Puntarenas - Costa Rica

"Why is the ocean so loud?"

That's about the only complaint Terry Conroy says he has ever heard in the years he's been running the eight-room Lookout Inn. The tough customer (a New Yorker) was staying in one of the inn's tiki huts, the tented tree houses exposed to eye-level views of the abundant wildlife and sparkling Pacific below.

The pounding surf does come in loud and clear, but giant waves are a main attraction for most visitors. "People do their homework, so they know what to expect," Conroy says. Or rather what not to expect -- TVs, telephones, air conditioning or private bathrooms. But with hardwood floors, tasteful furnishings and fresh flowers, the "tents" are hardly roughing it, and private cabins are available for the less adventurous.

What savvy travelers do expect is the perfect jump-off point to Corcovado National Park, which National Geographic describes as "the most biologically intense place on Earth."

The peninsula is the last undeveloped frontier in a country increasingly overrun with condominiums, hotel chains and fast-food joints. Preservation efforts have made the area home to many endangered species -- and the country's largest population of the threatened scarlet macaw, a bright red bird. A sign offers a free night at the inn if you don't see one during your stay (a deal Conroy's never had to make good on), and bananas are set out for the monkeys' breakfasts to ensure their regular appearances, too. The area is also crawling with crocodiles, jaguars, tapirs and those red-eyed, green tree frogs that are practically a national symbol.

It wasn't as mosquito-infested as I'd expected, but the insects are just as plentiful and impressive as the rest of the critters. The beds are sufficiently netted, but while the outdoor bathrooms are a fun idea -- and the toilet view is spectacular -- expect to get swarmed when you flick on the lights at night and to find some little bodies stuck in your toothbrush in the morning. As squeamish as I am, I couldn't help but marvel at how big and bizarre some of the insects were. The giant moths, in particular, are stunning.

Read More

Mayan Mexico

In its heyday, the Mayan empire covered the whole of south-eastern Mexico – an area that extends west almost as far as Oaxaca – plus northern Guatemala, parts of Honduras, Belize and north-western El Salvador. The Mayan civilisation flourished for some 700 years, until the middle of the 10th century, although Mayan communities had settled in these regions hundreds of years before.

The greatest of the achievements of the Mayans – such as Chichén Itzá, one of the new Seven Wonders of the World – date from the 7th to the 10th centuries; towards the end of this time frame, many of the great city-states that made up what we loosely call the Mayan empire began to self-destruct. The people, their traditions and their language survived, however.

The Spanish conquistadors, who first arrived in Mexico in 1517, did not conquer all the Mayan territories until the mid-16th century (and the Lacandó* communities in the Mexican jungle assert that the invaders never successfully subjugated them). Some Mayan sites, such as those in Mérida and Izamal in the north-east Yucatan peninsula, were taken apart, stone by stone, to build Catholic churches.

Other Mayan creations, such as Palenque, Yaxchilá* and Bonampak, were reclaimed by the jungle. Even though these sites have been partially cleared, you can still sense the excitement that the first non-Mayan explorers must have felt when tracking down these "lost" cities.

Read More

Peru

As I edged across the log bridge, the Peruvian jungle stood silently waiting across the river. Rotten timbers shifted beneath me and crumbs of the turf topping fell into the torrent below. Reaching the other side, I worked my way up river along a stony shore. The cliff above me became green and slimy and a sulphurous smell began to fill the air. A few metres further on I found the hot springs of Banos de Collpampa pouring out of the limestone into a large rocky pool. As night fell I pulled off my clothes and climbed gratefully into the hot water. All the sweat and aches of the last few days dissolved away as I floated on my back and gazed up at the sky.

Summer lightning flickered beyond the hills and, as darkness flowed out of the jungle, the fireflies started flashing. Bats darted across the sky, snapping them up. And as I concentrated to remember this moment, so too I felt a distance from reality, as if looking through a pane of glass. That moment summed up Peru for me; so magical that it doesn't quite feel real.

People used to get rather cross when they booked a package holiday and arrived to find their hotel was a building site. I was visiting four lodges with a friend and not one of them was built. We were in South America researching a new route being developed across the Andes to Machu Picchu, the iconic Inca site. The classic Inca Trail is becoming overcrowded and we were looking for an interesting alternative. The trail we were trying pre-dates the Inca era. It is an ancient trade route that crosses a pass between two snow-covered Andean peaks.

The starting point for just about every expedition in these parts is Cusco, around 3,400 metres above sea level. This Spanish colonial city is built on the stone foundations of the old Inca capital, and many of the intricately fitted dry-stone Inca walls have survived. They generally come up to about waist height, above which Spanish mortared masonry takes over. Cusco is a good place to acclimatise to the altitude, not least because it has lots of good restaurants, an Irish pub or two and a strong feeling of history that has resisted the earthquakes.

We hopped on to a minibus going to the high plateau beyond the city and took a walk through the Inca site of Moray, a series of extraordinary internally terraced craters. It's thought they were used as high-altitude plant nurseries.

Read More

Cuba

The Audaz, small and sleek, hung on the edge of an 8ft wave then plummeted. From the top of the bridge the movement was so revoltingly vertiginous that I worried about whimpering, but at least I could see it coming, cling to the nearest handhold and watch the bow bury itself in the hollow below. From the back, beside the fighting chair, they could see nothing and there were cries.

It was the first day of the 57th Ernest Hemingway International Billfishing Competition and I was trying to keep down the previous evening's dinner. The Havana skyline lay hot, weary and distant across the angry sea. Hemingway would not have approved if I had thrown up. No, he would have written: 'Nicoll was a Jock. Nicoll puked. Some Jock.' A few pages later, I would have been killed.

He offers a hard path, old Papa, even if you plan to veer away before that moment with the shotgun. By the end of two weeks, I would have scarred hands, molten sunburn and enough mosquito bites to frighten those beside the pool into thinking I had the pox. Of course, it doesn't have to be like that. In Cuba, there is also Hemingworld, the genteel, literary trail, and many follow it. You can't escape the writer in Havana.

Take the Ambos Mundos, a corner hotel in the old town. Havana life spills across its tiled ground floor. Hemingway lived here from 1932 to 1939, finishing For Whom the Bell Tolls. His room, 511, is now a shrine, the thin bed unslept in, windows theatrically thrown open to reveal the view across the fingered bay to the statue of Christ on the opposite shore.

Or there is El Floridita, with Hemingway's signature under the signs that read, 'Mi daiquiri en el Floridita'. Or La Bodeguita del Medio, where the barman claims the writer invented the mojito, Cuba's infamous mix of white rum, sugar and mint. Or the house in San Francisco de Paula, the Finca Vigia, or the sunworn town of Cojimar, where he kept his fighting boat, the Pilar.

That's the easy way to follow the writer's Cuban journey. People enjoy this, and why not? It should be reassuring when a writer creates destinations. I love the glade dedicated to Robert Louis Stevenson in my home town of Edinburgh; I even have a fondness for the gothic spike put up for Sir Walter Scott. Yet there's not much of Cuba in the dining room of Cojimar's La Terraza, only the happy chat of the Saga crowd.

Read More

Argentina

You may already be familiar with the reputations of Argentine beef, soccer and tango. You may even consider Argentinean wine, particularly Malbec, to be top flight. But what about Argentina as a destination for wine tourism? Does South America’s second largest country, with its rich history of grape production aided by immigrants from Italy and Spain, rank as a must-see place for anyone wanting wine to be at the heart of their vacation? Sí Señor(a), we say. And we’re excited to tell you why.

For starters, Argentina qualifies as one of the world’s few truly affordable wine regions to visit. Since a harsh devaluation of the peso occurred in late 2001, Argentina’s currency has hovered at three pesos to the dollar. What that means is a steak dinner for two with a bottle of good wine will set you back about $45; a chauffeur-driven car to a winery and then back again may run $25; and a local beer, always the best barometer for gauging relative costs, goes for under two dollars. An empanada for a buck? You bet.

Read More