Peru: Much more the Machu

Appeared in Destinations Travel Magazine and Wicked Local weekly papers

A trip to Peru is a learning experience. Just ask Kelly Cheeseman, whose expectations of the

country started and ended with what we all envision when we think of the South American

country: Machu Pichu. But after nine days traversing the country, from its jungle rivers to its

tallest mountains, Cheeseman learned that Peru can be so much more the Machu – and she took away a few other lessons, too.

Visitors from around the globe travel to Peru to experience Machu Pichu, the lost and found

Incan city that hovers high among the clouds amidst the tallest peaks in the Andes Mountains.

Up there, breathtaking panoramas and dazzling sights abound in every direction. But despite the

draw of this legendary site, and its rightful place among the world’s pantheon of iconic

landmarks, the surrounding region is bursting with unforgettable experiences.

As Cheeseman explained, “the most shocking part of my nine day Peruvian adventure wasn’t the

beauty of Machu Pichu. It was how amazing the less-travelled parts of Peru were.”

Cheeseman, a twenty-something avid traveler who has lived in cities across America, from

Dallas to Chicago to Seattle, began her Peruvian adventure in that country’s main city: Lima.

Visitors to Peru vary in their affection for Lima, many viewing it as a temporary launching pad

to the real start of their trip further up in the jungles and mountains.

This bustling, business-like city is home to more than two-thirds of Peru’s population. The heavy

Catholic influence equates to a stunning array of beautiful churches strewn throughout squares

and neighborhoods, their elegance rivaling anything one would find in Europe. Eclectic food,

drink and ceremony also make Lima worth more than just a jumping off point.

For example, no visit would be complete without a pisco sour, a potent beverage made with

Peruvian pisco liquor, lime or lemon juice, simple syrup, egg white and Angostura bitters. For

her money, Cheeseman recommends finding a balcony, perhaps at the Hotel Bolivar located just

off the Plaza San Martin, and indulging in a few cocktails.

Other highlights in Lima include dinner along the coast in the Barrancas neighborhood, and

witnessing the extravagant changing of the guard in the city’s main square

Cheeseman and her friends left Lima, as so many other visitors do, and embarked on the journey

to Machu Pichu. But she glazes over the llamas, the mountain trek, and the iconic vistas in order

to quickly arrive at what she considers the best part of her time in Peru: three days and two

nights in the jungle.

“As four ladies who had conquered the concrete jungles of New York and Chicago, we were

ready to try our hand at the real thing. And to convince ourselves that we could still be

outdoorsy,” Cheeseman said.

Outdoorsy is an understatement, as modern civilization fell away quickly underneath the small

plane that brought them from Cuzco to Puerto Maldonado. At the Puerto Maldonado airport, the

single runway became the last bit of pavement they would see for days. Warning sings for

malaria were posted in several places.

After a 40-minute bus ride along dirt roads, they arrived riverside to board the vessel to their

lodge, Posada Amazonas, which was only accessible by boat. Forty-five minutes and one lunch

served in a banana leaf later, they arrived at what they were told was the lodge.

“It wasn’t until we reached the ‘lobby’ of our lodge that I realized how far away we were from

what I considered civilization,” Cheeseman said. “The entire lodge was open air.”

Their rooms were also missing a key feature: a fourth wall. Each room was open to the jungle,

equipped with whistles in the event a guest encountered a wild animal. Electricity was scarce,

portioned out for a few hours in the morning and evening, relinquishing nighttime to candles and

flashlights while the eerily beautiful sounds of the jungle echoed beyond.

“Not having power ended up being the best thing for all of us,” Cheeseman said. “We really got

to know the other travelers at the lodge. Any free time was spent in the lounge area drinking

way-too-strong drinks and telling travel stories by candlelight.”

Their days were filled with the usual activities – usual for jungle life, that is. They fished for

piranha, hiked the jungle, jumped into the Rio Madre de Dios and visited the shaman.

“Drink what the shaman gives you,” Cheeseman advised. “I don’t know what was in the three

shots I drank, but I do know that my life has been pretty awesome since then.”

Cheeseman and her friends left South America with a renewed appreciation for embracing the

unexpected. She cited lost luggage, extreme temperature swings, odd toilet etiquette and the lack

of power and reliable showers – but she touted the new cultural experiences, a few acquired

survival skills, and an understanding of strengths she didn’t know she had.

“If you can’t roll with the punches,” she said, “you won’t enjoy this awesome country.”

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Passing on the travel torch

 It took me seventeen years to set foot in Europe. When I finally got there, the experience changed my life.

It took my daughter, Cordelia, less than one year to visit Europe, but the affect it had on me was quite familiar. This time it was my little girl who changed my life.

My love for travel began in earnest when I was in high school at St. John’s Prep in Danvers. My World History teacher, Brother George Donnelly, had a knack for weaving Europe’s intricate history into a rich tapestry of narratives, set against some of the most beautiful and interesting locations on the planet. When he planned a school trip to Italy, Greece and Turkey, my friends and I could not get permission slips signed fast enough. Brother George colorfully articulated the world’s most historic places, but made sure we all understood there was no replacement for seeing them in person.

I was nervous to go. I had never been that far away from home for that long. But once we arrived, the breathtaking moments began piling up – atop the Acropolis peering out over Athens, scurrying through a Turkish bazaar, and trekking through the ruins of Pompeii.

My nerves were replaced by a bubbling sense of adventure that continued to grow exponentially into adulthood.

As I grew to love travel, I grew to love sharing my experiences with others. I write, I photograph, I tell stories – and somewhere along the line, I hope to spark the same sense of adventure that was instilled in me by the people and places of my youth.

So when my daughter was born on August 1, 2013, I was given the opportunity to do what so many people at home and abroad had done for me: pass along the travel torch.

My wife shared my ambition, after several attempts to reel in my ever-expanding imagination for what was possible with an infant.

Our first trips with baby took us all over America’s East Coast. Cordelia went to Colonial Williamsburg, Fenway Park and Shakespeare in the Park. She visited beaches, big cities, Civil War battlefields, went inside the White House and to the top of several mountains. She fell asleep at more than a few wineries.

Along the way something happened I did not anticipate.

As the baby grew, so too did my anxiety about traveling with her. All the uncertainties and unknowns that new parents face every day clouded the excitement of sharing adventures together.

Suddenly the international experiences I had always envisioned seemed too difficult and worrisome to attain. My confidence waned; I even wrote fewer travel pieces.

I was most apprehensive about an impending family trip to Italy for Cordelia’s first birthday. Normally I would have been reading up on local limoncello makers and hole-in-the-wall gelato shops. Not this time.

The week before the trip the baby got sick. Then numerous world events coalesced to make it feel like danger lurked at every airport. Questions scrolled through my head constantly: Would she be good on the plane? What if we hit turbulence? Would the stroller hold up on cobblestone streets? Would she make a mess at every Italian restaurant?

For more than a decade, my most loyal travel companion was my uninhibited sense of adventure. Now it was gone, replaced by hesitation and shot nerves.

I let myself worry away my sense of adventure. I had forgotten the personal credos forged from years of improvising and exploring. But we went to Italy.

In one week, my one-year-old daughter restored what I had lost.

She was good on the plane, better than we could have ever hoped, even with turbulence. Our hand-me-down stroller took everything Italy threw at it, even the rough Naples Airport baggage crew. And of course the baby made a mess at every restaurant – but every Italian server and proprietor loved her for it.

We were in Pompeii the day of Cordelia’s first birthday. I was carrying her around in a backpack carrier, traversing the ancient streets in the shadow of Mt. Vesuvius. We stopped to hydrate and I leaned against the rough stonewall of a ruined building. I felt the backpack sway and Cordelia’s weight shift out the side. I turned my head just enough to see her lean out of the backpack carrier and touch the building wall, unprompted. Her little head peered out with wide eyes and she was smiling, fully engaged by the simple feel of ancient stone on her fingertips. She may not remember it in the future, but in that moment she was enjoying the experience.

I’ve learned the best travel moments are rarely planned, especially the ones that change you on a deeper level.

In high school I stood in Pompeii awed at the sight of a sprawling city where time stands still. In the same place fifteen years later, I watched my baby pat an historic stonewall and giggle as she rubbed the red dust together in her hands.

Cordelia reinvigorated my sense of adventure by exhibiting a hint of her own.

I am under no illusion that traveling with a child will get any easier. But now, thanks to my daughter, I have no reason not to try.

Provincetown, Year-Round

This article appeared in the February, 2014 issue of Destinations Travel Magazine

The malasadas are reason enough to drive out to Provincetown, Massachusetts. But these warm hunks of sugary, fried dough at the Provincetown Portuguese Bakery disappear when the store shuts down for the off-season.

Fortunately, there are many reasons to visit this seaside destination that don’t rely on the summer season, making a road trip to the tip of Cape Cod a sweet proposition any time of year. 

Like many beach towns, Provincetown’s vibrant, eclectic and active summer atmosphere cools off with the weather. The town stays busy enough, but is noticeably calmer and with fewer crowds than during peak season. This translates into little waiting at the best restaurants, vacancy at inns and hotels, and a romantic, meditative peace permeating the beach dunes. Even the drive out along Cape Cod, which many people dread during summer months due to traffic, becomes a leisurely ride through classic seaside towns.

In the midst of winter woes, it is easy to see why Provincetown is a relaxing haven.

Even before you reach Provincetown proper, several nearby treasures set the stage for leisure and romance.

Truro Vineyards of Cape Cod, about ten minutes away from Provincetown, is one such place. This local, family-owned and operated company produces quality wines, such as the crisp and refreshing Diamond White. Reminiscent of summer, a few glasses can warm even the chilliest of winter evenings.

After the winery closes for the season in mid-winter, Truro’s wines can be found in stores throughout the region. Adding a little whimsy and local flare to their stock, Truro features several vintages in a lighthouse-shaped bottle, in both clear and blue-colored glass.

The wine bottles are just one of many symbols of classic New England that abound here. The beachfront is perhaps the most appropriate, in any season.

Race Point Beach is part of the larger Cape Cod National Seashore, which is run by the National Park Service. Accessible right off of Route 6, Race Point Road is the scenic two-mile drive through a beach forest, complete with windswept oak and beech trees, dunes and foliage. It connects to other scenic roads or ends at a parking lot from which you can walk to the sand.

On crisp winter days there is a unique beauty in the dunes and widespread flats of Race Point Beach. Located opposite downtown on the other side of the peninsula, this classic, sprawling Cape Cod beach transforms into a barren, naked lunarscape when the summer sun tanners have gone. Only waves, seabirds or a frosty ocean breeze break the silence here. An occasional strolling couple will stop to sit on an oversized piece of driftwood, perhaps waiting for the early sunset or weighty winter moon to bathe the tableau in ethereal lights and colors. For the artist and tourist alike, inspiration and peace seem to be frozen into the dunes.

Closer to downtown, where the curvature of the Cape Cod tip curls in towards Provincetown Harbor, is the Breakwater Walk or Provincetown Causeway. The straight shot of massive stones that make up the breakwater traverses the harbor, connecting the corner of town to an outermost spit of scimitar-shaped land. Summer visitors scramble along the boulders, inches from the harbor, getting sprayed by seawater until they reach the other side where two lighthouses stand sentinel.

Off-season, the hordes have disappeared, the walk becomes a bit more daring and the seawater sprays just a bit icier. But the view of the Provincetown skyline – mainly marina buildings, small shops and the towering Pilgrim Monument – is unrivaled. So is the serenity and surrealism that comes from standing on a boulder surrounded by the ocean.  Even on ill-weather days, peering out at the stone causeway affords glimpses of the lighthouse through the fog: a confident symbol of the gritty dependability at the foundation of New England culture.

That culture is alive and well in the year-round restaurants and other establishments.

One of the town’s top spots, Mews Restaurants and Café, is open 363 days a year. Besides its exquisite setting, the award-winning Mews serves up delectable dishes, many which put a local twist on foreign-inspired dishes. Or sip a cocktail and fine-dine at The Pointe Restaurant with views of the Pilgrim Monument, which resembles the medieval Tuscan towers in Italy. Find a more casual and classic Cape Cod seafood meal, as well as spectacular oceanfront panoramas at Fanizzi’s by the Sea.

The benefit of a compact, walkable downtown, especially during winter, is the easy accessibility to the diverse array of open restaurants, shops and art galleries. The Provincetown Chamber of Commerce website (www.ptownchamber.com) makes it easy to determine year-round establishments – and there are many – by labeling them with a blue snowflake.

In a town that claims the title of Birthplace of Modern American Drama, entertainment is never in short supply at the local theaters. Many of the artists and art galleries that contribute to this town’s effervescent vibe remain year-round, allowing creativity to spill over onto the icy streets.

Locals gather annually to build a Christmas tree made out of lobster pots, lit, decorated and topped with fishing accoutrement. The result is strikingly beautiful and like the town itself, is an artful blend of imagination and iconic New England. The same goes for the lights strung from the ground to the top of the Pilgrim Monument.

Whatever reason spurs your visit, Provincetown is an attractive getaway option this winter. An off-season stay gives you the best of the beach without the normal fusses.

And if you stay long enough, you can catch the first batch of malasadas when the Portuguese Bakery reopens come springtime.

Traveling for the People

Travel, for many, is about arrival at a chosen destination. Other people enjoy the souvenirs they acquire at various stops. For me, when it comes to travel I'm a people person. 

The focus of my most memorable travel stories always seems to revolve around a random conversation, a street performer or a chance encounter with a lovable local lunatic. Aside from tips on where to go, what to do and what to see, the people of the world, more often than not, offer perspective – a unique view that you just can’t get from a guidebook. At its root, that’s what travel is all about: interacting with people, places and things that we normally would not interact with. In the process, we exchange ideas in a sort of international lifestyle best-practices roundtable.

You don’t have to debate the meaning of life with every Frenchman along the Seine, or chitchat with a goofy street performer while he dances a jig on a sidewalk. Interacting and observing both provide an opportunity to appreciate the locals doing what they do best. It takes very little effort to enjoy the kindness of strangers abroad.

I have been astonished, embraced, intoxicated, amused, educated and inspired by locals the world over.

One evening in Munich I met Alex. He was a blonde bear of a man, large and wide with a shaggy beard and shaggier hair pulled back underneath a traditional, wide-brimmed German hat. We were at the city’s world-famous Hofbrauhaus when he slammed his stein down onto our table and dropped himself onto my bench. More than a few suds sloshed over onto his lederhosen and traditional Bavarian garb. But Alex didn’t care. In fact, I doubt Alex had a care in the world that night. We spent hour after hour drinking down steins and exchanging stories about our home, his home and everywhere in between. In the late hours of the evening Alex yanked me up by my shirt collar and taught me how to sing the traditional Bavarian drinking song, capped with a crash of the beer mugs.

Regardless of where you are, even if you don’t speak the language, it can never hurt to strike up a conversation while traveling. You may be ignored or scoffed at, or you may get the directions you needed or a good restaurant recommendation. At the very least, you will have made the attempt at indulging another culture.

Dublin, Ireland is another city itching to embrace its visitors. Enter almost any pub and raise a pint of Guinness with the locals at the bar. The Irish are happy to engage anyone in storytelling and if you have the time, they have the words to fill it.

On a recent trip to Dublin, I ditched the lines of tourists standing on cobblestones waiting to see the Book of Kells and instead popped into a nearby pub for some food and drink. Immediately upon entering, I was greeted by a wave of Dubliners cheering on their hometown Irish Football team, who happened to be playing a semi-final playoff match against Mayo. Over a few pints, the rowdy locals taught me the brutal rules of Irish Football and urged me to cheer along with them.

Learning about a location’s culture does not require a conversation, though. People watching can provide information and entertainment in any corner of the world.

Salzburg, Austria is a picturesque mountain town nestled amongst fortresses and fairytale buildings. Everything here is full of whimsy, including their board games. On a stunning sunny morning I stumbled upon a courtyard in the shadow of one of Salzburg’s beautiful churches. There, two men were engaged in a heated chess match with an oversized chess set, right in the middle of the courtyard, surrounded by the city's soaring, gorgeous spires. A gentleman in orange was playing an older gentleman dressed in his Sunday best. They were a couple of Austrian pugilists doing battle in a checkered, concrete arena.

I lingered along with a few dozen other passers-by. When a horse-drawn carriage trotted by in the background, the whole scene gained a strange nostalgic ambiance. A few moves later, the man in the orange won the match to his foe's great dismay. Instead of sulk, the loser approached the winner and they shook hands politely. They immediately began setting up for a rematch.

To truly experience a place, you should get to know those who know it best. Most of us don’t have the time to do so very intimately, but it only takes a moment to say hello in a foreign language or sit on a bench to listen to a street musician. The locals can give you a more intricate perspective of the city or town they inhabit. If they’re lucky, they will gain a little perspective from your outsider’s view in return. Whether you travel for business or pleasure, at home or abroad, you should always travel for the people.

Paris for Newbies - Guest Blog

Sometimes you’re lucky enough to have your friends fall in love with each other. Sometimes you get really lucky and they write a guest blog from their trip to Paris. Such is the case below, as Michael Corcoran and Kathleen Hoye, have provided a special post about their recent visit to the City of Light.

Mike and Kathleen, or Corcoran and Hoye as I've known them (the former for almost 20 years and the latter for more than 10), are getting married. Yup, two of my closest friends got together, slipped into that mushy place filled with unicorns, rainbows and shirtless Milan Lucic posters they call love, and are currently staring down the barrel of forever, fixing to pull the trigger in a few months.

But before any of that can happen, they embarked on the tried and true tradition of testing a relationship through international travel (whether that was their intention or not). Nothing stresses a couple more than stepping into line at a café and not knowing how to order a cheese sandwich, or attempting to cross a street with a neverending flood of homicidal vespas. On the other hand, nothing brings a couple closer than conquering a country together. There is usually a point during the trip where one begins a sentence in a foreign language and the other finishes it - this is not simpatico, but rather an example of how each of you only knows half of how to ask where the bathroom is. Regardless, those are the moments when you realize you've made the right choice, both in companion and travel destination. From that moment on, there are no photos or trinkets that can compare to the stories you share.

When Mike and Kathleen told me they were going to Paris,  I asked if they'd be willing to put together a guest blog about their experience. Mike had never left the U.S. (save for Canada and well, that just doesn't count) and Hoye, the avid travel bug that she is, ventures around the world frequently for work and pleasure. It is an interesting combination and I was interested to see how these two travel backgrounds would meld.

I could write a weekly series about my friendship with Corcoran and Hoye, both individually and as a couple (and maybe someday I will - I could see Pulitzer in that, or perhaps a Razzie). They are two of the most passionate people I know, intelligent and eager to consume the world around them. As someone who helped push them, not so gently, towards each other a few years ago, I was eager to hear about their first international opportunity to do just that.

Merci et bonne chance!

GUEST BLOG - by Kathleen Hoye and Michael Corcoran

We both love formage, vin rouge and pain au chocolat (cheese, red wine and chocolate croissants). That’s probably why we’re getting married. We both can appreciate the simple and wonderful things in life. We realized we enjoy them more when they’re consumed in early September in Paris. No talk of wedding plans or home improvements. We acted French and sat outside for long lunches and watched the world go by (in skinny jeans).

After some consulting with our travel guru’s Rick Steve’s and one “American Husband in Paris”, we were ready for a whirlwind three days in the City of Lights. We decided that we just wanted to stay in the city proper and crossed Versailles off of our list. (We’ve been to Newport, RI and toured the Breakers. It’s just the French version, right?) We had our priorities straight and decided to focus on the fine works of art and architecture and enjoying culinary delights.

Here are the highlights:

·         Night bike tour and boat ride with Fat Tire Tours – we peddled through the city like experts as the lights came on and made the days sights glow in a whole new way http://paris.fattirebiketours.com/

·         Sainte Chapelle – pictures and postcards can’t do this place justice. It’s one of those places you just have to open your eyes, drop your jaw and try to memorize all the colors in your mind.

·         L’Orangerie Museum – better than Orsay. A great collection of Impressionist art that’s not too crowded. Huge murals of Monet’s Waterlilies make you feel like you’re not in the city, but surrounded by color’s they don’t have in the paint aisle at Home Depot.

·         Rue Cler – a great little neighborhood street where we went from formagerie to boulangerie to marchand de vin and gathered a delightful picnic in the park. It’s completely socially acceptable to drink wine straight from the bottle in a public park as long as it’s accompanied by a loaf of bread and chevre.

·         Taking it easy. No wonder the French are happy. Aside from nutella crepes, it’s expected that you will sit for lunch, eat it slowly and enjoy the company of the people sitting beside you. There is no rush. Bon appetite. (Despite our love of food, we both lost weight while in Paris as we walked everywhere and up everything.)

American observations:

·         Sushi and bagels in the same place? [insert photo]

·         We made a great effort to speak French, even though Kathleen couldn’t help but pronounce French words in Spanish (who drops the last consonant?). Our mercies, sil vou plaits and madames were plentiful and sincere. We noticed that most Americans didn’t even bother and figured out that’s why most people hate us.

·         The Americans with Disabilities Act doesn’t exist France. Come visit while you’re still able bodied. Join the gym so you can climb the 700 steps up to the second floor of the Tour Eiffel.

·         What’s with all of the Asian bride’s getting their photos taken surrounded by pigeons and tourists outside of Notre Dame?