ANTARCTICA

Immense. Intense. Serenely still.

Welcome to our desert continent. It is our highest, driest, coldest, flattest and windiest one. Containing 70% of the world’s freshwater, if all its ice melted, global sea levels would rise about 60 metres. Over the last 50 years, temperatures here have increased five times the global average.

This destination feels more like travel to another planet than elsewhere on this one. The earth has many remote places, but they all come adjacent to some form of human culture. Not here. This is a world of extreme otherness without our input. Don’t pack a large ego. Here we are transitory incidentals.

Fossils confirm it was once at least as warm as Auckland, covered in lush forest and dinosaurs. Now in summer there are six months of almost constant daylight, matched in winter by six months of utter darkness. Telling the time is difficult and arbitrary. At the South Pole the lines of longitude – which create our global time zones – all meet at a single point. Currently sunset is at 11:30 pm and sunrise at 2:30 am.

The continent is twice the size of Australia. There are active volcanoes, and a subglacial lake whose waters flow blood red with oxidised iron. Over 235 animal species live here along with only two flowering plants. There are no terrestrial mammals, although there are many fish, birds, seals, whales and seven species of penguins.

The Emperor penguin is the largest type and adults can reach 45 kilos. Penguin feathers are surprisingly stiff. Sharp bristles hook together, trapping in air over a layer of down beneath. Colonies can number in the thousands. Of interest to this nutritionist, penguins have a special gland in their eye to get rid of the high salt content from their diet. By regulation, no one is allowed to walk within five metres of the wildlife. Some penguins miss the memo, waddle close and inspect my boots.

I see the colour green only once, via a small patch of moss. Everything from fish to penguins to birds has krill on the menu: a tiny, translucent, orange crustacean. The food web of the region though, starts with plankton, the pasture of the sea and krill’s main repast.

Phytoplankton are microscopic, yet through photosynthesis remove carbon dioxide. Astoundingly, they also help form clouds. Annually they emit 20 million tons of sulphur compounds. These gases rise and help create denser water particles than anywhere else. Clouds over Antarctica are therefore brighter. This enables them to reflect light and keep the earth from over-heating. Marvel at life’s supportive complexity.

History

More than 2,000 years ago, Aristotle presumed this land mass existed as a balance to the North Pole. He named it Antarktikos. Around five centuries ago, indigenous people from what is now Chile probably visited, and possibly Polynesians too. In 1773 that industrious Captain James Cook was the first to record crossing the Antarctic Circle. Pack ice and fog pushed him back from landing. Enterprising sealers later came to shore in the 1800s.

Early travel involved epic, dangerous exploits. In preparation for my journey, I read six books telling these tales, as well as contemporary accounts of those stationed there for research purposes, and on the local wildlife.

Starting in 1901, Anglo-Irish Ernest Shackleton made four attempts to reach the South Pole. He was known for heroic perseverance. Then in 1911 Norwegian Roald Amundsen, a master of meticulous planning, was the first person to achieve the goal. He had lived with the Canadian Inuit and learned their dog sled skills, food choices and other survival techniques. He thus chose sturdy fur garments rather than wool ones. All of his team survived.

Five weeks later, British Naval Officer Robert Falcon Scott – more romantic and less methodical – struggled there with inadequate supplies. He and his starving men all died in a blizzard trying to return.

Sir Raymond Priestley was an English geologist and 1907 Antarctic explorer. He later wrote, “For scientific leadership, give me Scott; for safe and efficient travel, Amundsen; but when you are in a hopeless situation, when there seems to be no way out, get on your knees and pray for Shackleton.”

On Board

The cruise departs from Puerto Williams, Chile, which is the world’s southernmost city. It is a little more southerly than the bigger and better known, Ushuaia at the bottom of Argentina’s spine. Their shared region, Patagonia, is known for dramatic fjords, mountains and glacial lakes.

Numerous islands are actually submerged Andean peaks. It is about 3,000 kilometres to the continental coast below. In between is the notorious Drake Passage: one of the planet’s most turbulent voyages due to high winds, rough waters and the risk of icebergs. The crossings take one to two days. Calm versions are termed ‘Drake Lake’, while the tempestuous ones are ‘Drake Shake’. Like an honour guard, the voyage is accompanied by humpbacks, dolphins and gulls.

Due to environmental concerns, no large vessels are permitted to land on the Antarctic coast. The number of people disembarking is also controlled by international agreement. Most companies hire their ships. Silversea is a luxury line that owns its own vessels. This one is specialised for polar expeditions with about two hundred passengers.

Research scientists lecture on biology, botany, geology, oceanography, ornithology and glaciology in a gorgeous, tall cinema-space. Mountain slopes are monitored for avalanche potential. These can sheer huge slabs of ice into the water and cause tsunamis. The ice breaks up into a carpet of meringue-like shards with depth unknown. They can stretch for kilometres and make passage cautionary.

I thought I would spend a lot of time reading. Didn’t happen once. There were too many activities including daily yoga, Pilates, group games and photography classes. Plus long mealtime conversations with interesting guests. Many have been to the Arctic and say this is much grander.

My elegant, comfortable suite has a private balcony, floor to ceiling windows, a spacious seating area and walk-in wardrobe. The fridge holds ‘free’ champagne, caviar, premier chocolates and other requests replenished as desired. On offer are a hot tub, pool, spa, gym and sauna; numerous dining area options with one available 24 hours, as is room service. Like a scene from Downton Abbey, a private butler brings me tea in the morning before I get up.

The dining is healthy, international and ever changing. Particular favourites are the Panorama Room for beguiling patisserie, snacks, hot soup station and an eight page list of cocktails (I particularly enjoy the chocolate martini). La Terrazza for Italian.  La Dame for fine dining. The Grill for barbecue and casual meals. The dress code is smart casual except for the option of dressy dinners. Of course, I indulge in glam.

Adventures

The cruise includes equipment and specialised cold weather clothing (you get to keep the backpack and matching bright red polar jacket, so handy for Auckland). I bought my own TradeMe hiking poles, which are excellent for balance. Uncertain snow quality and bulky safety gear make walking awkward. Sometimes the snow is soft and one foot plunges down 30 cm or more. We must fill any deep holes so penguins don’t get trapped inside. There are kayaks, and inflatable zodiacs for landings, which are also physically challenging to enter and exit. I wouldn’t want to be much older to attempt all this.

Summer highs are between one degree and minus three. We hike and explore twice daily. I ignore every rational alarm system (and the pleas of my lifelong, cold-avoidant flesh) and sign up for the optional polar plunge in the Southern Ocean. No fancy outfit is worn, just an ordinary swimsuit. Attached to the ship is a comfortingly, serious cable coiled around the waist and clipped at the back. Diving from a small landing, the homeostasis reset is a kind of astonished rebirth. Surprisingly, the even colder part is climbing out of the water and into the wind. Apparently, at these water temperatures, people can survive between five and fifteen minutes. I have no urge to test that.

Pods of Orcas cavort. Albatross glide. Male seals guard territory and can weigh up to four tons – four times the size of females. Courtship sounds dangerous. Each fresh curve of the coast is a stunning cathedral experience of quiet awe. Bergs glide past like tall sculptures, artist unknown. It is useful to feel puny.

I am gradually fulfilling my childhood dream of seeing the world and have now visited seven continents.

Onward huskies to my next adventure.

ESTONIA

My original plan was to start further south in Belarus, until their – pro-war, Putin-lapdog – leader turned the state more into Bellicose.

Estonia is the most northerly of the three Baltic states that lie on the eastern shore of the Baltic Sea. Among the planet’s inland seas, it is second in size only to the Mediterranean. All three countries are part of the EU and NATO (and have the world’s greatest proportion of supermodels).

Estonia looks, sounds and eats more Finnish than Slavic. Beautifully dotted with castles, domed churches and over 2,000 islands, it is far more temperate than its big bear neighbour, Russia. 

Starting with the Vikings, it was dominated by foreign powers throughout much of its history. The originator of Skype, Estonia became the first country in the world to offer online voting. It now has one of the most liberal economies in Europe with a flat income tax, free public transport and balanced budget. Standout achievements for a region with democracy and a market economy since only 1991. Send Marx a memo.

It produces substantial thermal power for the entire Baltic region and northwest Russia. The Russian oil industry makes heavy use of Baltic ports. Perhaps not unrelated, military service is compulsory for young men.

Listen to the superbly spacious modern composer, Arvo Part, while enjoying specialties such as crayfish; marinated eel; potato and barley or buckwheat porridge; brawn (headcheese); herbal liqueurs; semolina, rhubarb and marzipan desserts. For breakfast I love their thin, rolled pancakes filled with soft cheese, apple and honey.

Capital Tallinn’s inner medieval core has 700 year old cobblestones, classy crafts, quirky jewellery, art galleries and vegan restaurants. 

LATVIA

One of the last parts of Europe to join Christendom, pagan rituals remain honoured, and many of its citizens are named after birds, animals and trees.

They are tall people with the average height for women at 170 cm. The old port of Liepaja offers a night in a military jail with Soviet-style treatment. I stroll through the capital Riga, its 800-plus brightly ornamented Art Nouveau buildings, and Europe’s largest market with many food tastings. This is the arty, innovative part of the Baltics.

There are 500 kilometres of wide, white sand beaches. Each spring day of this trip is warm and sunny. Foraging is popular for birch sap juice, blueberries and chanterelle mushrooms.

In 1871 America, Latvian-born tailor, Jacob Davis, invented riveted denim work pants (later known as blue jeans). He made a fortune in partnership with fabric merchant Levi Strauss. 

About a quarter of the population speaks Russian. However, since the invasion of Ukraine, Latvia has banned all Russian broadcast channels. Latvia and Estonia both claim the world’s first decorated Christmas tree in 1510.

Favourite foods are pelmeni (dumplings with meat or mushrooms); pink, cold beet soup, tart with kefir; meatballs in sorrel broth; cranberry mousse; kvass (fermented grain alcohol); balls with lard, peas, bacon and onion (unexpectedly delicious); blood sausage with barley. 

Maizes zupa (bread soup) is a dessert that looks like a chocolate parfait: rye bread is boiled until smooth and sweetened with spices, brown sugar, apricots, prunes and served topped with whipped cream. 

Even more impressive throughout the Baltics is the absence of rubbish in cities, roads and countryside. A small, significant statement of pride and community. 

LITHUANIA

The coastline is a rich source of amber showcased in elegant jewellery. Keeping with the colour theme, beehives and honey production are extensive. Many fields are bright yellow with rapeseed/canola.

Lithuania has the oldest surviving Indo-European language (similar to Sanskrit) and once had a vast empire. During the Holocaust, over 90% of the Jewish population died. Lithuania was the first country to declare independence from the Soviet Union.

Before escaping purges and moving to Britain, my father’s paternal Jewish relatives were from the fluctuating borderlands of Lithuania and Poland. I have a lot of regional bloodlines here from both parents. Each side fled regularly scheduled pogroms. Thankfully, these gene pools were marked more by resourceful determination than victimhood. 

Forests and five spectacular national parks – home to wild boar, lynx, fox, wolves and deer – take up a third of the land. The capital, Vilnius, is a World Heritage site, resplendent with ornate churches.

Commonly available are wild mushrooms; beetroot dishes even at breakfast; local beer, mead, and fruit wine; curd cheese doughnuts; poppy seed cookies; smoked sausage; and sweet, silky herring. 

I also try bulviniai blynai – potato pancakes with sour cream and dill; kepta duona – chip-like fried, rye bread strips with garlic; kibinai – crescent-shaped lamb pies; and cepelinai – fist-sized dumplings made from potato dough, heavy with pork. These are designed to feed workers during freezing, snowy weather, which can start in September and last until May. 

Respectively, these three Baltic nations have just one, two and three million people. Yet humanely each has taken in over 50,000 Ukrainian refugees. More keep coming. 

Surrounded by 200 lakes, is the medieval Trakai Castle. I visit the dungeon which houses only one symbolic prisoner: a life-size, cardboard replica of Putin. 

FINLAND

There are many claims to being the first democracy.

The Greeks gave us the term (translating as citizen power). America too asserts early primacy, yet both states ignored the sizeable population of women and slaves. 

New Zealand was the first country to give women the vote, but had a racially divided system. Astonishingly, it was 1952 before Chinese people could vote and work in our state sector. In contrast, Finland in 1906, stands out as the first country to abolish racial and gender requirements for voting and serving in government.

The population is about 5.5 million and almost half of them have saunas. Often ranked as the world’s happiest country and with the best air quality, it is also the biggest consumer of coffee. Decaf isn’t even listed on menus and requests achieve stunned incomprehension. It’s like asking to spit on their flag. Also absent is a size approaching small.

75% of Finland is forest with almost 200,000 lakes, the untamed wilderness of Lapland and the magical northern lights. Long a part of Sweden and then the Russian empire, the nation gained independence in 1917. Their Uralic language is less Scandinavian and more like Hungarian. Tolkien’s Elvish in Lord of the Rings was based on Finnish.

The food is as fresh and clean as the landscape. Everywhere there are muikku – tiny fish fried until crisp, as well as cured salmon, bilberry pie, and reindeer with lingonberries. For a traditional breakfast try karjalanpiirakka – rye pastries filled with creamed barley, butter and chopped egg. Geography on a plate. 

I explore by ferry, tram and walking tour. Towns showcase sleek contemporary architecture, ancient log buildings and tributes to composer, Sibelius. Listen to the passionate opening bars of Finlandia for unstoppable patriotism. 

POLAND

Whatever their heritage, Canadians are fans of eating pan-Slavic pierogi. There is a national meme which declares, “I’m so Polish, I can spell pierogi”. These ravioli-like dough parcels are filled with cheese and potato; mushroom and cabbage; or with sauerkraut. Half-moon shaped with edges crimped, they are served boiled, or later fried.

I was named after my Polish grandmother, Baba Mary. She would be thrilled that for many months before my trip, I studied Polish. She smothered pierogi with diced fatty pork and onions – cooked slowly in butter until caramelised, and then topped further with generous amounts of sour cream. This is not a Heart Foundation recipe. 

When my mother died, we split her ashes into three. One part is buried under my daughter’s lemon tree. Eventually she will take another portion to Canada.

Baba Mary’s parents were from eastern Poland. Mum always wanted to visit the region. So I brought a third of her remains to spread there. Authorities were not advised. The ashes travelled discreetly in a vitamin C powder container with a plastic spoon inside for authenticity. Mum would laugh! 

Poland was once the largest state in Europe. It disappeared from the world map for over 100 years – carved into portions by hungry neighbours, Prussia, Russia and Austria. It finally regained nationhood in 1918, only to become a satellite state under Soviet control when World War II ended. 

Warsaw is the largest Polish city (by population, second is Chicago) and is termed the phoenix. In retribution for the ghetto uprising and later resistance, Hitler put dynamite in every major inner city building. All that history and beauty became rubble. 

I took photos there of gorgeous, meticulously reconstructed cathedrals, palaces, museums along broad, busy, flower and cafe lined avenues. Now it is the Reich that is rubble. Take that, Adolf. 

During the war, all the grand buildings’ inner doors were used as stretchers to transport precious art and furniture into hiding. These were eventually reinstated – including the doors. With a nod to dark humour, Poland is now similarly storing Ukrainian treasures. The effects of war and communism are never far from the stories of these lands. 

Poland is the originator of the bagel, home of vodka (I tried my first shots), Chopin, Copernicus (boundary shattering astronomer and symbol of their renaissance), Oscar Schindler’s Factory, Pope John Paul II (85% of the country remains Catholic), Lech Walesa (workers’ rights activist and eventually the first democratically elected president). 

Local girl, Marie Curie, became the first woman to win one, then two Nobel prizes. It has the world’s biggest castle, Malbork, Europe’s last primeval forest and one of its oldest restaurants since 1273.

And it is the home of Auschwitz. The exhibitions are quietly harrowing. Discarded family suitcases, a mountain of shoes, lopped off human hair, and empty gas cannisters tell the story by association, as much as the ovens and showers do. Before the Nazi invasion there were 3.3 million Jews resident in Poland. By the end of the war, 3 million had died.

More spectacular than grim are the revered and profitable, salt mines of Wieliczka (if in doubt when spelling in Polish, sprinkle in at least three Zs; some words have no vowels at all). Seven hundred years old and deep enough to easily house the Eifel Tower. Some chambers have chandeliers and host weddings. Deep within, over centuries, grand religious icons and mythological statues have been skilfully carved out of salt by reverential miners.

I revel in the poetic, innovative music of Chopin at a concert in a suitably Romantic era venue, almost equally as magnificent. Dance the polka and mazurka. Admire Krakow with architecture miraculously unscathed since the 7^th century. Watching locals, I see my face and figure mirrored in our shared roots.

Courtesy of visits to my grandparents’ Saskatchewan farm, I know the food specialties well: Kielbasa (spicy, garlicky sausage, which my Ukrainian grandfather, Paul Bazowski, used to make); Golabki (fragrant, meat and mushroom stuffed cabbage rolls); Babka (soft, buttery bread, braided with poppy seeds). There are hearty soups, potato pancakes; pickles, beetroot and fish dishes with dill; and dumplings filled with buckwheat. 

Mum’s ashes now lie in the spiritual capital, Czestochowa, famed for its views, art and cathedral. This has been a poignant visit. Ancestrally, it is good to go home. 

HUNGARY

Although the country has slimmed to one third of its empire size, this is not a dieter’s destination. 

If you are suffering from insufficient body fat, try fried, breaded cheese dipped in mayonnaise. Or choose the more delicate classic starter of chilled sour cherry soup. I had cabbage leaves stuffed with sauerkraut; crepes filled with veal in paprika sauce; wild mushroom soup and of course, goulash, fiery with chilli. 

While listening to local achiever, Franz Liszt, I enjoyed small chestnut noodles sweetened with rum and vanilla, covered with whipped cream. Also the challenging, seven layered Dobos Torte. It alternates biscuity lemon cake and chocolate, adorned with shimmering caramel triangles. Knowing how to make it, got me a pastry chef job in the ‘70s at Konditorei Telle in Mt Eden. For street food try langos: a circle of puffy, pastry-like bread topped with cheese, garlic and the ever-present garnish of sour cream.

Waddle forth to soak in mineral spas, courtesy of Turkish and Roman influences. There are mountains, caves, quaint villages. The wide, gracious curves of the Danube meander through ten countries and bisects the capital into Buda and Pest. I recommend an evening dinner cruise passing glorious architecture and monuments, elegant bridges, compelling lights, sights and flavours. 

Their alphabet has a mere 44 letters. The country has universal healthcare and tuition-free education, yet people struggle.  Especially the elderly, who along with Roma, beg on the street. Compared to other countries on this trip, Hungary has more grubby grandeur, homelessness and tales of corruption. Edgy ‘ruin bars’ are situated in ancient, crumbling buildings where hipsters come to drink cocktails. Visit the former secret police headquarters and a sculpture park of Communist era heroes. 

Hungary was staunchly pro-German before and during World War II. The economy, general population and especially the Jewish one were seriously destroyed. The country gained the status of the highest inflation rates ever recorded. By the time a shopper took a wheelbarrow of cash to buy groceries, the barrow was worth more than the money. After becoming a Soviet satellite, there were periods of violent rebellion. Current hardliner Prime Minister, Viktor Orban, is pro-Putin and has limited many democratic freedoms and election rights.

More enjoyable is its wine region, which is older than the French. I remember my parents drinking sweet, golden Tokay. Hungarians designed the Volkswagen Beetle, Rubik’s Cube, and from Laszlo Biro, the ballpoint pen. In Hollywood, others influentially started Paramount Pictures and the Fox Film Corporation. They don’t just eat.

CZECH REPUBLIC and SLOVAKIA

Formerly part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire – which collapsed with dramatic speed after World War One – this landlocked territory south of Poland became democratic Czechoslovakia.

But not for long. After the Second World War, a coup put them under Soviet rule – a sadly shared regional story. In 1968 the “Prague Spring” tried to liberalise and create “socialism with a human face”. I remember the news coverage as tanks rather than talks, ensued. 

Finally in 1989, the Communists were swept from power during the Velvet Revolution with its massive, peaceful protests. Democracy and a market economy returned. In 1993 an amicable “velvet divorce” split the country into two republics. Each joined the EU and NATO.

In the Slovak Republic the capital is Bratislava. Vienna is but an hour away. Many Slovaks spend the work week there as they can earn two to three times more. I walk the vast High Tatras with alpine mountains, ski resorts, glacial lakes and ice caves. Towns on green, hilly slopes have ominous castles where Dracula movies get filmed, splendid monasteries and thermal pools.

Prague is romantic, literary, Gothic – the original Bohemian. Listen to Smetana and Dvorak as you wind along their muse, the Vltava River. A walking bridge lined with notable statuary and a climbable tower, crosses it. Explore over 1,000 years of history at the Prague Castle. 

Visit the Strahov, other cathedral-like libraries, and the medieval Astronomical clock – the world’s oldest. Ride the funicular to the top of the ancient city, which escaped World War II bombing. Take the tram past futuristic galleries, Art Nouveau and Cubist landmarks. Jewellery stores feature local, semi-precious green moldavite, and burgundy garnet.

Stop for bread dumplings with pork knuckles and mustard that make a New Zealand lamb shank meal look like Thumbelina fare. Potato and dill soup with quail egg. Roast goose with sauerkraut and gingerbread. Throughout Eastern Europe their house wines probably come from the Czech Moravia fields. 

For breakfast I try potato latkes, pastry with cream cheese and apricots, sweet yeasted rolls filled with poppy seeds and plums. A deservedly popular street food is chimney cake: sugary dough shaped and cooked around rods over a grill, cooled, then filled with ice cream. ‘Light fare’ is not in their culinary dictionary.

Time now to head homeward. Soon I will start studying Japanese. Next year, I have a date with cherry blossoms.

A Culinary Circle from Iceland to Ireland, Algeria, Tunisia, and Malta

ICELAND

It took 3 flights and 40 hours to get from one geothermal island to another. Unfortunately, my luggage preferred to holiday in Copenhagen. Thankfully I packed my carry-on strategically. Three days later my bag was delivered. It felt longer.

August highs in Iceland average 13 degrees. One day only was 20. It is a sunny 9 degrees as we head off for a whale watching cruise. Two humpbacks give us more than an hour of frolicking as they repeatedly spout, and dive with tails flipping just metres away.

The food has been excellent. Fish is superbly fresh. Soft, black rye bread, steamed for 24 hours in a hot spring, gets slathered with butter, and pickled herring that is tender and sweet like smoked salmon. It is served with 38 proof potato spirits. I tried surprisingly mild shots of cod liver oil for breakfast. Fermented Skyr for dessert and breakfast is a cross between thick yogurt and soft cheese, mixed with tiny berries.

Trees here too are small and slow growing as warmth and light can be meagre. Outside of towns are volcanic islands, rapids, seals, caribou, fjords, spectacular waterfalls, people fishing for salmon, vast lakes with blue ducks and hundreds of swans, fields of scoria green with moss and lichen.

Mountain tops are often flat like cake layers, sliced by advancing glaciers. Isolated farms have sheep with curved Viking horns, wild mink, and long maned horses. Survival here favours short, stocky, and furry. Hobbits would do well. Geysers erupt and Arctic winds threaten to blow me over.

Towns are named to torture tourists. I stay at Borgarfjordureystri, a fishing village of 85 inhabitants. Brightly coloured houses, some with sod roofs, have names instead of numbers. I pick wild blueberries and a nearby family invites me to dinner. We eat pink Arctic char and foraged mushrooms. Poetry is read, and tales of elves and trolls are told with gravitas.

One day I stand between the high rocky sides of the rift valley where the tectonic plates of Europe and North America meet. This dark, narrow, and savage gouge was used compellingly in Game of Thrones. The whole country could erupt like White Island, and locals reference our New Zealand disaster.

Along the Ring Road, my bus travels the southeast coast past Europe’s biggest glacier. We stop and watch nesting puffins swoop and feed. A small boat takes us through a lagoon with mighty icebergs seemingly constructed from different shades of blueberry meringue. Swimming is not recommended with water at 4 degrees.

We visit a geothermal plant. The country’s power is from 100% renewable sources. The air is 12 degrees, but I happily swim and soak in the toasty waters of the Blue Lagoon with my new friend Mona, a retired Irish nurse living in Sydney. We enjoy silica facials, champagne, and jollity.

More books are published here than in any other nation. It has no standing army and one of the lowest global crime rates. 80% of citizens are members of the Lutheran Church. Iceland doesn’t allow Uber, Starbucks, MacDonalds, casinos or strip clubs. The population is the size of Christchurch. All school children learn Icelandic, Danish and English. People are hardy, proud, friendly, and industrious. Humans are extraordinarily resourceful. No other species roams and adapts so extensively to extreme environments.

Odin would approve.   

IRELAND – Fifty Shades of Green

Eleventh century church bells ring with frequency and joy. Buildings are elegantly Georgian brick. Most streets have a succession of ancient pubs with larrikin names. A city park is home to wild deer, and a statue of the local boy who became Duke of Wellington, and defeated Napoleon. Another lad, Bram Stoker, used Irish mythology to create Count Dracula. This must be Dublin.

At a nearby rural estate I dine at Ballyknocken Cooking School with owner and TV food star, Catherine Byrne-Fulvio. The 1855 cottage is full of charm and antiques. She serves a three-course meal sourced mostly from her clearly loved garden. A standout was fresh herb scones served with spinach, carrot and cumin soup, swirled with fresh cream. On the narrow country road back, we pass resident and actor, Daniel Day Lewis on his yellow Ducati motorbike.

More than 20% of New Zealanders have Irish ancestry. Both lands are fair, green, rolling, sea-edged, sheep-dotted, and snake-deprived. Together, among the OECD, we have the greatest number of adventurous expats living overseas.

Sadly, 93% of Northern Ireland schools remain religiously segregated. Belfast though is now booming instead of bombing. A walking tour with a local history teacher guides us through the protest art, barbed wire, and endless new apartments. The Titanic Museum is huge, prow-like, and architecturally stunning. Immersive depictions of dockside workers reveal harrowing lives even before the deadly voyage. Newsreel footage shows hungry, dirty, desperate living and working conditions.

Farther north at Ireland’s windiest point is the Giants Causeway. It was formed by shifting tectonics and red rivers of lava. However calm the surface, the earth is shaped by foundations of fire. Huge vertical columns of basalt rock thrust up and over jagged shores and tempestuous Atlantic waters.

You don’t come here for the weather. Their August summer is often like our August winter. The Romans came briefly and left. Later their Barbarian conquerors did the same. Only the English Protestant Tudors took a strategic interest, as this was a potentially dangerous landing site for their hated rivals, France and Spain. On such singularities can an entire history be shaped.

I try my first whiskey. A drink invented by the Irish and quietly reported as perfected by the Scots. There is wild salmon, plump oysters, Guinness meat pies, seafood chowder, and seaweed dishes. At breakfast I enjoy black pudding, and fried soda bread. There is every interpretation of the potato. Especially good is colcannon (mashed with cream, kale, and onion), boxty (potato pancakes), and farl (potato flatbread).

There is a grand banquet dinner and boisterous medieval entertainment at the 15th century Knappogue castle. Other meals too are accompanied by music: from harp, violin, bagpipe, Van Morrison, U2, Sinead O’Connor, to fast tapping dance. Country western music originated with the Celts in the southern United States. Their King William supporters were known as “Billies” and then hillbillies. 

I volunteer to try Gaelic dancing (did well), and the national 3,000 year old sport of hurling (did badly). I love the Irish gaiety, colourful phrasing, speedy gab, and easy wit. The castles, abbeys, drystone walls, thatched rooves, vividly painted cottages and shops.

Stroll through the grounds of Trinity College and imagine an alumni dinner with Oscar Wilde, Niels Bohr, AA Milne, Ralph Vaughan Williams, scores of royalty, politicians – and infamous spies.

This is an ideal land to practice the philosophy of its revered romantic poet, W B Yeats, “The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper”.     

ALGERIA

Fresh dates, camembert, pastries. You’ve probably had them. Not like this. One mouthful here is so intensely complete as to transcend any previous claimants.

This is Africa’s largest country. It has a Mediterranean coastline, snowy mountains, and an interior with the largest swathe of the Sahara. Its national animal is the adorable, blonde, huge-eared desert fox. Algiers, the capital along the sea, is known for the maze of its Kasbah, the winding lanes of the Medina, Ottoman palaces, marble mosques, the old port’s colourful fishing vessels, French boulevards and vast botanical gardens. The entire city is a UNESCO World Heritage site – one of seven in the country.

The nation was colonised by the French from 1830. They fought together during World War II. And then viciously against each other until independence in 1962. Over one million Algerians died during that claim for independence. In 1957, one of its famous sons, Albert Camus, won the Nobel prize for literature. Women have better status here than in most Islamic countries: 60% of judges and 70% of lawyers are women. There is a lot of poverty, though that is ever decreasing, and no national debt due to petroleum and natural gas exports.

Algerian foods are a statement to its varied past. Hearty stew-topped couscous; pastry with lemon, olives and coriander; mhajab – flatbread filled with onion, tomato and then fried; rachta – pasta with veg and chickpeas; makroud – semolina parcels filled with dates, and glossy with lemon syrup. Particularly good are samsa, their triangular, densely almond and orange cookies. Despite the French influence, don’t bother asking for a glass of wine though, alcohol is rarely available.

Every aspect of arranging travel here was problematic: flights were changed; hotels were changed; walking tours difficult to book. Out of the six countries I visited, it was not just the only one to require a visa, but my passport had to be physically sent to their embassy in Canberra. Their bureaucracy (tellingly, a French word for “rule by desk”), set the entire experience somewhere between Monty Python and the Twilight Zone. Amid their many political, and socioeconomic issues, they made an important civic stipulation before my arrival: the Barbie movie was banned.

As in many other Arab countries, people are tenderly besotted with children. Otherwise surly officials, and the weary on cramped planes, gaze at screaming toddlers like they are the epitome of endearment. About 70% of the population is under 30.

Locals are hospitable and easy to engage with. They apologise for the well-known, suspicious entry requirements. Seeing other tourists is uncommon. When women of all ages pass me, they often smile softly and are quick to help. I did two 5-hour walking tours, each with smart, charming young guides who could answer my every question, discuss history and world events, find me the foods I wanted to try, and head me safely home. They spoke of wages averaging 250 Euros per month (basically double that for NZD), while rent is 150 to 200. Even doctors earn just 500 per month. Families squash together. Young people sigh about privacy being a fairytale concept.

Algerians can withdraw a small amount only of Euros each year. Downtown I pass an entire street dedicated to black market currency trading, which the heavy police presence everywhere, ignores. We Westerners are born to Luckyville.

TUNISIA

Its beauty is a surprise. Seaside towns, such as popular Sidi Bou Said, were postcard whitewashed, with vivid blue shutters, yellow doors, and crimson bougainvillea, long before the Greek islands copied them.

I stay at the Royal Victoria, built in 1662, and the former British Embassy. It is ornately Raj-style, as if designed during an opium rapture. Think the Civic Theatre turned into a hotel. I write this from my room’s balcony, which looks onto the bustle of a town square, and a street designed to resemble the broad, welcoming ramble of the Champs-Elysees.

A slim wedge of North Africa’s vast expanse, this nation comes perfumed with jasmine. The Republic of Tunisia achieved independence from the French in 1956. Customs and croissants remain. The land is home now to many mega movie sets such as for Star Wars and Indianna Jones.

With a push for more presidential power, parliament was suspended in 2021. It partially resumed in March 2023. The legitimacy remains questioned, home and abroad. As a protest, recent voter turnout was merely 11%. Oh, the privileges of democracy that we take for granted. 

Next to the parliament buildings is the Bardo. After Cairo, it is Africa’s second largest museum. Due to proximity and thus politicians’ safety reasons only, this splendid collection of antiquities remained barred for three years until the very day I visit. By chance, I was approached within by Tunisian TV. They interviewed me and filmed while I gazed at superbly curated exhibits. It was easy to enthuse.

The capital Tunis, sprawls along a lake with flamingos. I wander through the medina’s colourful markets and try cactus fruit, and mint tea from filigree pots, served with sesame cookies. Coastal homes and gardens are gloriously intense. September temperatures are 37° Celsius and beyond.

Nearby, I explore the extensive ruins of Carthage. This once wealthy maritime centre inspired poetry, and mythology. It existed for more than 500 years before its fall to Rome in 146 BC. It has one of the world’s largest historical amphitheatres, built in 238 AD for a capacity of over 30,000, and still used for theatre and concerts. If you have any lust to forge an empire, look upon these magnificent but dusty ruins, and ponder how time mocks egoic obsessions.

Tunisia ranks among the world’s top three olive oil exporters. The cuisine is a mixture of Mediterranean and Berber influences. Couscous is spicy with harissa, or sweet with orange, dates, and geranium. Brik are triangular filo parcels filled with fresh, local tuna, and preserved lemon. Zingy Merguez sausages come fragrant with sumac, fennel, garlic, and chili. For sweets enjoy bambalouni, fried dough rings soaked in honey. Or their version of makroudh: semolina dough wrapped around a thick paste of figs and almonds.

MALTA

After the dusty clamour of North Africa, Malta is clean, calm, discretely prosperous, easy and safe to traverse. It’s like a Sicilian Riviera with British infrastructure. Children starting school must learn Maltese and English. By middle school it is mandatory to study at least one other language. There is a lot of Italian speech, food, and relaxed vibe.

In area, Malta is about the size of Christchurch. It is one of 21 small islands, with 18 of them not much more than tiny, barren rocks. The main island has no lakes or rivers, but beams with 300 days of sunshine. Carob, olive, and fig trees flourish. The beauty and climate have made it a hub for the wealthy and some impressive yachts.

Historically, it has been part of almost every nearby civilisation. A home to Phoenicians, Carthaginians, Romans, Byzantines, Arabs, Normans, Spanish, French, and lastly British. Its strategic location and natural harbour made it a fought for prize.

Malta’s golden age story is told through its baroque architecture, especially enhanced and protected by the Knights of St John for 250 years. This still active, medieval Catholic military order, built hospitals, and fed the poor. The Holy Roman Emperor, in 1530, rewarded them with sovereign rights over the island. In return, the Order made a token annual rent of a live falcon.  This payment was immortalized in the Humphrey Bogart movie, The Maltese Falcon. The territory gained independence in 1964.

I stay in the walled World Heritage capital, Valletta. Overlooking the magnificent harbour, the Barrakka Gardens were created as a private idyll for the Knights of Italy in 1661. They are full of busts, statues, and colonnades. Structured over two levels, there is a lift from the waterfront that swiftly goes up 58 metres.

Stroll through markets and find WW II memorabilia, glass blowing, and ornate lace work. I sail to the stunning Blue Grotto, weaving through its caves, and sweeping limestone arches over radiant turquoise waters.

Thanks to the excellent Valletta Street Food and Culture Walking Tour, I snack on the local favourite of pastizzi: flaky pastry stuffed with spiced peas. We have coffee mixed with orange peel and aniseed liqueur, served with a cookie, dark with treacle and honey. Other specialties are peppered sheep cheese, horsemeat (looks and tastes like beef), pies with spinach and anchovies, and prickly pear liqueur. The national dish is Stuffat tal-Fenek: rabbit and vegetables, stewed slowly in red wine.

Narrow streets run steeply to the sea. Many are profuse with restaurant tables and convivial diners. Everywhere are glimpses of effortless beauty. With this final gracious chapter, there is a mixture of joy and relief. My health and possessions have survived. Now 30°, I head for the pool and then packing. It is time to prepare for one of the world’s most popular destinations: home.    

Food, Politics and Peril: En Route to Antarctica

In contrast to the stark, white world of Antarctica ahead, I spend a few weeks travelling on my own to four South American countries that are new to me, in a tidy arc from west to east. Months of online tuition helps revive my Spanish.

First, to Chile. The flight follows the long, snowy spine of the Andes. We land in a hot bath of 32 degrees shared with 8 million Santiago-ans.

I book a taxi at the airport and have difficulty finding it. A female police officer comes over to help. She says I am speaking to too many strangers and this is dangerous. Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore.

This crazily thin country runs from the waist of the continent to its toes – almost 3 times the length of New Zealand. Home to ancient forests, volcanoes, fjords, ski resorts, sand dunes, an abundance of seafood and wine – and the world’s most extreme 9.6 earthquake ever recorded.

I do a day tour of Valparaiso. This foggy, hilly, San Francisco-like city is on the coast and filled with poets and painters, sailors and sex workers. Its street art is considered the best in the continent. There is a maze of steep streets, crumbling mansions and eccentric charm. Stores feature local lapis lazuli and our jolly eleven global travellers share food, sites, D&M conversations, and wine tastings.

Our guide, Diego, is a school teacher who must work two jobs to merely get by. Locals often speak of this and politics too are frequently discussed. Natalie, a smart, young Melbourne lawyer on our tour, comments on the contrast of how apolitical she and most of her peers are. This can be an unquestioned luxury when times are comfortable. Illustratively, on the bus ride back, large trucks start to block the motorway as a government protest. We just manage to squeeze past before gridlock.

In Santiago I stay in the old, cosmopolitan area. Filled with gracious plazas, museums with Mayan columns, innovative art galleries, and a central station designed by Gustave Eiffel. The Museum of Memory and Human Rights is especially poignant. The exhibits tell the story of the abuses and ‘disappearances’ during the military government’s brutal control from the 1970s to the 1990s. Paving stones on some streets have the names of those known to be tortured and executed. Many have their ages inscribed as just 16 or 20. Some Westerners accuse their governments of being totalitarian. Criticise sure, but consider such stories as these to clarify your definitions.

On the street and in cafes there is eel soup; the largest cherries I’ve ever seen; chicken stew with walnut sauce; potato bread fried in pork lard; dried horsemeat; stuffed and braided intestines; desserts and beverages made with corn kernels; corn husks filled with vegetables and basil; shrimp, mullet, crab, oyster, octopus and abalone dishes. Food is history and culture on a plate.

Before any overseas travel, I check out the World’s 50 Best Restaurant list. This year there are two in South America. When visiting Peru in 2017 I went to one, Central, which is currently ranked #2 in the world. Borago is now also on the list. This biodynamic farm is at the foot of one of the country’s highest mountains and achieves zero-kilometre cooking. Many courses are served on hot or cold rocks. One savoury starter looks convincingly like a slice of garnished chocolate cake. The shiny, uniform, dark exterior is actually moulded, aged venison. Inside is a vertical, heavily seeded cracker to provide upright structure and gateau-like crunch. Earthy, yet elegant and deft with surprise.

This year’s MasterChef New Zealand TV show had the local chef, Vaughan Mabee, as a host and judge. He is also the nephew of a yoga friend. I contacted him via Facebook and said how impressed I was to hear that he used to work at Noma in Copenhagen (world’s #1 restaurant for several years). I mentioned being booked for Borago. Vaughan said he is good friends with chef and owner Rudolfo. Small world!

Bolivia has the world’s most dangerous road. Rough, lined with rocks, the narrow passage crumbles toward a dizzying precipice. I leave Santa Cruz airport in a taxi and have a much scarier experience.

It is a mood challenging 41 degrees. Everywhere there is dirt, dust and neglect. Soon comes menace. Milling crowds are angry and despairing. Many are in the middle of the road and wave homemade weapons at us and other cars. My taxi is stopped and an angry man pounds on my window with a machete. At first, there seems to be no logic to this. Their argument is with the government and a proposed two year delay to the census. This might sound perplexingly trivial, but the census results are used to direct social spending. For related, politically fraudulent reasons, almost no one in Bolivia knows what the actual population is. Crazy. Today, passing drivers just happen to be more accessible for wrath than politicians. Also, throughout all these countries, what stirs general turmoil, eventually gets government attention.

I crouch low so I’m not mistaken as some symbol of foreign oppression. The driver manoeuvres like he’s doing Formula One, ploughing through several red lights and makeshift road blockades of rubbish bags and tree stumps. Buildings are set afire. Never before have I landed in a country and seriously considered immediate escape. There is no safe option though but to move forward fast.

My boutique hotel is a sanctuary in the city centre. I am not keen to leave until I am too hungry not to. Downtown is quiet. There is the poise of its Baroque architecture, though many buildings are in chronic disrepair and slough ruinously over the pavement. I stuff money in my bra and leave a little in my pocket as a decoy, in case I get stopped. Two fellow tourists I speak to, had their phones taken off them. Writing this, I feel more like a war correspondent than a tourist. It’s a dramatic travel story, as long as you get home to recount it.

Over 60% of the population is of indigenous descent. Music, dance, weaving with vicuna wool, and other textile arts and crafts are radiantly diverse. There are vast natural resources and a sparse population. Yet political crisis, social stratification, and electoral fraud make poverty and protests a way of life.

When dining, tripe is popular; lamb intestines; anticucho snacks of grilled beef heart; and soup made with vegetables, rice, and bull’s penis (the national hangover cure). Or you might prefer the regional pancakes with cloves; or bunuelo – a fritter-doughnut cross, sticky with aniseed syrup.

A patient contacts me. I urge her to await my return, but she is very concerned about her son. Despite wifi flickering like candlelight, we manage a video chat consultation. The modern world.

Bolivia can bring to mind images of bright garb, bowler hats and deserts with salt mines. Strikingly different is the relaxed and tropical east. Seated along cobbled streets, people listen to the music of the lowlands and drink chicha – a fermented corn drink. 500 acres of botanical gardens are filled with a sea of fragrances, towering orchids (Bolivia has about 3,000 species), swarms of butterflies, wandering sloths and large tortoises. Not far away in rugged, wild terrain – where Che Guevara once hiked – are pumas and bears. Beauty and danger mingle.

At the heart of the continent and beyond the usual gringo trail is steamy Paraguay. After the turmoil and rubble of Santa Cruz, I want to kiss the tarmac of capital city, Asuncion.

My hotel has a glorious pool, dependable aircon and wifi, and other worthy markers of civilisation. There are craft workshops and stalls, vibrancy and squalor, and, thanks to early British engineers, South America’s first railway. The country is resoundingly Catholic. Military service is mandatory. History is told through a succession of dictators with sprinkles of democracy. The Irish harp (originally an Egyptian invention) became the national instrument and is used to passionately play what they call polka. All culture is fusion.

I stroll through the city centre and get asked by police where I am going and why, as – guess what – there is a street protest nearby. About 65% of the population is under 30, which the teeming night life confirms. In rural areas there are Jesuit ruins; stealthy jaguar; isolated Mennonite communities; toucans and other bright, squawky look-at-me birds. I travel by taxi rather than bus, as armed robberies can occur on public transport. Not just the wildlife prowls with potential peril.

I delight in manioc bread; hot maize pudding with onion; yuca empanada; cassava patties; hot chipa rolls made with corn and peanuts; banana leaves filled with cheese and egg pie; and refreshing, cold yerba mate tea. For dinner, I eat at Bolsi, a popular restaurant since the 60s, and have two small, though filling courses and a glass of local wine for NZ$13.

In each country I book a 2 to 4 hour walking, history tour. Guru Walks offers thousands of these in over 100 countries. There is no fee and payments are based on tips. Great entrepreneurialism. It is lovely to meet many well informed and passionate guides, plus engaging fellow travellers. Here, as elsewhere, some of the young women participants say they are inspired by my solo travels. Nice for an old gal to get the nod. The world has dangers, but far more fellowship.

Finally, to South America’s smallest country. Uruguay is wedged like a round, seaside ball between the vastness of Brazil and Argentina. The population is only 3.5 million.

Before I travel, I register with the NZ Ministry of Foreign Affairs’ Safe Travel site. They keep track of citizens abroad and send notice of political and natural dangers. Everywhere else on this itinerary (and previous ones in Africa and the Middle East) comes accompanied with strong warnings about crime and political instability.  In contrast, Uruguay is progressive, stable and sophisticated. The life expectancy and literacy rates are among the highest in Latin America.

The temperature drops 10 degrees to a more comfortable 23. I leave the airport in the first clean – and most expensive – cab of this trip (as soon as I get free wifi then I use Uber).  Montevideo, the capital, looks prosperous and well tended. Prices are commensurate. What buys a glamorous hotel stay in Asuncion is more like youth hostel territory here. There are occasional homeless men, but no strings of families living on the pavement, nursing infants under sheets of plastic called home.

It is a ferry ride next door to Buenos Aires, Argentina. Uruguay is like a humbler ‘Canada’ to its brasher neighbour. I join a walking tour of the old port, glorious beaches, artisan markets, antiques, museum, plaza, and a food market with over 100 stalls and eateries. You can walk for hours along the stunning Rambla walkway that hugs the sea. The arts – both traditional and innovative – are a strong part of their culture and pride. In 2013 it was the first country to fully legalise cannabis.

Our fun, young, local guide (who worked in Queenstown for 4 years) tell us that Uruguay is the least corrupt country in South America – though he adds with a chuckle, that is a low bar achievement. There is a strong feminist and LGBTQ+ community. Most people describe themselves as secular and it is illegal for government institutions to promote religion. Officially and amusingly, Christmas is thus “Family Day”, while Easter is “Tourism Week”. Meanwhile stores look as traditionally festive as ours.

There is a museum dedicated to the famous Andean plane crash of 1972. It was immortalised by the book and later movie, Alive, with its tales of heroism, desperate cannibalism, and – after 72 sub-zero days – the unexpected return of 16 survivors. I well remember the news and global, water-cooler, moral discussions that ensued.

Later there is an evening tour that includes dinner and Tango dancing. Good thing I’ve been taking Tango lessons most of the year. Ole! It’s how today’s seniors roll, baby.

Outside the main centres there are hot springs, horseback riding and gauchos. I enjoy seaweed fritters; chickpea flatbread; and steak sandwich piled high with toppings.

All these countries are soccer-mad (games are broadcast at almost every café) and meat-mad, especially for beef. Their papaya is so deeply orange that it looks caramelised. Coffee and wine are dependably good. Some type of barbeque, empanada and chili sauce are everywhere. As well as creamy, caramel dulche de leche perhaps served as a pudding; slice; or a filling for cakes, meringues, churros or cookies, or a spread for toast. I take some home for the grandchildren to try. Here in Uruguay, it is also served with quince tart for breakfast. I manage to cope.

These lands are warm and boisterous with Latino life and centuries of culture. They are a staggering contrast to my journey’s next phase and the white temple of sacred silence that is Antarctica. Even in temperature, I must pack for the extremes of 41 degrees above to 38 degrees below.

Or so I think.

Three days before the Viking cruise is due to assemble and depart, a giant rogue wave damages the ship on the previous sailing as it nears port. The Drake Passage is listed as one of the world’s worst 5 bodies of water for dangerous seas. Broken windows kill one passenger and injure four more. Unusually, a few weeks previous, another company had two people die when a wave overturned their Zodiac landing craft. My cruise is cancelled with a full refund. Tragic for some and so disappointing for me.

I’ve been a wasteful, slow developer in this regard, but in the last few years I finally learned not to catastrophise. Ah, the more pleasant sanity of acceptance followed by action. I manage to book earlier flights home – at a cost. This will be an interesting test of my travel insurance. I have a few days in the graceful elegance of Buenos Aires. I, and life’s opportunities, move on.

Humans are notoriously poor at risk perception. Cruises and air travel have a death rate of 1 in 11 million. Our most likely form of accident of any type is being near a moving car, with a rate of 1 in 5 thousand. Hmm.

Onward huskies to another day, another year, when I will visit the seventh continent.