Towers loom above me, their sheer rock walls soaring up from iridescent tropical waters. I paddle in close and crane my neck up at limestone giants that stand at attention like guardians of a mysterious aquatic world. Read on…
By Cindy Fan
BARACOA, CUBA—While sunning on the beach, I sit up to watch a pig chase a dog across the white sand.
Before coming to Baracoa, my jaw would have dropped at the sight. Now I just shrug my burnt shoulders and snort. If you want five-star hotels and sanitized beaches, Baracoa is not the place for you. As beautiful as this secluded playa is, things here are more. . . feral. Cuba is a country that marches to its own off-beat rhythm. The quirks are subtle at first, but with each passing day I hear them louder and louder — and Baracoa, a town on the northeastern tip of the island, is as wildly weird and weirdly wonderful as it gets. Read on…
By Cindy Fan
FAYETTEVILLE, WEST VIRGINIA—Most travellers buy souvenirs. Me? I bring home bumps and scrapes. Tsetse fly bites, courtesy of Kenya. Infected insect bite on my (ahem) derriere, with love from Bangladesh. Violently-violet bruises and a set of X-rays, memories of Morocco.
So I thought I should stay close to home for a change with a weekend trip to West Virginia. Every autumn, 43,000 people from all over North America descend upon the Mountain State for one reason: rafting the “Beast of the East,” the Gauley River. Read on…