see.
Four days earlier, medical access was the furthest thing from my mind. I was scurrying across Bishkek&rsquo;s streets with my friend and colleague, Kristi, on the hunt for our 4&times;4 rental. We had met for the first time in real life just a few days earlier, having planned this insane trip over Slack.&nbsp;
Pixelated camaraderie and a dirt-cheap Pegasus winter sale convinced us that the next logical step was to commit to ten days mostly off-grid in a &lsquo;Stan. What followed were months of deeply philosophical debate between riding skirts and rain pants, seat savers versus padded cycling shorts.&nbsp;
The only sane solution? Bring it all.

You might think you&rsquo;ve heard this tale before in <a href="https://members.jacksflightclub.com/articles/kyrgyzstan-snapshots-from-an-expedition" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Kristi&rsquo;s photo diary </a>&mdash; think again. My experience of life in the steppe went a little differently&hellip;

Now, armed with a list of off-road coordinates and a bag of mechanical tools thrust our way with a Russian rental contract, we chuckled at the sheer absurdity of our gamble and hit the road smiling. The next four days would be entirely out of service and off-grid.&nbsp;

Our plan was to drive 4.5 hours from Bishkek to a village called Kyzart, meet our guide, and start our horse trek into the Tian Shan. We would stay in traditional yurts with nomadic herders, something I&rsquo;ve always wanted to do, and make our final ascent to the alpine lake of Song Kul.&nbsp;
After the trek, we&rsquo;d head another 5 hours south to the town of Naryn and spend the night at a hostel. Next, we&rsquo;d drive off-road deeper into the mountains to guide us through the Kok Kiya valley toward one of Kyrgyzstan&rsquo;s most stunning remote lakes, K&ouml;l-Suu. 
We&rsquo;d need a special border permit to cross a military checkpoint (it&rsquo;s located near a sensitive border zone near China), a few gallons of extra fuel, and old-school coordinates to guide us. No biggie.&nbsp;
Soon enough, I'd discover that I needn't have worried about that permit...

Driving in Bishkek is a touch above beginner level. I had only just gotten my full license a month prior, and so I happily let Kristi take the wheel in what can only be described as Russian roulette.&nbsp;
&ldquo;Oh god, Kash, where are the lanes?&rdquo; she mumbled, half-drowned by the incessant shrill of honking horns and screeching tires. The only thing soothing her anxiety? Taylor Swift, of course.&nbsp;
Turns out, the only thing I needed to do to experience culture shock was to plop myself in the passenger seat of a Toyota, eyes wide at the blur of life unfolding, &ldquo;Anti-Hero&rdquo; crackling on the radio. I could&rsquo;ve saved myself some serious saddle burn.
Genghis Khan statues, hawkers dishing out roadside plov. Overturned transport trucks, twisted carcasses on asphalt. Mosques pressed against Orthodox churches. Wild horses completely unbothered by it all.&nbsp;

&ldquo;Arggggh, are we driving on the left or the right? Why are those guys driving on the right?&rdquo;&nbsp;
&ldquo;Ummm, maybe it&rsquo;s both?&rdquo;&nbsp;
&ldquo;Woah, are those billboards made from rocks? Cool!&rdquo;
&ldquo;Should I go? Do I have time to merge?&rdquo; &ldquo;Go, go, go!&rdquo; 
&ldquo;Wait, is that a baby?&rdquo;&nbsp;

The biggest culture shock, however, wasn&rsquo;t Bishkek&rsquo;s vehicular chaos. I had lived in Mexico. I thought I knew things. I had spent two years acclimated to the toilet paper bin. I took whatever the street-food gods threw at me. But nothing, absolutely nothing, prepared me for Kyrgyz toilets.
Allow me to rephrase: Nothing on God&rsquo;s green earth had prepared me for Kyrgyz ROADSIDE toilets. I won&rsquo;t go into detail here; some things are better left unspoken. But heed these words of advice: Brace yourself mentally, physically, and spiritually. Don&rsquo;t breathe. Don&rsquo;t look down. Remember it&rsquo;ll be over soon (probably).&nbsp;&nbsp;
And for the love of all things holy, empty your pockets.&nbsp;

Back en route, the road unwound before us, and we both relaxed into the rhythm of the drive, deliberately turning a blind eye to yet another multi-vehicle pileup.&nbsp;
I couldn't believe I was here. For years I had dragged that little yellow Google Map man over every street imaginable, fascinated by its nomadic culture, one of the last remaining in the world. 
The people here have watched empires come and go: Mongol invasions, Chinese dynasties, Russian rule, and Soviet control, and yet their flag still rises. Red, with a sun crossed by forty lines, each one representing a clan fighting quietly to keep their traditions alive. And now, here I was coasting along the Silk Road, feeling like I was sharing a breath with everyone who ever passed this way.&nbsp;
The view shifted like a magic eye poster: shepherds setting up the first yurts of May as wild foals stay close to their mothers, traversing squelchy green steppes and occasionally crossing the highways to reach a stream.&nbsp;
Their numbers appeared to multiply the more our eyes adjusted, moving past the dust of ancient settlements and ruins that speak of a forgotten era.&nbsp;

What captivated me the most was the trail of mausoleums leading us deeper into the mountains. Photos of lost loves and eagle feathers adorn ornate, rust-coloured tombs that seemed at odds with the alabaster mountains in the distance.&nbsp;
They reminded me of sandcastles, each plot echoing tales of Islamic faith, Kyrgyz tradition fused with Soviet history. Later on, my guide would tell me that the cemeteries are intentionally placed on hilltops and horse trails across all four corners of the land, &ldquo;close to the heavens, so they can follow the path of nomads.&rdquo;

After a few hours and a minor breakdown of our car, we reached Kyzart, the last village before the trek to Song Kul Lake and home to <a href="https://www.instagram.com/kyzarthorses/?hl=en">our guide Ryskul</a>.

He&rsquo;d been guiding tours here since he was a teenager and knew the mountains like the back of his hand. The money he earned from guiding treks had allowed him to install a full Western-style bathroom with an electric shower and toilet&mdash;a total upgrade from the traditional Kyrgyz setup. He was proud to show us the renovation in progress when we arrived at his home.&nbsp;
His mother, Roza, served us some of the best bread I&rsquo;ve ever tasted. The Italians have nothing on her.&nbsp;

&ldquo;The last time I rode a horse was on my tenth birthday,&rdquo; I excitedly confessed to Ryskul. His brows twisted, a silent sigh escaping his lips when it dawned on him what the next four days with two clueless white women would entail. He muttered something in Kyrgyz under his breath. I didn&rsquo;t wait for a translation.&nbsp;
Our next destination, on the other hand, was deserving of translation: the Tian Shan, or &ldquo;the Celestial Mountains.&rdquo; A bolt of silk dropped carelessly from the heavens, strewn across the &lsquo;Stans before spilling into China.
Only an hour into the trek, my mind was happily suspended in disbelief. Valleys of jade and clay swept me up into a world of saffron and silk, crescent moons and caravanserais&mdash;silent stories carried by the trade winds. I&rsquo;m telling you, borders can&rsquo;t contain something this close to magic.&nbsp;

Sensation was the only thing reminding me I still resided on Earth. A dull ache in my back. The creak of the saddle beneath me. The distant rumble of thunder, and a hundred wild horses running in its echo.
Minutes later, bolts of lightning struck behind us in the valley, threatening to turn our peaceful trot into a test of nerve. Ryskul sprinted ahead, beckoning us with a whistle to haul ass.&nbsp;
My horse lunged forward into a gallop, his mane whipping in my face, and I clung for dear life as we outran the storm. I could feel myself tipping, my hiking boots slipping from the stirrups. I cursed myself for not taking Reddit&rsquo;s advice seriously. &ldquo;I have no horse-riding experience; how stupid would it be to go on one of those multi-day treks?&rdquo;&nbsp;
Bracing myself, I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the moment I&rsquo;d be sent tumbling into the valley, whispering silent prayers to every god under the sun. The terrifying plummet never came, and neither did divine intervention, but as I white-knuckled the reins, a jarring "POP" in my spine heralded a revelation: There's a reason why I'm an atheist.

Riding into the first yurt camp was one of many moments that humbled me on the trek in ways I still struggle to put into words.&nbsp;
&ldquo;Wow,&rdquo; I whispered to my horse.&nbsp;
The Kyrgyz steppe stretched out before me like an endless emerald ocean rising and falling in the distance. I had never seen anything like it. Never felt so far from home&mdash;in the most liberating way.
 I have this feeling when I travel, like there&rsquo;s an invisible thread stretched between me and home. The further I go, the tighter the pull, and I can&rsquo;t tell if it's going to drag me back or just break. 
Here, I would have happily let it break.&nbsp;

And the yurts! The colour of bone, layers of ancestral felt hugged all sides of the jailoos, cocoons for shepherds against the darkening sky.&nbsp;
Inside, I was met with a surprising contrast, an explosion of geometric and floral patterns fighting for attention, jolting awake the weary traveler seeking warmth from a crackling stove.&nbsp;
With steaming cups of chai in hand, we sat cross-legged on the floor, the swelling black leaves infusing their power into our aching glutes. Ryskul stifled a laugh beside me. A shepherd, undeterred by his audience of foreigners who didn&rsquo;t speak a word of Kyrgyz, was making a spirited case for Islamic conversion to anyone who happened to wander into his yurt. Today that was us.&nbsp;

A low, intricately carved wooden table snaked around our feet, groaning under the weight of what seemed to be a month's worth of groceries, a testament to the generosity of our hosts. Pots of homemade jam in every conceivable berry, bowls of fluffy white rice, and hearty stews brimming with potatoes and horse meat&mdash;something I'd usually think twice about tasting.&nbsp;
But taste I did; slurping down the broth, I kept my eyes fixed on the towering dessert stands stacked high with pastries and sweet bread. I tried not to dwell on the thought that I might be eating a creature that could have led other travelers to this very door. Horse meat is a staple here, but declining a meal would be seen as insulting to the cook.&nbsp;
People here have relied on horses for everything for centuries, so it makes sense that the tradition made its way onto the table too. &ldquo;Horses are a man&rsquo;s wings.&rdquo; So goes the Kyrgyz proverb. From statues to sports, stamps to soups. To understand the Kyrgyz people is to understand the deep, spiritual bond between man and mare.&nbsp;

We woke early the next morning, ready for day 2 of our trek. Peeling back the makeshift bamboo door of my yurt, my boots were greeted by the slick sweetness of dewdrops, horses grazing in the grass nearby. 
It was all but silent except for the deliberate brush-brush-swish of a traveler using a bottle as a makeshift sink to brush their teeth. A sound that, in my many years on the road, has always said&nbsp;&ldquo;Screw your corporate cubicles and your 401k, I&rsquo;m out here living.&rdquo;&nbsp;

Saddling up, Kristi and I made quite the pair; between us, we must&rsquo;ve had at least 6 layers of clothing on our bottom halves. Me with my padded cycling shorts underneath my leggings and waterproof trousers (earning me a high five from a German trekker who had the same wave of brilliance) and she with her waterproof detachable riding skirt. The circumference of an Edwardian kirtle, it swallowed her and half of the horse.
The Kyrgyz had never seen anything like it, trailing their hands along the warm fleece underside. A helper at the camp pursed his lips together, giving a single nod, the universal sign for &ldquo;not bad.&rdquo;&nbsp;&nbsp;
As I wrung out my leggings from yesterday&rsquo;s trek, it was clear Kristi had won that philosophical packing debate.&nbsp;
We rode 5 hours that day, and not for a minute did the rain relent as we ascended 3,228 meters to the Tuz-Ashuu Pass.&nbsp;
The valley surged with sleet and fog, the path ahead completely dissolving the higher we climbed. I no longer trusted I was part of a group; it was just me and an eerie mist swirling around my grunting horse. His hooves came into contact with an impassable trail of pure, treacherous ice, and we sickeningly skidded sideways down the mountain.&nbsp;

"Woaaaaah," Ryskul&rsquo;s disembodied voice called out from the abyss, "No, no, no, stop, stop, you go dowwwwwn&hellip;"&nbsp;
Had he called out a second later, we would've plummeted off the ridge.&nbsp;
That's the thing about fog: it erases everything you think you know is there. By the time we reached the top, I couldn&rsquo;t feel my fingers anymore. The rain had needled them past pain and straight into a dull, clumsy numbness, and the ache in my back had started to spread upwards in a slow, cold creep. Finally, we reached the top of the pass for a quick break.&nbsp;
As Ryskul disappeared to find any bit of cell service, Kristi and I huddled underneath her rain skirt, rubbing our hands together vigorously to regain feeling.&nbsp;
My spine was threatening to snap into shards of ice.&nbsp;&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not sure if I can keep riding,&rdquo; I whispered quietly, mostly to my horse.&nbsp;

But we continued on, for what felt like an eternity, through endless sucking squelchy marshes, every once in a while stepping through a curious mound of blackened bones and matted, half-scorched fur. I could make out a few sheep skulls and vertebrae, cracked and calcined, and remnants of felt or blankets fused to the bones by an intense and deliberate fire.
A cemetery of winter, each of these mounds marked a campsite where the jut&mdash;killing cold&mdash;won. Where a family had to burn what they couldn&rsquo;t save: animals lost to storms, and perhaps felt walls that sheltered them, all confined to the same purifying fire to spare the living livestock pasture from disease. We passed by quietly; the weight of the place settling solemnly into my bones.&nbsp;
Ahead, across the last span of open steppe, the yurts of the camp stood like a small cluster of pearls. And beyond them, a band of silver at the edge of the world, the slate-grey eye of Song Kul.&nbsp;
This was the picture I had come for. But as we rode the final stretch to the camp, the distance to the lake itself seemed to warp and stretch, not shrink; it was a blurry, indifferent dream.

As I struggled down from my horse, Ryskul caught my eye. Not with a smile, but with a long, assessing look. He saw the sweat beading on my cheeks, the unsteadiness of my stance, and the fever burning like a low, sinister inferno behind my eyes. I grasped the barrel of my horse for balance.&nbsp;
He said nothing. He didn&rsquo;t have to. His silence was the clearest translation of all. We were two days from Kyzart. Two days from anything resembling help. And the real journey, the one I hadn&rsquo;t packed for, was about to begin.

Dream and Delirium on the Kyrgyz Steppe

United States

THE THING

If you&rsquo;ve ever driven down the heavily trafficked Interstate 10 through Eastern Arizona, you have probably encountered a few billboards for a mysterious roadside attraction:&nbsp;
&ldquo;THE THING? YOU&rsquo;LL BE AMAZED!&rdquo;
&ldquo;THE THING? IT&rsquo;S A WONDER!&rdquo;
&ldquo;THE THING? YOU WON&rsquo;T FORGET IT!&rdquo;
In a distinctive shade of sunny yellow, these cryptic billboards arrive every fifty or so miles down the highway and have been turning heads <a href="https://www.reddit.com/r/nostalgia/comments/t9ju4y/the_thing_arizona_1967/">since the 1960s</a>. If you&rsquo;re a connoisseur of tacky roadside attractions like me, they&rsquo;re highly effective at making you memorize that exit number (exit 322) and flick that righthand turn signal when you see it.
When I finally arrive at the exit, a matching yellow building promises a museum and gift shop.

I enter to find a typical southwestern travel center. Think Native and Mexican goods, and snowglobes of landscapes that have never seen snow. I am directed to the far corner of the store, past the aisles of t-shirts and talavera pottery. In this corner, there is a door under a chain of neon lights.&nbsp;
&ldquo;Hi,&rdquo; I say to the woman sitting by the door. &ldquo;I want to see the Thing.&rdquo;
&ldquo;You&rsquo;re in the right place. Cash or card?&rdquo;
I am charged five dollars to see the Thing. I have not been given any further information about what I&rsquo;ve just paid for, but I still have a feeling this is a bargain.&nbsp;
Now, if there is any chance you&rsquo;ll ever find yourself on this lonely stretch of I-10, I suggest you stop reading here before I spoil the entire surprise. This is the sort of attraction that you have to enter blindly.&nbsp;
Ticket in hand, I go through the door with absolutely no idea what is on the other side. It opens into a long, colorfully lit hallway.

The first thing I notice is a giant statue of a dinosaur. The second thing I notice is a flying saucer surrounded by alien mannequins. These are tied together with a series of plaques and murals that begin with one bold declaration: Aliens visited Earth during the time of dinosaurs and conquered them using mind control helmets.
Okay. Definitely a bargain.
I read every word of every plaque, and the story unfolds. After eons of cerebral interference from the aliens, the dinosaurs gained sentience and started fighting back, and eventually their interplanetary enemies send the Chicxulub asteroid to wipe them out.&nbsp;
The aliens go home, they come back millennia later, they find humanity, and they proceed to guide us through our entire history, which is told through more displays (including a life-size model of Winston Churchill riding in a Rolls driven by an alien, because you can&rsquo;t prove that never happened).
All of this information is delivered with passionate seriousness and just enough &ldquo;What if&hellip;&rdquo;s to maintain plausible deniability.

I would have considered this money well-spent if the museum ended here. But this is all pretext, the preparation, the prologue &mdash; we haven&rsquo;t even seen the actual THING yet. A plaque before the final room informs me that the attraction&rsquo;s founder, Thomas Prince, acquired it in 1950 through methods that are &ldquo;shrouded in secrecy.&rdquo;
I enter the final room. Speakers are looping the X-Files theme. It&rsquo;s a darker room than the others, lit by the glow of something roped off in the corner.&nbsp;
As I approach the exhibit, I see a glass coffin containing a mummy. It&rsquo;s holding a second, child-sized mummy. They are ambiguously inhuman, in a way that suggests either unearthliness or advanced decay.
This is the titular THING: two mummies, supposedly unidentifiable as terrestrial beings. They&rsquo;re here to ground everything we&rsquo;ve just seen into some kind of tangible fact. The rest is just statues and storytelling, but here we have the evidence.

The exhibit ends here and I am guided by signs back into the glaring fluorescents of the gift shop.&nbsp;
&ldquo;What did you think?&rdquo; asks the lady who sold me my ticket.
I am still absorbing many things, including the fact that I just witnessed a truly Barnum-esque sideshow in 2025, that I am absolutely going to write about this for JFC, and that I&rsquo;ve drunk coffees that cost more than that experience.
&ldquo;I thought it was great.&rdquo;
&ldquo;Oh, good. I&rsquo;m so glad.&rdquo; She is visibly relieved.
I suddenly get the vibe that this woman has dealt with disappointed tourists many, many times.
Because THE THING? isn&rsquo;t designed to impress, not genuinely. Like most roadside stops along American interstates, the ridiculousness is the attraction. It&rsquo;s an entire niche culture built on irony. Not everyone understands it, but if you want to get the most out of an American road trip, you have to let yourself in on the joke.

You shouldn&rsquo;t show up to a spot like this and feel disappointed when it turns out to be silly &mdash; you should show up because it will probably be silly. Because there&rsquo;s just something special about driving through hours of Nebraska farm land and finding a <a href="https://www.atlasobscura.com/places/carhenge">replica of Stonehenge made out of vintage cars</a>, or going out of your way for the <a href="https://www.travelks.com/listing/worlds-largest-ball-of-twine/2344/">world&rsquo;s largest ball of twine</a>. To paraphrase Ken Smith of Roadside America, a good highway attraction isn&rsquo;t about what it actually is, but the fact that <a href="https://www.routemagazine.us/stories/mystery-in-the-desert#:~:text=I%20say%20this%20a%20lot%2C%20but%20a%20good%20roadside%20attraction%E2%80%94it%20isn%E2%80%99t%20about%20what%20it%20is.%20It%E2%80%99s%20about%20what%20you%20remember.%20It%E2%80%99s%20about%20building%20a%20memory.">you&rsquo;ll always remember seeing it</a>.
When it comes to memorable hooks, it doesn&rsquo;t get much better than dinosaur mind control and alien mummies. And that was an intentional marketing ploy.&nbsp;
Do some Googling, and you can find a true, honest-to-God backstory for this funky exhibition. The aforementioned Thomas Prince is the source of those cryptic and eye-catching billboards, having displayed the Thing along the highway until his death in 1969.
The mummies were then purchased by Bowlin Travel Centers (a familiar name in these parts &mdash; nearly every service station seems to be under their jurisdiction) and Bowlin decided to dress up the mummies with a tale about aliens and dinosaurs.&nbsp;
After all, you gotta earn those five dollars, and sci-fi sells big in this part of the country. Just ask Roswell, New Mexico. Or Amargosa Valley, Nevada, where the mystique of nearby Area 51 drives folks towards UFO knick-knacks and a (legal) alien-themed brothel. If you&rsquo;re operating a funky attraction in the deserts of the Southwest, the real money is in making Ed Wood look like Spielberg.
But all of this only explains the events after Prince put the mummies on show. So&hellip; what are those mummies, then? Where were they found? Are they&hellip; real?

That&rsquo;s the thing about the Thing &mdash; officially, no one knows. There are a few competing theories (most involving some <a href="https://www.routemagazine.us/stories/mystery-in-the-desert#:~:text=%E2%80%9C%5BThe%20Thing%5D%20was,kinds%20of%20things.%E2%80%9D">arts and crafts</a>), but there are no definitive answers. If anyone at Bowlin has real concrete provenance for these figures, they&rsquo;re not talking. The secret of the mummies just might have died with Thomas Prince.
I think that&rsquo;s for the best. That last kernel of mystery makes it easier to forget every official bit of history and enjoy the gaff. A weary driver encounters enigmatic billboards, surrounded in every direction by miles of empty desert, and is offered a rare and glorious chance to suspend their disbelief to Fox Mulder levels.&nbsp;
It&rsquo;s roadside gold, an exhibit so sincere in its irony that it has drawn in visitors for six decades. Because it&rsquo;s not about whether those mummies were clearly papier-m&acirc;ch&eacute;, it&rsquo;s about the fact that you&rsquo;ll remember them forever.
So if you&rsquo;re ever driving down I-10 an hour east of Tucson, hit the brakes at exit 322. You won&rsquo;t forget it.

Arizona's Out-of-This-World Road Trip Pitstop

Guyana

French Guiana

Suriname

Ecuador

Paraguay

Venezuela

This article was originally published in The Detour in January 2024, before Ecuador was added to the piece linked below. We have made some updates to reflect the change.
<hr>
Scrolling wistfully through another of the countless &ldquo;best countries to visit for XYZ&rdquo; lists, I found myself stopping and re-reading the title: &ldquo;<a style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; -ms-text-size-adjust: 100%; text-decoration: underline; font-family: 'Work Sans',Helvetica, Arial !important; color: #0ebfff;" href="https://www.independent.co.uk/travel/south-america/best-countries-visit-south-america-b2472253.html?lid=vbe18r4pg8ch">7 of the best countries to visit in South America</a>.&rdquo;
When there are only 12 countries on the continent (*plus one French overseas department), it makes you wonder what it takes to become one of the glaring omissions? For some, it&rsquo;s undoubtedly political unrest (*ahem* Venezuela) but for the others, it just seems to be a case of poor PR. Let&rsquo;s get stuck in&hellip;
<h2 id="ecuador">Ecuador</h2>
Ecuador had absolutely no business being left off this list when it was originally published in 2024&mdash;they had David Attenborough, for goodness&rsquo; sake! As the home of the Gal&aacute;pagos Islands, it&rsquo;s probably one of the most inspiring destinations for wildlife on the entire continent, or even planet. Grab a cuppa and sit down with <a style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; -ms-text-size-adjust: 100%; text-decoration: underline; font-family: 'Work Sans',Helvetica, Arial !important; color: #0ebfff;" href="https://youtu.be/dTdyRTN9Baw?si=fOGbb23vHO-sY2DX">the legend himself</a> if you need a refresher.
And there&rsquo;s more where that came from on <a style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; -ms-text-size-adjust: 100%; text-decoration: underline; font-family: 'Work Sans',Helvetica, Arial !important; color: #0ebfff;" href="https://inspiredbymaps.com/isla-de-la-plata-ecuador-alternative-to-the-galapagos/">Isla de la Plata</a>, aka the Poor Man&rsquo;s Gal&aacute;pagos, where you can catch a glimpse of some <a style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; -ms-text-size-adjust: 100%; text-decoration: underline; font-family: 'Work Sans',Helvetica, Arial !important; color: #0ebfff;" href="https://youtu.be/lcPHFQP9GN0?si=YREZZJi-QKwT7m__&amp;t=11">blue footed boobies</a> without burning a hole in your pocket. You&rsquo;ll even find a mess of iguanas just hanging out in the centre of Guayaquil. Yes, a <a style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; -ms-text-size-adjust: 100%; text-decoration: underline; font-family: 'Work Sans',Helvetica, Arial !important; color: #0ebfff;" href="https://theoccasionaltraveller.com/guayaquil-iguana-park/">mess</a>.

The capital, Quito, will take you inland to the foot of the Andes. The city&rsquo;s <a style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; -ms-text-size-adjust: 100%; text-decoration: underline; font-family: 'Work Sans',Helvetica, Arial !important; color: #0ebfff;" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QyeVKim6mUc">cable car</a> offers up seriously epic views over the <a style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; -ms-text-size-adjust: 100%; text-decoration: underline; font-family: 'Work Sans',Helvetica, Arial !important; color: #0ebfff;" href="https://edition.cnn.com/travel/article/quito-ecuador-underrated-capital-city/index.html">historical city</a>, while <a style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; -ms-text-size-adjust: 100%; text-decoration: underline; font-family: 'Work Sans',Helvetica, Arial !important; color: #0ebfff;" href="https://www.ecuador.com/attractions/sights/mitad-del-mundo/">Mitad del Mundo</a> serves as a humbling reminder of the time someone bungled marking where the <a style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; -ms-text-size-adjust: 100%; text-decoration: underline; font-family: 'Work Sans',Helvetica, Arial !important; color: #0ebfff;" href="https://www.aswesawit.com/real-equator-line/#:~:text=The%20Equator%20line%20is%20located,and%20do%20when%20you%20arrive.">real equator crossing</a> is. On top of that, Quito is also the gateway to the Ecuadorian Amazon and <a style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; -ms-text-size-adjust: 100%; text-decoration: underline; font-family: 'Work Sans',Helvetica, Arial !important; color: #0ebfff;" href="https://www.muchbetteradventures.com/magazine/yasuni-national-park-ecuador-amazon-biodiversity/">Parque Nacional Yasun&iacute;</a>, one of the most diverse biospheres on earth. Can&rsquo;t argue with that.
Buuuut here&rsquo;s the catch: Ecuador has been <a style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; -ms-text-size-adjust: 100%; text-decoration: underline; font-family: 'Work Sans',Helvetica, Arial !important; color: #0ebfff;" href="https://www.spectator.co.uk/article/how-ecuador-became-a-narco-state/">in the news a lot</a> recently due to political unrest, gang warfare, and general violence. In and around Guayaquil, narco activity has increased as gangs fight for control of the ports to ship drugs produced in Colombia and Peru.
The Ecuadorian government initiated a state of emergency, meaning there&rsquo;s an increased military presence and daily curfew in place across the country while they attempt to regain control. That said,&nbsp;<a style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; -ms-text-size-adjust: 100%; text-decoration: underline; font-family: 'Work Sans',Helvetica, Arial !important; color: #0ebfff;" href="https://www.smartraveller.gov.au/destinations/americas/ecuador">current travel advice</a> still considers most of Ecuador safe to travel to, especially the national parks and Amazon region, as well as the Gal&aacute;pagos.
We wouldn&rsquo;t blame you for hesitating about booking flights right now, but in theory, there&rsquo;s nothing to stop us heading off into the jungle&hellip;
<h2 id="paraguay">Paraguay</h2>
Right in the middle of South America lies land-locked Paraguay. As international tourists go, the country is pretty overlooked&mdash;in 2022, only 1.5 million foreigners visited Paraguay, over 75% of whom came from neighbouring Argentina.
So, why don&rsquo;t we go there? According to the Global Peace Index, it&rsquo;s <a style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; -ms-text-size-adjust: 100%; text-decoration: underline; font-family: 'Work Sans',Helvetica, Arial !important; color: #0ebfff;" href="https://worldlyadventurer.com/is-it-safe-to-travel-south-america/">not because it&rsquo;s dangerous</a>. Like most built-up cities, the capital, Asunci&oacute;n, isn&rsquo;t free of crime, but if you keep your wits about you and don&rsquo;t wave your valuables around, you should be good.
It turns out the reason hardly anyone visits Paraguay is that <a style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; -ms-text-size-adjust: 100%; text-decoration: underline; font-family: 'Work Sans',Helvetica, Arial !important; color: #0ebfff;" href="https://www.czickontheroad.com/is-paraguay-worth-the-visit">there&rsquo;s nothing to do</a> there. Or so we think.

Asunci&oacute;n is one of the oldest settlements in South America, and now a <a style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; -ms-text-size-adjust: 100%; text-decoration: underline; font-family: 'Work Sans',Helvetica, Arial !important; color: #0ebfff;" href="https://www.forbes.com/sites/beckbamberger/2023/05/06/paraguays-asuncion-is-quietly-enticing-tourists/?sh=6175635370b1">vibrant, modern city,</a> dotted with colonial ruins, local markets and a <a style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; -ms-text-size-adjust: 100%; text-decoration: underline; font-family: 'Work Sans',Helvetica, Arial !important; color: #0ebfff;" href="https://www.tripsavvy.com/best-restaurants-in-asuncion-paraguay-5198743">food scene</a> that&rsquo;ll tickle most taste buds. Unless you don&rsquo;t eat meat&mdash;then you should bring a packed lunch.
Down south, there&rsquo;s plenty more evidence of the country&rsquo;s chequered history at the impressive 17th century <a style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; -ms-text-size-adjust: 100%; text-decoration: underline; font-family: 'Work Sans',Helvetica, Arial !important; color: #0ebfff;" href="https://www.timetravelturtle.com/paraguay/jesuit-ruins/">Jesuit ruins</a>, which were built by missionaries in an effort to convert the local Guaran&iacute; people.
There&rsquo;s plenty of beautiful (tourist-free) nature out there as well, like the quiet beaches of <a style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; -ms-text-size-adjust: 100%; text-decoration: underline; font-family: 'Work Sans',Helvetica, Arial !important; color: #0ebfff;" href="https://youtu.be/pUZAnErHMYQ?si=yY3xBdQ86jZuU3Ax">Laguna Blanca</a>, or <a style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; -ms-text-size-adjust: 100%; text-decoration: underline; font-family: 'Work Sans',Helvetica, Arial !important; color: #0ebfff;" href="https://nationalparksofparaguay.blogspot.com/2013/08/ybycui-national-park-part-2.html">Ybycu&iacute; National Park</a> with its monkeys, tropical birds and (fairly modest) waterfalls. Although, when it comes to waterfalls, save yourself a trip to see the big guns at Iguazu by checking out the <a style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; -ms-text-size-adjust: 100%; text-decoration: underline; font-family: 'Work Sans',Helvetica, Arial !important; color: #0ebfff;" href="https://www.atlasobscura.com/places/salto-de-monday">Saltos del Monday</a> instead. Or, realistically, visit them as well.
<h2 id="suriname">Suriname</h2>
Much like Paraguay, there&rsquo;s no special safety risk when it comes to visiting Suriname. Again, don&rsquo;t be flashy or walk around dark areas at night, and you&rsquo;re likely to be just fine. That said, <a style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; -ms-text-size-adjust: 100%; text-decoration: underline; font-family: 'Work Sans',Helvetica, Arial !important; color: #0ebfff;" href="https://www.gov.uk/foreign-travel-advice/suriname/safety-and-security">government advice</a> suggests travelling with a tour company if you&rsquo;re heading away from coastal areas and into the centre of the country.
And that&rsquo;s exactly where you&rsquo;ll find the <a style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; -ms-text-size-adjust: 100%; text-decoration: underline; font-family: 'Work Sans',Helvetica, Arial !important; color: #0ebfff;" href="https://www.tripadvisor.co.uk/Attraction_Review-g3364167-d1537809-Reviews-Central_Suriname_Nature_Reserve-Saramacca_District.html#/media-atf/1537809/416229273:p/?albumid=-160&amp;type=0&amp;category=-160">lush nature reserves</a> that absolutely shouldn&rsquo;t be missed. From the imposing mountains, to the hundreds of indigenous bird species (and a few <a style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; -ms-text-size-adjust: 100%; text-decoration: underline; font-family: 'Work Sans',Helvetica, Arial !important; color: #0ebfff;" href="https://ebird.org/species/gcoroc1">giggle-worthy names</a>), it&rsquo;s well worth making the effort to leave the Caribbean coast. There are loads of tour companies available in the region, but <a style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; -ms-text-size-adjust: 100%; text-decoration: underline; font-family: 'Work Sans',Helvetica, Arial !important; color: #0ebfff;" href="https://www.tripadvisor.co.uk/Attraction_Review-g294082-d19819244-Reviews-Impressive_Suriname_Travel_Services-Paramaribo_Paramaribo_District.html">Impressive Suriname</a> get excellent reviews.

But the capital, Paramaribo, also deserves a couple of days on your itinerary. The city's imposing structures are essential stops. The cathedral is the largest wooden church in the region and <a style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; -ms-text-size-adjust: 100%; text-decoration: underline; font-family: 'Work Sans',Helvetica, Arial !important; color: #0ebfff;" href="https://notesonslowtravel.com/the-wooden-st-peter-and-paul-cathedral-in-paramaribo-suriname/">sure lives up to the hype</a>, while <a style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; -ms-text-size-adjust: 100%; text-decoration: underline; font-family: 'Work Sans',Helvetica, Arial !important; color: #0ebfff;" href="https://www.alluringworld.com/fort-zeelandia/">Fort Zeelandia</a> is perched upon the banks of the river, reminding visitors of the long colonial history.
Paramaribo is an ideal place to sample a few local dishes&mdash;many of which you&rsquo;ll recognise. Surinamese cuisine takes influences from India, Indonesia, Africa, China&hellip; the list really does go on, so don&rsquo;t be surprised if you&rsquo;re served up a <a style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; -ms-text-size-adjust: 100%; text-decoration: underline; font-family: 'Work Sans',Helvetica, Arial !important; color: #0ebfff;" href="https://travelfoodatlas.com/food-of-suriname-10-must-try-traditional-dishes">roti or nasi</a>.
<h2 id="venezuela">Venezuela</h2>
This one might be the most obvious on the list of &ldquo;why we don&rsquo;t go there&rdquo;&mdash;years of civil unrest, a shortage of basic public services and harsh living conditions are just the start. Violent crime rates are high, and renewed&nbsp;<a href="https://www.visualcapitalist.com/the-venezuela-guyana-dispute-explained-in-3-maps/?lid=i4q7gfubjm6y">territorial disputes</a>&nbsp;with neighbouring Guyana just add to the tension.
It&rsquo;s a shame, because otherwise, Venezuela kind of has it all in terms of reasons to visit&mdash;stunning&nbsp;<a href="https://passporterapp.com/en/blog/venezuela/best-beaches-in-venezuela/?lid=3m1un2jigmy1#1-The-beaches-of-Los-Roques-archipelago">Caribbean coastline</a>, the actual&nbsp;<a href="https://www.world-of-waterfalls.com/waterfalls/latin-america-angel-falls/?lid=vlddp5v7e9uj">tallest waterfall in the world</a>, impressive&nbsp;<a href="https://artsandculture.google.com/story/mount-roraima-ephemera-documentary/0wVBNbmVRPLfoA?hl=en&amp;lid=t249ul2h1vrs">table-top mountains</a>, its own corner of the Amazon&hellip; Oh, and&nbsp;<a href="https://www.willflyforfood.net/food-in-venezuela/?lid=8hq82p66be53">super tasty food</a>, which I've (so far) only tasted in Berlin.
Sadly, most of us will likely be waiting a while before experiencing it first hand.

<h2 id="guyana">Guyana</h2>
Guyana&rsquo;s safety levels land somewhere (<a href="https://westviewnews.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/04/null-24.jpeg">fairly appropriately</a>) between Suriname and Venezuela, especially when you&rsquo;re in the capital, Georgetown. And while Georgetown does have a few things worth seeing (another one for the&nbsp;<a href="https://www.atlasobscura.com/places/st-georges-cathedral?lid=ghgoi1tncegg">big wooden church</a>&nbsp;lovers), it&rsquo;s really inland that you&rsquo;ll want to go.
Guyana offers a lot to thrill the adventurous traveller, but be sure to sign up for guided tours with a&nbsp;<a href="http://exploreguyana.org/?lid=25ghn6tp70kb">reputable company</a>&nbsp;for the best rainforest adventures.
<a href="https://www.travelandleisure.com/trip-ideas/nature-travel/worlds-largest-single-drop-waterfall-kaieteur-falls-guyana?lid=itwktx4ig72f">Kaieteur</a>&nbsp;is the world's largest single drop waterfall, and the best (and easiest) way to see it is from a bird's eye view on an aerial tour. These cost $220-$270 per person and usually include a guided tour of Kaieteur National Park as well.
If you have a few more days (and dollars) you could book a guided&nbsp;<a href="https://www.enchantedexpeditions.com/tour-item/kaieteur-falls/">4-day trip over land</a>. This is a more intimate way to see the country, with meals, lodging, and transportation to the start of the hiking trail included.
While tourism is relatively new to Guyana, it's already setting itself up to be as sustainable as possible. You'll be spoilt for choice with&nbsp;<a href="https://www.greentraveller.co.uk/post/where-to-stay-in-guyana?lid=712vad2oxjr8">eco lodges</a>, many of which are still working ranches or conservation hubs.
The bravest travellers can even&nbsp;<a href="http://caimanhouse.com/?lid=sin6zp694i25">tag along with researchers</a>&nbsp;while they capture and study the black caiman - one of the world's largest reptiles that rule the rivers of Guyana. Don't worry, you can stay in the other boat while they do the wrangling!

<h2 id="french-guiana">French Guiana</h2>
Last but not least, the slight anomaly in the bunch&mdash;French Guiana. Not actually a country, it is in fact an overseas department of France, meaning it&rsquo;s part of the EU and uses the Euro. And as a bonus, when it comes to safety, you should just follow normal precautions.
As you might guess from the other countries mentioned, you&rsquo;ll most likely be here for the nature. After landing in Cayenne, head north towards the border with Suriname. Cruises&mdash;definitely&nbsp;<a href="https://youtu.be/GpL7ZIjNo5o?t=15&amp;lid=y2jtbhb0q3z7">not the ones</a>&nbsp;you're thinking about&mdash;leave from Saint-Laurent-du-Maroni to navigate all the way into the&nbsp;<a href="https://www.espritparcnational.com/en/live-experiences/forests-tales-and-legends/guiana-amazonian-park-forests-tales?lid=rwdey58v803r">Guiana Amazonian Park</a>. Sitting on the wooden canoes for 3+ hours can be quite uncomfortable, but spotting&nbsp;<a href="https://www.youtube.com/shorts/_NUmm2D8OW4?lid=g3u4vyol5waf">these guys</a>&nbsp;is absolutely worth the flat bum!
Before hopping on your canoe, make a stop at Hattes Beach. Not only it's an incredibly pretty spot, it is also the perfect&nbsp;<a href="https://anitabeyondthesea.com/beaches-in-french-guiana/#aioseo-les-hattes-beach">nesting location</a>&nbsp;for huge leatherback turtles - a good addition to those&nbsp;<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PmbhlnwjuVo&amp;ab_channel=Danslesfor%C3%AAtsdeGuyane&amp;lid=rxbe3stz6rlw">toucans and giant otters</a>.
You&rsquo;ll find plenty of&nbsp;<a href="https://etichotels.com/journal/top-10-sustainable-hotels-in-french-guiana/?lid=aq6ahddve7rd">eco lodges</a>&nbsp;scattered around the jungle, in case you don&rsquo;t like the idea of sleeping on a hammock in the middle of the forest. Just don&rsquo;t forget to bring a power-bank and a torch&mdash;most accommodation doesn&rsquo;t have electricity.

That completes that list of destinations that&nbsp;The Independent didn&rsquo;t deem &ldquo;the best&rdquo;! Honestly, they all seem pretty exciting to me&hellip;
Let us know what you thought! Are these spots worth the visit? Where else in South America do you want to give a shout-out? Comment below to share your experiences!

The South American Countries We Never Talk About

Colorful handmade tassel souvenirs hang in a market stall at Afitos, Halkidiki.

heart shaped trinkets

I&rsquo;m sitting in a cafe in Chiapas, the rich aroma of cacao curling around me as I sink into my workday with my $5 boujie drink. As I unfold my laptop to work, a little girl no more than four years old approaches. 
Brightly coloured Mayan clothes are streaked with dirt, and her shoes are two sizes too small. Her tiny, calloused hands tug at the hem of my sleeve.&nbsp;

She asks me in Spanish if I could please buy one of her heart-shaped keychains. My chest tightens. I&rsquo;ve already bought four this week, a gesture that feels both well-intentioned and absolutely meaningless in the face of such systemic injustice.&nbsp;
The pang of conscience jabs me somewhere between my ribs, and I feel... The Ache.&nbsp;
I&rsquo;ve yet to find an English word to describe this Ache with a capital A.&nbsp;
But trust the Germans to have an appropriate word:&nbsp;
Weltschmertz (n) lit. &ldquo;world-pain&rdquo;; the depression you feel when the world as it is doesn&rsquo;t reflect what you think it should be.&nbsp;
It&rsquo;s easy to use travel as another form of escapism to cope with the state of the world right now. I&rsquo;m guilty of it too. But all too often I return from a trip feeling a little&hellip; hollow.&nbsp;
Sure, I enjoyed myself, saw the sights, snapped some pics. But the culture remains distant; tourism often feels extractive. And the little glimpses I do catch show me that underneath, communities struggle in ways we tourists can easily ignore.&nbsp;

Heavy, I know.&nbsp;
But then comes a small, unexpected reminder of good in the world. After I finished my work and packed up my things, I stepped out of the cafe. Not two minutes later, another girl on the street comes running after me, carrying the bag I&rsquo;d accidentally left behind.&nbsp;
Inside was everything &mdash; my laptop, my keys, my passport, and my iPad. She doesn&rsquo;t hesitate or ask for anything. She simply returns what isn&rsquo;t hers. Before I could blink, she vanished down the street, and I was left staring at the space she occupied&mdash;so small but carrying so much. The Ache returns.&nbsp;
But my favourite author Glennon Doyle says this: 
<blockquote>
&ldquo;We all have this misunderstanding about heartbreak, which is we think we should avoid it. But what I think is that heartache is a clue toward the work we're supposed to be doing in the world. What breaks each person's heart is different - be it racial injustice, war, or animals. And when you figure out what it is that breaks yours, go toward it. That's where you'll find the people doing world healing work. I really think all we're here for is purpose and connection, so follow your heartbreak&rdquo;
</blockquote>
So maybe Weltschmertz isn&rsquo;t a burden to carry but a compass. And instead of asking &ldquo;how can I see more of the world?&rdquo; the better question is &ldquo;how can I feel more of the world?&rdquo;
Things like community-led tours, volunteering, or even just spending time learning directly from locals can thoroughly change the way we experience a place on a deeper level.&nbsp;

I spent most of my twenties traveling on a shoestring using&nbsp;<a href="https://www.workaway.info/">Workaway</a>. From Hungary to Guatemala, I traded shifts in hostels, cleaned guesthouses and campsites in Slovenia and the Isle of Skye. I even did a stint on a yoga boat in Holland.&nbsp;
I met incredible people from all four corners of the globe. But truthfully, at the time, I was more focused on what travel could give me than what I might give back.&nbsp;
I wasn&rsquo;t really considering my impact or looking inward, just chasing experiences and trying my best to avoid the great big Ache.&nbsp;

So reading the Guardian&rsquo;s <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/travel/2025/sep/21/community-tourism-trips-holiday-traditional-customs?CMP=Share_AndroidApp_Other">roundup of community tourism trips</a> ignited a flame in me to try again. Working with families in traditional weaving villages in the Andes, staying in Sri Lanka&rsquo;s first women-led hotel, or with herding families in the Gobi Desert.&nbsp;
It led me to ask myself, &ldquo;How do I want travel in my thirties to look?&rdquo; I want connection. I want to feel part of something bigger than myself, rather than just passing through. I want to be challenged by my limiting beliefs and lean into The Ache and to recognize that it isn&rsquo;t just mine; it&rsquo;s ours.&nbsp;
And with <a href="https://www.untourism.int/world-tourism-day-2025">World Tourism Day</a> coming up on Saturday, it&rsquo;s the perfect time to reflect: what kind of tourism are we celebrating?&nbsp;

Maybe you&rsquo;ve hiked with local Bedouin guides in Jordan, joined a coral reef restoration in Australia, or spent a day with Sami reindeer herders. Perhaps you&rsquo;ve found that sweet spot on Workaway&mdash;or other volunteering sites&mdash;that I missed.&nbsp;
And if not, perhaps you too are dreaming of a trip that stays with you long after the journey ends?
Give us your thoughts in the comments. Who knows, you might just inspire another Traveller to scratch beyond the surface.

Pack Light, Travel Deep - How does our Crew do Community? 

A herd of horses grazes peacefully in the lush grasslands of the Steppes of Kyrgyzstan, with traditional yurts visible in the background.

Kyrgyzstan 

<h3>A 9-day journey through mountain storms, remote trails, and the heart of Central Asia&rsquo;s wildest Stan.</h3>

I know why you&rsquo;re here. You want an adventure that doesn&rsquo;t come with souvenir shops or matching tour group hats. You yearn for something wild, untamed, and just a tad off the grid.&nbsp;
So buckle up, babe. We&rsquo;re headed to Kyrgyzstan &ndash; and what unfolds from here is anything but predictable.
In a world that feels mapped and measured, only 0.185% of the world&rsquo;s population will ever set foot on these remote, rugged steppes. And if you dare to make it all the way to <a href="https://inbetweentravels.com/kel-suu-lake/">Kel-Suu Lake</a>? We're talking a microscopic 0.00018%.&nbsp;
That&rsquo;s right. You&rsquo;ll be standing in a spot so rare, 99.99982% of humanity will never breathe its air. I did it, and it was pretty freaking cool.&nbsp;
In fact, it felt so surreal, I knew I had to document it &mdash; the beauty, the breakdowns, the blisters, and the magic. What followed was an epic journey with my best friend: nine days of wild terrain, questionable bathrooms, and moments that cracked me wide open.
Here&rsquo;s the journey, told in snapshots and field notes:

<h3>Day One: Bishkek, Purple Pants &amp; <s>Culture</s> Toilet Shock</h3>

<h6>Itinerary:</h6>
Rolled into Bishkek at 5 a.m. after a full day of travel &mdash; delirious, puffy-eyed, and, in retrospect, wildly under-prepared for cultural differences. The airport? A sea of local men. Us? The only foreign women in sight. I was clad head-to-toe in purple (yes, including an iridescent violet suitcase), standing there like a glittery grape thinking, &ldquo;Oh wow, we are definitely not in <s>Kansas</s> Canada anymore.&rdquo;
<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Highlight:&nbsp;</h6>
The surreal moment of trudging through customs in full lilac glam, feeling both wildly out of place and exactly where I was supposed to be. Plus, nothing could have prepared me for arriving in Bishkek just as the sky turned gold. The sunrise views at the foothills of the <a href="https://www.reddit.com/r/EarthPorn/comments/a0trjf/seeing_the_7000m_giants_of_the_tian_shan_mountain/#lightbox">Tian Shan mountains</a>?&nbsp; Pure magic.

<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Challenge:&nbsp;</h6>
Kyrgyz toilets. Oof. Stopped at a gas station, asked for the bathroom, got pointed down a dirt path to a shed. Opened the door to find&hellip; a carved-out hole in the wood floor. No seat, no instructions, just gravity.
(Runner-up: Figuring out how to drive in Bishkek, where traffic rules seem more like suggestions and roundabouts are survival games.) 
<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Coolest Thing I Saw:&nbsp;</h6>
A car so overloaded with boxes, crates, and maybe furniture(?) it looked like a small, fast-moving mountain. 
<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Most Surprising Thing I Ate:</h6>
A full Georgian <a href="https://www.onceuponachef.com/recipes/khachapuri-georgian-cheese-bread.html">khachapuri</a> &mdash; basically a canoe of cheesy, eggy, buttery bread &mdash; consumed entirely by me. No shame. 10/10. Would do it again.

<h3>Day 2: Getting Out Of Dodge (But in our Peugeot)</h3>

<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Itinerary:</h6>
Fled Bishkek in our trusty (read: slightly wheezy) Peugeot and made the 4-hour drive to Kyzart Village &mdash; the gateway to <a href="https://www.journalofnomads.com/horse-riding-in-kyrgyzstan-song-kul-trek/">our horse trek</a> and the unofficial start of &ldquo;Are we lost yet?&rdquo;&nbsp;
<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Highlight:</h6>
Trotting into our first yurt camp amongst the &ldquo;<a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/C8DMdlvNecw/?img_index=1">velvet hills</a>,&rdquo; and hiking through herds of wild horses to chase the setting sun. Also, the feeling of sweet relief when we met up with <a href="https://www.instagram.com/san_cho_tours?igsh=djJtaDVndmtkNnAx">our trek guide, Sancho</a>, and he was even more fun in person. We did a ton of internet research, and it really paid off!
<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Challenge(s):</h6>
<ul>
<li dir="ltr" role="presentation">Ate our first &lsquo;surprise meal&rsquo; that was cooked for us. No idea what was in it, but it was warm and didn&rsquo;t fight back.</li>
<li dir="ltr" role="presentation">The car engine threw a tantrum mid-highway. No roadside assistance, just the mechanic (me: a travel writer), the open road, and the bag of tools thrust my way along with the rental contract.</li>
<li dir="ltr" role="presentation">Attempted to buy gas with zero Russian language skills. Thank you, Google Translate, for preventing a preemptive mental breakdown.</li>
<li dir="ltr" role="presentation">Kash, my travel partner and colleague, would probably say that her greatest challenge was battling a complete stomach revolt. Multiple toilet stops, questionable facilities (if any) &hellip; yet she still got on the horse. Absolute legend.</li>
</ul>

<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Coolest Thing I Saw:</h6>
Actual lightning bolts in the same valley as us &mdash; close enough that our guide casually suggested turning off our phones. Is that science? No clue. Did we do it immediately? Absolutely. Also: wild horses roaming like they owned the place. Because they do.
<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Most Surprising Thing I Ate:</h6>
A mystery meat broth that was either beef, yak, or&hellip; probably something else with hooves. I didn&rsquo;t ask. I just slurped and hoped for the best.

Hot tip: Pack snacks. Your stomach may not always be ready for full-immersion cuisine.

<h3>Day 3: Sorest Butts From Here to China</h3>

<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Itinerary:&nbsp;</h6>
Five hours on horseback in the rain to our next <a href="https://www.livetheworld.com/post/jailoo-tourism-sleeping-under-the-starry-sky-pel6#google_vignette">jailoo</a> (high mountain pasture).
Slipping and sliding over a 3,400m mountain pass. Questioning every life choice that led to this moment &mdash; and why we didn&rsquo;t think to bring waterproof gloves. I did think to bring a waterproof rain skirt though, which led to lots of teasing (on my friend&rsquo;s part) and then lots of smugness (on my part).
<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Highlight:&nbsp;</h6>
Stretching out on a blanket under a waning moon with a stranger I&rsquo;d just met, swapping stories and chatting about life. Later, curled up in my yurt, warmed by a manure fire (yes, that&rsquo;s a thing), reading my book while rain poured outside.

<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Challenge(s):</h6>
<ul>
<li dir="ltr" role="presentation">Trying to mount my horse again. I&rsquo;ve never been so aware of my glutes. </li>
<li dir="ltr" role="presentation">My poor travel partner was down for the count &mdash; fever, chills, couldn&rsquo;t move from the bed. We worked with the camp to bring her hot water bottles like we were running a medieval infirmary.</li>
</ul>

Pro tip: Pack muscle rub, wool everything, and more meds than you think you&rsquo;ll need.

<ul>
<li dir="ltr" role="presentation">Navigated a fog-choked, icy mountain pass where visibility was no greater than one horse&rsquo;s butt-length ahead. Horses were slipping toward the cliff&rsquo;s edge. Honestly, terrifying. Also: somehow epic.</li>
</ul>

<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Coolest Thing I Saw:</h6>
Wild horses and their foals galloping across the hills. Also, standing in fog so thick I could barely see my own boots &mdash; it felt like we&rsquo;d ridden straight into another dimension.
<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Most Surprising Thing I Ate:</h6>
<a href="https://www.traveltokyrgyzstan.com/post/how-to-make-manti-central-asian-cuisine">Manti</a>! Aka Kyrgyz dumplings &mdash; hot, fresh, doughy little pockets of joy.

<h3>Day 4: Polar Dipping in Paradise</h3>

<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Itinerary:</h6>
Wrapped up our horse trek with one last ride (and a dip) in Song-Kul Lake. Then things took a turn: my friend needed medical attention, so our guide went allllll the way back to the Kyzart Village, retrieved our rental, and then drove it through ice fields and over that same 3,400m pass. We barely survived on horseback all the way back to the start again. Plot twist: it was a &ldquo;4x4&rdquo; in name only. Scariest drive of my life.&nbsp;
<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Highlight:</h6>
<a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/C8kwzU6tY17/">Galloping along the shore of Song-Kul</a> like a shampoo commercial goddess.
Oh &mdash; and taking my horse, Sulu, in for a swim. Yes, a polar dip. Yes, I stayed on. No, I&rsquo;ll never recover from the icy temps.
<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Challenge(s):</h6>
<ul>
<li dir="ltr" role="presentation">The drive back over the icy pass was an adrenaline-soaked nightmare. At one point, I genuinely thought: &ldquo;Well, this is how I go&rdquo;.</li>
<li dir="ltr" role="presentation">The bathrooms? Somehow&nbsp;still getting more rustic.</li>
</ul>

<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Coolest Thing I Saw:</h6>
A legit Kyrgyz beer run mid-emergency evac. Our driver tossed beer (stored in a 4L Sprite bottle, obviously) across a river to some locals at a neighbouring yurt camp. It was so cool to see yurt camp bartering.
<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Most Surprising Thing I Ate:</h6>
Hands down, the best bread of my life. Served at our guide&rsquo;s mother&rsquo;s house after making it back in one piece to Kyzart. 10/10 fresh, warm, crusty perfection..

<h3>Day 5: A Brief Foray Into Kyrgyz Healthcare</h3>

Itinerary:&nbsp;
Took my friend to a town doctor, which happened to be in some random woman&rsquo;s kitchen, picked up some meds, drove 3 hours to <a href="https://www.centralasia-travel.com/en/countries/kirgistan/sights/narin">Naryn</a>, the last real signs of civilization in the mountains.&nbsp;
<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Highlight:&nbsp;</h6>
I got the craziest and best massage of my life in an abandoned (looking) warehouse in town, while her friend played Candy Crush, and they chatted above my barely covered bottom.
<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Challenge(s):&nbsp;</h6>
<ul>
<li>Driving through the mountains! Many semi-truck accidents where the vehicle was just abandoned in the middle of the highway.&nbsp;</li>
<li>Finding a doctor in the middle of nowhere, getting a prescription from said &ldquo;doctor&rdquo; and translating it from Kyrgyz-Russian to English. All while having no idea if we had actually explained Kash&rsquo;s symptoms correctly, or what the prescription was even for.</li>
</ul>

<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Coolest thing I saw:&nbsp;</h6>
A Coca-Cola ad&hellip; made entirely out of loose stones. Because why not? When life gives you rocks, use them for branding!
<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Most surprising thing I ate:&nbsp;</h6>
Vegetables! And not just any veggies, but the crispiest, hottest, spiciest tempura eggplant, after days of meat/bread/dairy overload.

<h3>Day 6: Off-Roading So Far It Became &ldquo;Off-Mapping&rdquo;</h3>

<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Itinerary:&nbsp;</h6>
Took the road less travelled (literally) to <a href="https://www.journalofnomads.com/kel-suu-lake-kyrgyzstan/#:~:text=before%20Kel%20Suu.-,Kok%20Kiya%20Valley,-is%20worth%20it">Kok-Kiya Valley</a> and spent the night at a mountain camp. No fancy roads here&mdash;just adventure!
<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Highlight(s):&nbsp;</h6>
<ul>
<li dir="ltr" role="presentation">Drinking mugs of vodka while snow flurried around the cozy gathering yurt.&nbsp;</li>
<li dir="ltr" role="presentation">A Kyrgyz guide leading a tour group took me under his wing, and he even convinced me to stand up and give a toast&mdash;which turned into such a special moment.&nbsp;</li>
<li dir="ltr" role="presentation">My friend, Kash, was getting sicker and finally had to make the decision to return to Bishkek for medical care. This only made the &lsquo;highlights&rsquo; list because it pushed me to make friends with the receptionist at our mountain inn, who decided last-minute to join me on the expedition.&nbsp;</li>
</ul>

<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Challenge(s):&nbsp;</h6>
<ul>
<li dir="ltr" role="presentation">Off-roading using GPS coordinates found on the internet = a legit survival game.&nbsp;</li>
<li dir="ltr" role="presentation">Showing up at the yurt camp to find&hellip; no yurts. Nada. We had to get creative. There&rsquo;s nothing quite like trying to talk an innkeeper into letting two unexpected guests stay, on a very limited budget (no ATMs in the middle of nowhere), in a language I don&rsquo;t speak!</li>
<li dir="ltr" role="presentation">Sweating gas usage like it was liquid gold&mdash;I may or may not have ended up talking a border official into donating a sneaky Coke bottle of fuel.&nbsp;</li>
</ul>

<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Coolest thing I saw:&nbsp;</h6>
Golden marmots everywhere! As soon as we hit 3000 meters, these little guys were popping up like it was their own personal party.
<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Most surprising thing I ate:&nbsp;</h6>
Yak and horse meat. Not my favourite, but I tasted it!

<h3>Day 7: Return to Civilization (Sort of)</h3>

<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Itinerary:&nbsp;</h6>
Started the day on horseback to the stunning <a href="https://www.journalofnomads.com/kel-suu-lake-kyrgyzstan/">Kel-Suu Lake</a>, then braved six hours of off-road mud madness back to Naryn. And then treated myself to a bonus two-hour drive to the town of Kochkor to get a head start on the cross-country drive the next day.
<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Highlight:&nbsp;</h6>
Waking up to sunshine sparkling on fresh snow like some kind of high-altitude fairytale. Arriving at Kel-Suu, right near the Chinese border, and realizing: I actually made it. Just me, my determination, and a wildly unreliable (knowledge of how to read) GPS.&nbsp;
<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Challenge(s):&nbsp;</h6>
<ul>
<li dir="ltr" role="presentation">Oh, where to begin? A casual mud marathon of a drive</li>
<li dir="ltr" role="presentation">A snow-glare sunburn that lit my face on fire</li>
<li dir="ltr" role="presentation">White-knuckling it through pitch black mountain passes.&nbsp;</li>
</ul>
Bonus round? Rolling into Kochkor at 11:15pm with no hotel, no internet, no backup plan, and no idea if Kash was even still alive. I ended up calling a random guesthouse number I had scribbled down and winging a conversation in Russian to ask if I could crash at their place. As you do.

<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Coolest thing I saw:&nbsp;</h6>
Yak everywhere! Just strolling up to Kel-Suu without a care in the world.
<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Most surprising thing I ate:&nbsp;</h6>
Chips and granola bars... for lunch and dinner. Turns out, everything was closed. Moral of the story? Never underestimate the power of stuffing snacks into every bag, pocket, and glove compartment you&rsquo;ve got.

<h3>Day 8: Banyas, Beds, and Bliss in Bishkek</h3>

<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Itinerary:&nbsp;</h6>
Wrapped up the trip with a four-hour drive back to Bishkek. Made a pit stop for some shockingly good KFC, and marvelled at the boundless poppy fields along the way. Checked into a swanky 4-star hotel with a bed so comfy it should be illegal, reunited with Kash, then hit up a <a href="https://liamapollodoherty.com/2021/08/18/big-up-the-banya/">banya</a> for some serious steam healing.
<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Highlight:&nbsp;</h6>
The banya experience was enlightening. I made fast friends with a savvy local who schooled me on leaf-whacking etiquette&mdash;yes, that&rsquo;s a thing. I loved pushing myself outside my comfort zone. Also&hellip; room service! Mattress! Pool!
<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Challenge(s):&nbsp;</h6>
<ul>
<li dir="ltr" role="presentation">Battling the chaotic traffic and sneaky speed traps of Bishkek (apparently speed limits are mere suggestions here).&nbsp;</li>
<li dir="ltr" role="presentation">Hitting the banya solo, despite warnings that it would make me look &ldquo;like a real loser.&rdquo; (A helpful expat explained to me that in Kyrgyzstan, going to the banya is a community activity, and is more about spending time with friends than anything else.)</li>
<li dir="ltr" role="presentation">Finally, reuniting with Kash, who&rsquo;d taken a sketchy taxi back from Naryn&mdash;cue a dramatic &ldquo;You&rsquo;re alive!&rdquo; door-opening moment.</li>
</ul>

<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Coolest thing I saw:&nbsp;</h6>
Endless fields of wild red poppies stretching into the mountains, looking like nature&rsquo;s very own red carpet.
<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Most surprising thing I ate:&nbsp;</h6>
That KFC&mdash;crispy, juicy, and basically the best fried chicken I didn&rsquo;t know I needed.

<h3>Day 9: From Yurt Pads to Pillow-Tops</h3>

<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Itinerary:&nbsp;</h6>
Took a breather in Bishkek&mdash;tracked down a long-lost relative who&rsquo;d moved here in the 90s, <a href="https://www.livetheworld.com/post/three-most-iconic-bazaars-of-bishkek-uiob#google_vignette">wandered the markets</a>, and squeezed in one last blissful massage.
<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Highlight:&nbsp;</h6>
Shopping for Russian Matryoshka dolls like a pro. Returning the rental car with no new dings (basically a miracle). Plus, staying in a 5-star hotel without needing to sell a kidney&hellip;
<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Challenges:&nbsp;</h6>
<ul>
<li dir="ltr" role="presentation">People, people everywhere. This was especially jarring after 8 days in the wilderness.</li>
<li dir="ltr" role="presentation">Shopping was a full-contact sport, with crowds swarming every aisle.&nbsp;</li>
<li dir="ltr" role="presentation">Trying to nab a taxi in the chaos of downtown Bishkek? Pure madness.&nbsp;</li>
<li dir="ltr" role="presentation">And the markets? A five-story maze stuffed to the brim with everything from samovars to knock off sneakers.&nbsp;</li>
</ul>

<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Coolest thing I saw:&nbsp;</h6>
A Soviet-era sickle, tucked away in a corner of the market. Did I buy it, even though I was travelling carry-on only, and then had to buy another suitcase to get it home? Absolutely.
<h6 dir="ltr" role="presentation">Most surprising thing I ate:&nbsp;</h6>
<a href="https://www.instagram.com/chocolate_yahya/?hl=en">Chocolate from Yahya&rsquo;s</a>. Lemon-yuzu, raspberry-balsamic, tea-infused&mdash;you name it, I devoured it. Basically, Yahya&rsquo;s is my new addiction.

In the end, it wasn&rsquo;t just the altitude that took my breath away &mdash; it was the wildness of it all. The endless mountains. The strangers who became companions. The freezing fog, the burning thighs, the mysterious meals. Kyrgyzstan didn&rsquo;t just push me out of my comfort zone &mdash; it obliterated it, and replaced it with something far more raw, real, and unforgettable.
Adventure isn&rsquo;t always Instagrammable. It&rsquo;s messy, unpredictable, and sometimes smells like yak milk and muscle rub.

Kyrgyzstan: Snapshots from an Expedition

Hungary

Urbex

Simon scales fences, evades police and crawls through asbestos. I followed him into the dark to understand what dead places do to the living.&nbsp;
<hr>

A burly man, cloaked in black, waits for me in the deadzone of security cameras. I&rsquo;ve known him for all of half an hour, and now here I sit, teetering atop a 10ft fence, trusting that he&rsquo;ll catch me if I fall. My cotton gloves are useless, offering no protection as the chain links dig into my skin. One foot scrambles for a hold, dangling for a second too long; far below, the ground is a m&eacute;lange of brambles and broken concrete.&nbsp;
Expertly reeling, my mind fires off a million worst-case scenarios: a broken ankle, a dog chase, disappearing off the face of the earth. My phone buzzed in my pocket &mdash; a friend&rsquo;s text from Canada, &ldquo;You alive?&rdquo; as if her panic could bridge an ocean.
I&rsquo;d sent her his Instagram profile earlier: no last name, no identifiable locations, zero posts of sunlight. Just a feed of abandoned nuclear sites. I prayed she&rsquo;d at least pick a flattering thumbnail for the inevitable true-crime podcast.&nbsp;
And yet, there&rsquo;s something entirely too intoxicating about this moment. A forbidden dare, a promise of secret worlds hidden in plain sight. The rush comes before I even hit the ground.&nbsp;

Simon in the ruins of St. Elizabeth&rsquo;s&mdash;once a site of Walter Freeman&rsquo;s experimental lobotomies, now only ghosts and dust remain.
<hr>

This is Urbex &mdash; urban exploration &mdash; the exploration of manmade structures usually off-limits or abandoned; a regular Thursday for my new friend Simon, the man in black.
We connected weeks earlier through a dead Reddit thread, his username half-buried between broken links and breadcrumb co-ordinates. No small talk, no promises &mdash; this wasn&rsquo;t a tour. Just a time he&rsquo;d pick me up and the unspoken rule: &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t slow me down.&rdquo;
Later, I&rsquo;d ask him about the moment he fell in love with Urbex. He thinks for a moment before answering with certainty.&nbsp;
"The atmosphere&hellip; It&rsquo;s like seeing the earth without humans. It&rsquo;s ephemeral, temporary, history and adrenaline all wrapped in one. And photography, of course."
He pauses, a glint of passion in his eyes. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s about capturing something that&rsquo;s fading, something that won&rsquo;t be there forever.&rdquo;

Chernobyl&rsquo;s exclusion zone, nuclear bunkers and NYC&rsquo;s legendary TB sanatorium are some of the hundreds of sites featured on Simon&rsquo;s Instagram &mdash; an apocalyptic obsession fuelled by more than a decade of exploration.&nbsp;

Just as hackers, lurking in the shadows of society, bypassing firewalls and cracking code, urbexers chase the thrill of uncovering a backdoor into the supposedly inaccessible.
The son of a photographer, documenting his adventures is essential to him, as is the web of intricate tattoos sprawled across his skin; both ink and images are a blueprint of a life lived on the edge. He&rsquo;s mastered the classic &ldquo;hero shot:&rdquo; a solitary figure, often snapped from behind, half swallowed by shadow and dwarfed by the grandeur of decay.&nbsp;
And yet when he&rsquo;s not scaling walls or sneaking past security, he&rsquo;s behind a screen, crafting code, a master of both domains.&nbsp;

Back in Hungary, en route to the first of two sites Simon has agreed to show me, I launch into question mode. Naturally, I want to know if he&rsquo;s ever been busted, and the probability of being caught today. With his eyes focused on the road, I&rsquo;m speaking mostly to his face tattoo, a leviathan cross on the side of his cheek. Its meaning I can only guess.&nbsp;
&ldquo;Yeah, I got caught sleeping in my hammock at Baikonur.&rdquo; 
Baikonur, I am to learn, is an abandoned military base in the desert of Kazakhstan, a cathedral to the USSR&rsquo;s failed Buran space program, housing two enormous, decrepit Soviet space shuttles.
Simon tells me of his masochistic journey there: A three day, forty kilometer night hike through the desert and a subsequent four days inside a Soviet military prison &mdash; a small price to pay for his SD card.&nbsp;

The ultimate endgame for Urbex explorers. Baikonur is sealed off, locked down, and just waiting for someone to bypass its firewall.
<hr>

Thankfully, battling sandstorms isn&rsquo;t on our agenda today. But we are going to visit another legendary spot in the Urbex community: Kelenfold Power Station.
Following the fence jump, Simon lays his backpack over the twisted snarls of a barbed wire hole I am to climb through. He emphasizes the importance of taking quiet, calculated movements,&nbsp;&ldquo;I once fell through the roof of an abandoned morgue, got stuck between the roof and the glass and cut my arm up real bad.&rdquo;
Despite his broad frame, he slips through with expert ease, a feat that seems almost cruel as I attempt to follow. His boots looked like they&rsquo;d kicked in every door between here and Chernobyl.&nbsp;
Mine? Soft-toed Sketchers with arch support, the kind reviewed by moms visiting Disneyland. Half his size, yet twice as clumsy, I muddle through, my down jacket a caught bird against the steel. The Urbex hierarchy was clear.

Curious about the practical side of his explorations, I ask for tips for anyone looking to dive into Urbex. 
He laughs softly and begins listing off essentials, as if reciting a well-practiced guide:&nbsp;&ldquo;Start in your own area first, get to know the terrain. Always take gloves, good shoes with steel boots, and a hazmat mask, especially for industrial places&mdash;if it&rsquo;s been reconstructed in the 20th century, there&rsquo;s likely asbestos. Dark clothing or green for forests, cream for deserts. And don&rsquo;t forget a good torch. Lighting is key.&rdquo;
As we climb the staircase to the control room, it&rsquo;s clear he&rsquo;s been here many times before. His head darting left and right, he checks for signs of security, averting invisible broken glass and warning me which areas of the floor might fold under my weight. It&rsquo;s the kind of movement that comes from knowing this crumbling world.

You wouldn&rsquo;t think it, but this decaying plant was a Hungarian national treasure and, at the turn of the nineteenth century, one of the most advanced power centers on the continent &mdash; the lungs of the city. Nowadays, there&rsquo;s no air left. Just the faint taste of something metallic and dust.&nbsp;
Here, beneath the roar of wartime fighter jets, engineers orchestrated Hungary&rsquo;s surge into the future. Fine-tuning the flow of electricity to more than 800,000 citizens, feeding the beast required 1,000 tons of coal and 500,000 cubic meters of water per day. Amidst clouds of steam and machinery, dozens of above-ground bomb shelters stand guard, with room for no more than 2 in each space.&nbsp;
The main attraction of the factory is undoubtedly its Art Deco control room, which miraculously remained unscathed during the war. Once a grandiose temple to electricity, it has served as a backdrop to several dystopian films such as Chernobyl Diaries, Spy and Dracula.&nbsp;

Bakelite buttons and iron-clad gauges&mdash;this is how Cold War Budapest kept the lights on.
<hr>

Under the honeyed glow of its stained glass skylight, it&rsquo;s clear that, for architects K&aacute;lm&aacute;n Reichl and Virgil Borb&iacute;r&oacute;, the fusion of technology and design was a love affair.&nbsp;
Now its moss-hued control panels stand frozen in time, their purpose slowly fading into obscurity. A mere shadow of itself, it&rsquo;s mostly a backdrop for selfies now and sees only the occasional visit from a lone fox, which Simon tells me he&rsquo;s spotted several times.&nbsp;
As my eyes trail over the system of brass dials and switches I can&rsquo;t begin to fathom, they settle on a structure looming oppressively under the skylight in the center of the room. Another bomb shelter, a strange feature for such a crucial and exposed space.

Beneath Budapest&rsquo;s Kelenf&ouml;ld Power Plant, a hidden maze of nuclear-proof tunnels winds through the darkness&mdash;some leading to command bunkers, others to mysterious collapsed passages. Did they connect to the city&rsquo;s underground bunker network?
<hr>

The ghostly traces of factory workers linger in the air. How many unsettling glances were cast towards the shelter during their shift? What must it feel like to power a city, not knowing if you&rsquo;d ever see its light tomorrow?
I venture through a crumbling doorway behind the control room, my shoes crunching on broken glass, beer cans and garbage.
Wading my way through the debris, the contrast between urban exploration and homelessness weighs heavily on me. Does it really matter why we&rsquo;re here, or is it just the privilege of being able to leave when we&rsquo;re done?
As quietly as we came, we leave Kelenfold&rsquo;s empty halls, adjusting to the cacophony of the city life once more. In the car, Simon schools me on the true motto of an Urbexer: Take only photographs, leave only footprints.
I nod sheepishly, a wave of regret washing over me as I shove the tiny memento I pocketed deeper, realizing just how much I still have to learn.&nbsp;

Whipping past fields of February&rsquo;s frozen wheat and maize, we&rsquo;re on the road once more toward an undisclosed location. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s important to make sure to tell at least one person where you&rsquo;re going,&rdquo; Simon advises me. But even with these co-ordinates&mdash;shared only with the utmost discretion in the Urbex world &mdash;my friend wouldn&rsquo;t stand a chance of finding me in this next place, a military bunker in the mountains.&nbsp;
Bunkers like this are kept under wraps for good reason. It&rsquo;s rare to uncover one so well-preserved. No vandalism, no pipes stripped of copper, you wouldn&rsquo;t even find it on the handful of websites listing Urbex co-ordinates for a price. Simon tells me these sites are a threat to the Urbex community, simply because arsonists, vandals, thieves, and anyone else with ill intentions could have access to them.
This specific place served as a communications bunker for the Hungarian military during the Cold War, intended to keep lines clear in the event of a nuclear attack.&nbsp;
Arriving at the edge of a forest, I&rsquo;m up for the scramble this time. The excitement of discovery quells any remaining unease and, without hesitation, I leave my rookie gloves in the car.
Beneath the crunch of leaves, the undergrowth is thick. We wander aimlessly, kicking our feet, looking for something, anything, out of place. Finally, an uneven patch of earth draws our attention. A rusted, half-buried entrance pulls us closer. The forest and I hold our breath.&nbsp;

&ldquo;There it is!&rdquo; For a moment we just stare, peering into the abyss, consumed by the thrill of what lies beyond. &ldquo;You good?&rdquo; asks Simon.&nbsp;
I&rsquo;m good.
Climbing deeper, I watch as he slides the bunker door open, the rusted hinges protesting with a sharp screech. Cold, stale air rushes out, thick with the scent of decay. The smell drags me back to the corridors of my old primary school in Ireland. With a shared look, a silent agreement, we climb down into the void.&nbsp;

For a moment, the blackness engulfs me. The silence presses in, and I can&rsquo;t shake a thought: If a nuke ever did hit, wouldn&rsquo;t the real nightmare be to survive it?&nbsp;
How long would it take for time to become irrelevant in a place like this? When there&rsquo;s no sun, no sky, just recycled air and the hum of the generator ticking louder than any clock.&nbsp;
And what gnaws worse at the mind: Watching rations dwindle by the day? Or not knowing which is more hellish, the world above or the one unravelling inside your head?
Shuddering, I hurry along the corridor, closing the distance to my comrade&rsquo;s footsteps, recalling his mention of a torch.&nbsp;

Even in the pitch black, Simon&rsquo;s excitement is electric &mdash; bouncing into every shadowed corner, something that almost feels too alive for this place. With a sharp click, the torch beam flares to life, but it struggles to keep up with his energy. Like thunder following a flash.&nbsp;
And at that moment, I got it. We&rsquo;re alike in more ways than I thought. I feel the same thrill he gets from exploring new corners of the world&mdash;he&rsquo;s just doing it underground. While others stick to the familiar, we seek the unknown, drawn to places that pulse with history; the harder to reach, the better. They remind us that we are part of something larger, a thread in the long tapestry of human existence, whose stories continue to shape the world we inhabit.&nbsp;
It&rsquo;s modern-day archeology.&nbsp;
The thought brings a question to my mind, &ldquo;Has any place ever completely changed your perspective?&rdquo; I ask. Simon&rsquo;s expression shifts as he recalls a particular location, the weight of the memory clearly heavy. &ldquo;I went to an abandoned asylum east of Belgium,&rdquo; he begins. &ldquo;It was different &mdash; a lot of disarray, but there was something about it. Taking something beautiful out of something awful. It felt like a moment of reconciliation.&rdquo;
But then his eyes darken a little, as if remembering something even more powerful. "I also visited a psychiatric hospital in Washington, DC," he says, his voice dropping slightly.&nbsp;
"I stood in the exact spot where Walter Freeman performed thousands of lobotomies [including Rosemary Kennedy]. It's surreal, standing there, knowing the history of that place &mdash; the lives it altered forever."

Simon's torch slices through the blackness. Light fills my eyes, and the space sharpens into focus. Rusted pipes trace a path across the ceiling, beckoning us further. It&rsquo;s less claustrophobic than I originally thought, with chambers jutting off in a dizzying number of directions.&nbsp;
Bunks stacked three high in rooms barely wide enough for two people side by side, a generator that looks as if it&rsquo;s been abandoned only yesterday, doors marked with weathered paper signs indicating their purpose in Hungarian.

I round the corner and step into a room thick with dust, the kind that threatens to steal any remaining air. All around me, old switchboards line the walls.&nbsp;
Rows of knobs, dials and tangled cords were once the only lifeline to the outside world.&nbsp;
Suddenly, the darkness engulfs me once more, as my only source of light jumps to the next room, leaving me both figuratively and literally in the dust.

Who sat here last. What was the final call they took, and who answered on the other side?&nbsp;
<hr>

I flick on my phone&rsquo;s torch, the last of my battery bleeding out into a dim cone of light. The hall stretches so far that the beam can&rsquo;t even touch the end. Following the faint echo of Simon&rsquo;s slow and deliberate footsteps, I go deeper, heart pounding louder than my soles, praying my light doesn&rsquo;t fall on something I can&rsquo;t unsee. 
The beam drags itself over the concrete, eventually probing the shape of a door. And to my surprise, I&rsquo;m reaching for the handle &mdash; Simon&rsquo;s gutsy antics have carved their mark deep. Its weight feels unnatural, taking all my strength to open, gradually revealing the bones of a radiation shower. It&rsquo;s probably the most pristine thing in here, gleaming coldly &mdash; just a forgotten relic now.&nbsp;

Tearing my gaze away, I turn to move deeper into the bunker, and a hint of light catches my eye ahead. It&rsquo;s not much, but it stands out against the suffocating darkness. I near the entrance and spot Simon&rsquo;s silhouette, crouched down, setting up his camera equipment in the middle of a large room. A faint scent of rot threatens my nostrils.&nbsp;
Inside, desks are arranged in orderly lines, their edges decaying, a thin layer of white mold creeps across their surface. The chairs are anchored curiously to the ground, likely to withstand tremors or a blast, or perhaps a fundamental reminder of the bunker&rsquo;s intent: maintaining rigidity and regime.&nbsp;

Stacks of paper are haphazardly scattered across the desks, revealing faded documents that tell us of a time when the bunker was still operational. It was abandoned in 1997, eight years after the fall of Hungary&rsquo;s communist dictatorship.&nbsp;
My eyes fix on a pair of green rubber boots, neatly lined up as if someone just stepped out of them.
&ldquo;What&rsquo;s the strangest stuff you&rsquo;ve seen while exploring?&rdquo; I ask Simon, my voice cutting through the silence. He doesn&rsquo;t seem to notice I&rsquo;ve been in the room the whole time, too absorbed in his task of setting up his tripod.&nbsp;
He glances up briefly. &ldquo;Oh, probably a toss-up between a human skeleton in a mortuary cabinet or a floating hand in formaldehyde. I also visited a French castle that was filled wall-to-wall with taxidermy. That definitely had a sinister energy.&rdquo;
Hmm. I nudge the boots over with my foot &mdash; suddenly they don&rsquo;t seem all that interesting.&nbsp;
I stare at him for a moment. It&rsquo;s strange how he seems so unaffected by the things he&rsquo;s seen, and I can&rsquo;t decide whether I admire his detachment or if it unsettles me.&nbsp;&nbsp;
How many places would I have to creep through before I stopped bracing for a jump scare?&nbsp;
&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve been doing this for a long time, huh?&rdquo; I ask, hoping to get a glimpse of what makes him tick. &ldquo;Long enough, since I was a teenager.&rdquo; His tone is flat, and I take the hint, leaving him to fine-tune his hero shot.&nbsp;
I drag my shoes across the floor, aiming for the entrance, eager to cut myself loose from this sterile place. I&rsquo;ve been in here too long and the coldness is starting to warp my perspective, seeping into my bones, feeding nihilistic thoughts I&rsquo;d rather not face.&nbsp;
I&rsquo;m still not convinced that this is the better of two endings. Ultimately, it&rsquo;s a hole in the ground where, rather than succumbing to radioactive fallout, those deemed worthy of its stale air choose the false comfort of starving to death.

Stepping into the daylight brings a rush of relief. February&rsquo;s frigid air feels welcome on my face, sharp and cleansing, shaking off any lingering dust from my lungs.
The next few hours back to Budapest are mostly quiet. Simon asks if I&rsquo;m cool with music. I nod, psyching myself up for a wall of thrash or metal to shred my senses, something to match his imposing frame and unreadable expression.&nbsp;
But what comes is barely music at all &mdash; a soft ambient lilt drifts through the car like mist, a gentle counterpoint to the questions I let hang in the air. With each quiet pause, the man whose formidable presence had once felt intimidating becomes someone who knows the value of softness and when to speak.&nbsp;
I ask him where he draws the line between trespassing and urban exploring, and he tells me, without hesitation, that for him the boundary is clear: &ldquo;Personally, I draw the line at exploring private residences. Taking photos of people&rsquo;s belongings and property feels like crossing a boundary, and if gaining access requires breaking something, that&rsquo;s a step too far.&rdquo;&nbsp;

Simon documents the haunting Chavalon Power Plant, where Switzerland's last oil-fired turbines fell silent in the turn of the millennium. This concrete beast now offers Urbexers a maze of derelict control rooms and oil-stained floors.&nbsp;
<hr>

I ask if there&rsquo;s any place he regrets not being able to explore, and his answer comes with a hint of nostalgia.&nbsp;
&ldquo;It would be the old Gentbrugge power station in Belgium. Now it&rsquo;s completely scrapped, but when I first started, it was an untouched industrial gem &mdash; two massive rusty turbines, great decay, plants growing everywhere. It was one of the first places I looked for, and I never got to see it in its prime."

This once-grand Italian mental asylum still holds its darkest secrets, including preserved electroshock equipment that whispers of medicine's dark past.&nbsp;
<hr>

Back on the whirring streets of Budapest, we climb out of the car to bid our final farewell. Looking around me, something feels different now. I&rsquo;m noticing the small, subtle details of weathered buildings I would&rsquo;ve otherwise overlooked. I wonder how many house treasures for those fearless enough to investigate.&nbsp;
I hesitate before saying goodbye. The day&rsquo;s adrenaline still hums in my heart, and for a moment, I don&rsquo;t want to let go &mdash; don&rsquo;t want to surrender the version of myself that climbed fences and confidently clutched barbed wire. &ldquo;Where to next?&rdquo; I ask bitter-sweetly.&nbsp;&ldquo;A few more bunkers here and then on to Romania.&rdquo;
Then, with a spark in my eye, I wondered out loud about his dream destination. Without hesitation, he answers: &ldquo;Abandoned submarines. It&rsquo;s the ultimate quest. I tried in Portugal, but I couldn&rsquo;t get inside. It&rsquo;s like chasing a ghost, you know?&rdquo;
He saunters off, walking away without a backward glance. I raise my hands &mdash; cotton gloves more hole than fabric now &mdash; and frame him between my thumbs in the shape of a viewfinder. A lone shadow dissolving into the sepia smear of Budapest's 8th district.&nbsp;
The true hero shot.

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Canada

Moraine Lake, Canada

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Scotland

Norway

England

Ireland

Finland

Estonia

Georgia

Argentina

Chile

Kazakhstan

Mongolia

wild camping

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Zambia

South Africa

China

Lesotho

New Zealand

Mexico

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Brazil

Peru

canoe

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Canoes glide across the tranquil waters of Emerald Lake, nestled within the Canadian Rockies' Yoho National Park.

canada

Open Google Maps. Search &ldquo;Canada&rdquo;.
Really look this time, and you'll realize it's an unfathomable beast, dwarfing any neighbour to the south. Its lines of latitude pulled taut like a bowstring &mdash; until shattering into a sea of ice and stone, Canada unspooling into the Arctic.
So why, in a country this immense, do we keep circling the same few spots &mdash; Toronto, Vancouver, Montreal &mdash; when there&rsquo;s so much more to be seen and experienced?&nbsp;
This new segment, From Eh to Zed, is your digital pass into Canada&rsquo;s hidden pockets and sweeping horizons. Brought to you by not just the team here at Jack's Flight Club, but (hopefully!) by your fellow Jack's Travellers in every corner of the globe, too.
In this issue, Navigator Marshall is dragging you (willingly, we hope) across some of Canada&rsquo;s most underrated, jaw-dropping trails. Bring your sense of adventure &mdash; and maybe a change of socks. Things are about to get outdoorsy&hellip;&nbsp;
<hr>

Howdy readers! This week, I&rsquo;ll be walking you through some of my top hikes I&rsquo;ve scratched off my list this year. While the cold snap may be imminent here in Alberta, and the luxury of lush, green forests soon to be a daydream, it&rsquo;s never too early to start prepping for next season.
These highlights are from backcountry trips (hikes where we camped overnight), day hikes, and nature walks. For those of you who aren&rsquo;t avid outdoor enthusiasts, feel free to reach out in the comments below with any questions, or if you&rsquo;ve got some worthy hikes to share :-)
And like many of us here at Jack&rsquo;s, I plan on going abroad to visit some great international destinations. If you have recommendations for amazing treks anywhere in the world (especially Costa Rica), I'd love to hear them! I&rsquo;m already busy packing my itinerary to fit as much trail blazing and waterfall chasing as possible.
So, grab your bear spray, a baggie of GORP (Good Ol&rsquo; Raisins and Peanuts), and let's get into it!

<h3 dir="ltr">May 18th - <a href="https://www.alltrails.com/trail/canada/alberta/cox-hill-ridge">Cox Hill, AB</a></h3>
To get our rusty legs warmed up, we chose a moderate, gradually inclining trail tucked along the Jumpingpound Ridge near The Dawson Day. Touted as a great winter hike, we figured it would be a safe choice.

Yet, spring kicked off with a SLIPPERY start this year. Feeling confident, we decided to tackle the hike anyway (bold move for someone in runners).&nbsp;
Everyone in the party had some slips, which was great comedic relief to distract us from the whiteout conditions.
Positives: No one on the trail
Negatives: No trail
Tip: AllTrails was our only way to be sure we stayed on track. I highly recommend this app if you&rsquo;re going out into the wilderness (or looking to brag about your stats). You can also download maps beforehand to track your progress even without service.
<h3 dir="ltr">May 31st - <a href="https://www.alltrails.com/trail/canada/alberta/larry-s-camp-via-johnston-creek-trail">Larry&rsquo;s Camp and the Ink Pots, AB</a></h3>
This is a popular spot for day hikers and tourists who want to enjoy an easy yet very rewarding trail. The Ink Pots are a natural feature that draws a lot of attention, and for good reason. The small pools are an aesthetically stunning spot to hang out.

My first backcountry night of the year and in an incredible location!
Most noteworthy: The Ink Pots and their impressive hues! A collection of springs, each with a slightly different chemical composition, bubbling up from below ground to create pools in shades of deep emerald to bright blue!

Despite looking incredibly inviting, you can&rsquo;t disturb the sensitive ecosystem in these pools.
And just beyond this natural wonder is Larry&rsquo;s camp (don&rsquo;t ask me who Larry is). Other than one small group, we had the campsite to ourselves, meaning there was no need to share our audio synthesizer (think piano but make it EDM), see below for proof.

Yes, we carried that all the way up, yes, it was heavy, and yes, we will probably do it again.
Tip: I love keeping a spare bag of microwavable Kraft Dinner in my bag. It cooks fast on a backcountry stove and doesn&rsquo;t require draining out the water.

<h2 dir="ltr">My Saskatchewan Sidetrack (and the tick twitch)</h2>
<h3 dir="ltr">Jun 28th - <a href="https://www.tourismsaskatchewan.com/blog/through-the-quappelle-valley">Qu'Appelle Valley, SK</a></h3>
I love Saskatchewan, and although its outdoor scene is often overshadowed by Alberta&rsquo;s world-famous spots like Lake Louise and Jasper, there are some truly spectacular sights to be found.&nbsp;
In my case, we only had to stick our heads out the car window to see how cool their coulees (wide valleys created by erosion in the prairies) can be.&nbsp;
I was fortunate enough to get the chance to see the Qu'Appelle Valley. As you drive in, all you see are open fields right up until you reach the cusp. From there on, it&rsquo;s a full panorama of the massive valley and its lakes.
We spent the day exploring Fort Qu'Appelle and relaxing by the sandy beach (with surprisingly warm water).&nbsp;
Our short hike here, colloquially known by locals as &lsquo;Pimple Hill,&rsquo; should have given us pause. Not only did I find TWO ticks crawling up my shirt, forcing me to whip out what I call tick twitch (flailing and frantically shaking out my clothes) dance moves to get them off before they bit me. But some in our group weren&rsquo;t so lucky and got&nbsp;multiple bites, not fun&hellip;
Maybe it wasn&rsquo;t a pimple after all&hellip;

<h3 dir="ltr">Jun 29th - The Mountain Bluebird</h3>
Just when I thought I dodged Lyme disease, I was invited to check some nearby <a href="https://bluebirdtrails.org/news/are-mountain-bluebird-populations-declining-2025">Mountain Bluebird nesting boxes</a> (a beautiful, but sadly declining species in the area) tucked away in a field of tall grass. My background in Wildlife Biology had me drooling over the opportunity to bushwhack.
After hoofing it between half a dozen nesting boxes, I had seen my share of cute hatchlings. Unfortunately, none of them were bluebirds.

These little puffballs were only a few weeks old!
There&rsquo;s something to be said about a Saskatchewan sky, too. Driving through the prairies might mean you might only take 2 turns in 5 hours, but it also means you&rsquo;ve got plenty of time to soak up views like this.

After getting back to our room and a few more tick checks, it was time to fly home.
<h2>Taking on the Pinnacle of thru-hikes</h2>
<h3 dir="ltr">Jul 6-9th - <a href="https://www.alltrails.com/trail/canada/british-columbia/the-rockwall">Rockwall Trail, BC</a></h3>
This is one of the premier through hikes in Canada. And with it right in my backyard, it's been a bucket list item for as long as I can remember. I&rsquo;ve made two separate attempts to take on this 55km beast, both kiboshed by inclement weather and forest fires.
This time, I was determined to see it through.
Day 1: Numa Creek
The mountains looked dauntingly high, but spirits were higher. After a breakfast of champions on the drive up (an A&amp;W bacon &amp; egger and a large dark roast), we strapped up our gear and tied our shoes. We took our time on the first stretch, anticipating the climb to come; we knew it would be pointless to exhaust ourselves early.

Day 2: Numa to Tumbling Creek
With over half of the total elevation gain completed on day one, we were acutely aware of just how much this hike would challenge us.&nbsp;
Sore would be an understatement here, but that&rsquo;s what they invented painkillers for.

Climbing to the ridge felt like a battle for each step. While I&rsquo;m not exactly the specimen of human fitness, I pride myself on my ability to tackle most inclines, but this was truly on another level.

You don&rsquo;t need to zoom much to see that our backpacks were roughly the same size as the boulders we encountered... 
What you&nbsp;can&rsquo;t tell is that it felt like they weighed the same, too (the synthesizer and portable projector dangling off the side probably contributed to that).

Once we reached the plateau, it was smooth sailing. With strong winds pushing us forward, we bathed in the sunlight and absorbed the splendor of this colossal range. It felt bittersweet to reach this point; we knew this was the hike's apex, so we took our time coming down into Tumbling Creek.
Day 3: Tumbling Creek to Helmet Falls
Beautiful trail, check.
Sore feet, double check.

Just when we thought the dramatic landscapes were behind us. BOOM, another, arguably even more incredible row of mountains pierced the sky in front of us. We maintained an excellent pace, having completed almost all the altitude gains on the first two days.
Even with our impressive time, there were plenty of people at the site once we arrived. The camp sites had other people, but Helmet Falls in particular was the busiest. My guess is that&rsquo;s in part because most people start from the North via the Paint Pots trailhead rather than the route we chose.

Day 4: Helmet Falls to Home!
The weather had gone sour on us, it was so socked in with rain, we decided to pack up quickly in the morning to get the hell out of dodge.
Worst Part: Dreary overcast and a wet, muddy trail. Nothing worse than having to dry out a soggy tent (and everything else) in your living room the next day.
And besides the weather conditions, this final day solidified in my mind that we picked the right route. To reach the Paint Pots trailhead parking lot, you have to walk through the Paint Pots. Not to be mixed up with the Ink Pots from earlier, this section is much, much messier. The soil is a bright ochre that manages to get everywhere. By the time we reached the car, my boots were caked with crust (not how you would want to start a hike).
<h2 dir="ltr"><a href="https://watertontourism.com/">Waterton Lakes, AB</a></h2>
To round things out, I made my yearly retreat to Waterton Provincial Park in Southern Alberta. This park is definitely not my favorite place in the world, so whatever you do, don&rsquo;t tell anyone about this <s>magnificent</s> mediocre place, okay?&nbsp;
<h3 dir="ltr">Aug 20th - <a href="https://www.alltrails.com/trail/canada/alberta/bears-hump">Bears hump, AB</a></h3>

I know we&rsquo;ve covered a lot already, and if nothing else sticks, you must remember to get a <a href="https://www.instagram.com/rockymountain.popshop/p/CuII5alyAv1/?hl=en">dirty soda</a> next time you visit Waterton. And the most rewarding way to burn off the calories is to charge up Bear&rsquo;s Hump to see the lake, the townsite, and the iconic <a href="https://www.glacierparkcollection.com/lodging/prince-of-wales-hotel/">Prince of Wales</a> Hotel from a whole new perspective.
Tip: Extra brownie points if you grab a headlamp and make it a sunset summit for extra vibes.
<h3 dir="ltr">Aug 24th - <a href="https://www.alltrails.com/trail/canada/alberta/cameron-lake-trail">Cameron Lake, AB</a></h3>
Finally, a nice, easy walk!
When I heard of this breezy 3.5 km trail with virtually no elevation gain and world-class views, it was music to my ears. This one has got to be the pinnacle of maximum reward for minimal effort.
This was my first time visiting Cameron, and all I could say was &lsquo;WOW&rsquo;.
This has to be one of the most incredible viewpoints I&rsquo;ve seen in Waterton, if not all of Alberta! And the best part? The only photobombers were deer.

This is another brutally steep hike, so try to time it in the morning or later in the afternoon to avoid being stuck on the exposed rock of the scramble in the heat of the day. We lucked out and had overcast skies, so overheating wasn't a concern. Packing out lots of water is essential here since there is nowhere to access water until you reach Goat Lake.&nbsp;
Unfortunately, the campsite was lackluster, with cramped tent pads. And lucky us, we picked the pad next to the man who snored louder than the bear hanging around outside our tent (I think in this scenario, I would pick the bear).
<h3 dir="ltr">Sep 6th - <a href="https://www.alltrails.com/trail/canada/alberta/rawson-lake--11">Rawson Lake,AB</a></h3>
Another great lake hike with a walk along the shoreline of Upper Kananaskis Lake at the start. The relatively flat trail eventually increased in steepness until we found ourselves out of breath trying to talk.

With some conveniently timed long hydration breaks, we were at the lake in no time. Getting to the top, the view opens to a beautiful alpine lake. Some hikers decided to stop and eat lunch immediately after reaching the water. We continued along the shore to find a quiet fishing spot. Not a single bite&hellip;

Marshall: 0
Alpine fish: 1
After inhaling my smooshed sandwich, we made our way back down, defeated but still satisfied.
<h2>The Final Boss</h2>
<h3 dir="ltr">Sep 27 - <a href="https://www.alltrails.com/trail/canada/alberta/mount-smutwood">Mount Smutwood, AB</a></h3>
Truly a challenge even for well-versed hikers, Mount Smutwood, despite the funny name, is no cakewalk. With nearly a kilometer of elevation gain, there are numerous awesome lookout points on the way up. Some choose to turn around at the lake, as the final ascent beyond that is a challenging scramble; be prepared to take your time.
This section got particularly busy, so you may have to wait for your turn (or find a sneaky route around everyone) to get up to the peak.
By far the sketchiest hike I did this year, but at the perfect time to see the larch trees explode into golden veins stretching across the valleys!

Unfortunately, that&rsquo;s all I&rsquo;ve got to share for this year so far, but hey, there&rsquo;s still a couple of months left to squeeze a few more in. And thanks for coming along with me on this wild ride. 
I hope it gives you some confidence to try some adventures you&rsquo;ve been holding out on, or maybe just gives you a push to get outside and enjoy nature.&nbsp;

Got a hidden gem, a local legend, or a curious question about Canada?&nbsp;
Let us know in the comments section. Whether it&rsquo;s history, landscapes, personal stories, or recs&mdash;nothing&rsquo;s off limits (yes, even that well-trodden trek with a killer view)!

From Eh to Z: From the Trail - Marshall’s Year in Hikes

Oaxaca,Mexico

8 lesser-known destinations in Mexico that most travelers miss

Iran

Turkmenistan

Australia

Bermuda

Greece

Greenland

India

Santorini

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Iceland

THING? banner

Hey there, JFC-ers,
We've got a lot to celebrate this week! The party kicked off with <a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/photo/2025/03/photos-carnival-2025-around-world/681910/">Mardi Gras and Carnival</a> celebrations around the world, while those of us in the UK whipped out the pancakes on Tuesday. In fact, some parts of England have turned into <a href="https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/articles/c4g089vvn4ko">quite the sport</a>. Here at JFC, we celebrated our own way, with a brand-new <a href="https://members.jacksflightclub.com/travel-hub/new-orleans-destination-guide">New Orleans guide</a>.
Next came time to digest all the excitement with a quiet moment on World Book Day. The bookworms among you may fancy taking a look back at our article on&nbsp;<a href="https://members.jacksflightclub.com/travel-hub/unique-and-quirky-destinations-for-book-lovers">quirky destinations for book lovers</a> to help plan your next trip.
And then comes tomorrow's International Women's Day! From the <a href="https://www.exodus.co.uk/insights/historys-boldest-female-travellers">inspirational travellers</a> who came before us, to the&nbsp;<a href="https://www.unearthwomen.com/5-matriarchal-societies-where-women-are-in-charge/">women-led societies</a> that still exist around the world, I'll be celebrating by letting the women of this world fuel my insatiable wanderlust.
Happy travels and safe landings,

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