The Lost World of Venezuela: Climbing Auyantepui

The wet, slanted face of the boulder looks treacherous. To make matters worse, the bottom edge hangs over a precipitous drop-off with nothing below but air. I’m not sure how I am going to work my way up its slippery surface. As Alejandro reaches his hand out to help me, my boots slip and I slide out of sight. For what seems like an eternity, I am in free fall, not sure how far I will fall or what I will land on when I hit bottom.

It was the third day of an 8 day trek up, on and down Auyan Tepui, the largest of the table top mountains of Venezuela (tepui means “house of the gods” in the language of the indigenous Pemon people). There are over 100 tepuis in SE Venezuela, ancient sandstone mesas that jut thousands of feet straight up from the jungle and savannahs below. The most famous tepui is Mt. Roraima, supposedly the inspiration for Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s “The Lost World.” Auyan Tepui is larger, more difficult to climb and receives far fewer visitors. It is also the source of Angel Falls, the world’s highest waterfall at 3000 feet. Since the tepuis are very old, the flora and fauna that have evolved on the tops of the tepuis are very different than those in the jungles and savannahs below. In fact, the tepuis are like islands in the sky, so each one has plants and animals unique to itself. One of the things they all have in common, though, is that there are no dinosaurs despite the fanciful speculations of Sir Arthur.

My wife Katherine and I were invited here by the owners of Venezuela Elite – a tour company offering trekking, mountain biking, yoga and other trips in the region – to “show Americans that there is more to Venezuela than Hugo Chavez and Miss World” (http://www.venezuelaelite.com/). We only visited one region in our 16 day trip, Canaima National Park, and only Auyan Tepui (the focus of this story), the Gran Sabana and Angel Falls, but from what we saw in those 16 days, their claim is well justified.

Day 1: Up!
Katherine passed on the tepui trek and opted instead for a car-based tour of waterfalls, indigenous villages, and the Gran Sabana – the huge savannah that takes up much of SE Venezuela. In the first hour of the trek I wasn’t sure that she hadn’t made the smartest choice. After flying in a 4-seat, single engine plane to Uruyen – a tourist camp on the edge of the savannah that is the staging point for our trek – and watching our six Pemon porters distribute and pack the load, we were ready to begin.

Auyan Tepui loomed several miles in the distance, forming a backdrop for Uruyen and the broad, flat savannah leading to the trail. The tepui is layered like a cake with a steep jungle-clad slope leading to a sheer rock wall, topped by another savannah. The entire tepui seemed to consist of three such layers. Getting to the top of the first layer was the goal for our first day of trekking.

The plan was to get to the top, an elevation gain of over 6000,’ by lunch on the third day. Since we were starting in late afternoon, that would add up to slightly less than two full days of climbing. The total distance we would cover in the 7.5 days of the trek was about 23 miles. It didn’t take a calculator to figure out that this was going to be a steep, difficult trek .

The first part was easy. To save a couple of miles and an hour of walking during the hottest part of the day we rode in a truck over the savannah to the base of the tepui. Then we forded a stream and walked a few hundred yards to the hill that marks the base of the tepui. “So far, so good,” I thought.

The porters, carrying 30-40 pounds apiece and wearing flip flops, made it look easy. My two guides – Alejandro, one of the owners, and Eduardo, one of his most trusted guides – were also carrying full packs and seemed to barely break a sweat. But after about 10-15 minutes, carrying just a small day pack with a rain shell and lots of water, I was breathing heavier than I had in years. The late afternoon sun beat down on me and the oppressive humidity began to take its toll. I was about ready to give up.

I stopped to catch my breath and wipe the sweat out of my eyes and told the guys, “I’m not sure I can do this.” Eduardo ensured me that I could and suggested that I slow down my pace. That did the trick. After an hour and 45 minutes we were at the top of the first escarpment looking back to see how far we had come.

The view was breathtaking across the wide and deep savannah below, punctuated with clumps of jungle and the geometrical silhouettes of other tepuis in the distance. No signs of civilization, no trails other than our own, no houses, no wires, no wispy airplane entrails. The only footprints were our own.

Forty five minutes later we made it to our first camp. We took a dip in the first of many streams warm enough to slide into but cool enough to refresh. After a surprisingly sumptuous dinner I crawled into my tent and sleeping bag for our first night on the slopes of the tepui. It was only 8 pm. I felt content and hopeful, thinking as I drifted off to sleep that maybe I could do this after all.

Day 2: Further Up!
The next day the climb continued. This was the steepest, rockiest trail I had ever climbed. It’s actually not much of a trail at all, just an uneven staircase of rocks, boulders and roots through the jungle, only occasionally, but mercifully, broken up by a relatively flat stretch of sandy trail across the savannah to the next staircase through the jungle. Along the way branches scraped my arms and legs as I passed by and vines grabbed at my ankles.

The only thing that distracted me from the sheer effort of climbing and the concentration needed to avoid a misstep through this ankle-crunching, knee-twisting mine field of rocks and roots was the thought that as difficult as this was, it would be nothing compared to coming down, especially on my bad knees.

Day 3: To the Top and Beyond
The last stretch to the top was one challenge after another. The first part involved another long, steep climb through the jungle, then we picked our way over and through a maze of large roots until we reached the base of the last wall, an escarpment of sheer rock several hundred feet high. The trail led up a gully through a break in the wall between a large rock spire on the outside and the rock wall on the inside. This was the “Enchanted Garden,” a corridor of boulders and lush ferns and other flora, like an exotic, giant rock garden. To make things really interesting, at several points we had to use fixed ropes – “rope passes” – to pull ourselves up the faces of the largest and steepest rocks. The overall effect was like a combination of a jungle gym, playground and obstacle course, with incredible scenery!

I was so absorbed by the challenge, and having a great time doing it, that I was surprised when Alejandro informed me that we are on the top. I made it! I was almost sorry it was over. Then it started to rain, hard. The water had no ground to sink into so the rivulets of rain in the rock soon turned into streams, then rivers. The rock surface became very slick, and we picked our way carefully over the slippery surface for the next two hours. I did OK, falling only once, until we were within a half mile of our campsite.

It was when we were negotiating a particularly difficult jumble of rocks that I slipped and slid down the rock, out of sight. A retrospective of my life did not flash before my eyes, but I did have enough time to realize I was in serious trouble. But instead of crumbling, broken, on a pile of rocks, I plopped thankfully into a moss-lined pool of water!

After patting myself down in a search for broken bones and looking around for a place for a rescue helicopter to land, I realized I was unhurt except for a couple of sore ribs, but I was visibly shaken. We soon found another way through the boulders, only slightly less hairy, and made it to our campsite a few minutes later. I was happy to see that the campsite was protected from the rain by a huge slab of overhanging rock. That night I slept fitfully, constantly trying to find a comfortable position that spared my sore ribs.

Days 4 and 5: Resting and Testing
We decided to stay at our protected campsite for a couple of days to take time to recover, test my ribs and explore the area within a couple of miles of our camp. The landscape looked like Mars -- black, craggy sandstone cut into rough, bizarre shapes by wind and rain, broken up with patches of low bushes and shrub. The plain that stretched out before our camp was actually a valley between two continuous sandstone cliffs on each side. The vast view across the rocky plain was cut through with cracks and canyons where rivers run, eventually turning into waterfalls. Tannins from the bushes and shrubs on the banks stain the rivers bright orange. The raw, mysterious beauty seemed to change by the minute as the sun came out, mist drifted through the canyons, clouds rolled in and rain transformed the channels in the rocks into temporary rivers.

This the place where we come across the only other people we saw since we started – a party of six surly Russians, with porters. The apparent leader was a broad-browed Neanderthal wearing camos with cut off sleeves, straight out of a Robert Ludlum novel. His fashion model girl friend was dressed in a see-through net top, a long duster and a stylish over-the-shoulder handbag more appropriate for night clubbing in Moscow than climbing a tepui.

We learned later from their porters that one of them was carrying a gun. We noticed that he was always separate from the others, keeping at a distance where he could watch them and see anything or anybody that approached (dinosaurs, assassins, CIA agents?). We guess that he was a body guard and that the broad-browed guy was a high up in the Russian military taking a break from his negotiations with Chavez over the sale of arms. From his unfriendly demeanor we figured that we were not supposed to see him…

Days 6-7: Back to the Brink, Then Down…and Down!
On our last day on the top we headed back to where we emerged a few days before from the Enchanted Garden and reached the top of the wall. It was a relatively easy hike with just a few steep sections and rope passes. We camped almost on the edge, and by leaning close to the edge, we were able to see the trail through the Enchanted Garden. The ghostly shapes of the rock spires framing the route peeked through, then faded in the drifting mist. We could see the tops of other tepuis in the distance floating above the clouds. Occasional breaks in the clouds revealed the entire tableau of jungle slopes leading down to the savannah below.

Early the next morning we started our descent. The plan was to descend in two days what it took three days to climb. I guess for most people that makes sense since it is generally easier going down than up. But on my bad knees this was possibly the most grueling day of hiking in my life to that point. It was a very steep, muddy and rocky descent that required constant focus on each step. We had to climb over and around large rocks and slippery roots that were ready to trap and break errant ankles. I ran out of gas by mid afternoon. Even though we were 2-3 hours short of our goal for the day, I just couldn’t go on. We stopped for the day at another campsite protected by a rock overhang. It was a good thing we did since it poured all night.

Day 8: The Big Finish
An even longer and more grueling day; about 11 hours of tough downhill hiking. But I was in a better state of mind since I knew what I was in for, and I also knew that it was the last day. My wife and a shower waited for me at the end. We kept up a good pace throughout the day, but we still didn’t reach the top of the first escarpment until late afternoon. We could see our goal – the long valley leading to Uruyen and the road where the truck would pick us up. But it was still 2-3 hours away.

As we got closer to the end, we really started to hustle. The sun was setting, the fireflies were out and all I could think of was the stream we had to cross at the end, the one we had picked our way across rock by rock on Day 1. How was I going to do that in the dark? I went all out like I was finishing a race in a desperate attempt to get to the river before it grew completely dark. I felt like a runner entering the final lap at the end of a marathon – lots of people around (mostly the porters and guides) cheering (actually shouting instructions). I remember someone telling me to forget walking across the stream on the stones, just step in the water. No need to worry about wet boots at this point. One of the porters guided me across, bracing me in case of a misstep.

I made it across without a problem. Only a hundred yards or so to the car. It was almost completely dark now except for the fireflies and the silhouettes of three figures above us on the road. One silhouette looked familiar as it moved toward me in the dark, and then I heard, “Mankin, you made it.” Katherine ran up to me and we embraced in a very sweaty hug. Only one other thing came close to matching that moment – the ice cold can of beer that Eduardo took out of the cooler in the back of the truck and passed to me in celebration.

On The River To Angel Falls

The old man’s eerie monotone chant rose into the star-speckled sky, along with the embers from the large bonfire. He beat on the drum under his arm as the crackle of the fire provided counterpoint. The shadow of the flames flickered against the wall of the jungle surrounding us.

We were in a camp on the edges of the village of Kamarata in the remote reaches of SE Venezuela. Kamarata is one of the principal villages of the Pemon people, the indigenous Amerindian people of the savannahs and tepuis (table top mountains) for which this region is known. This was the first day of our 4 day river trip to the legendary Angel Falls, the world’s highest waterfall at over 3000.’

My wife Katherine and I were invited here by the owners of the tour company Venezuela Elite (http://www.venezuelaelite.com/) to “show Americans that there is more to Venezuela than Hugo Chavez and Miss World.” We only visited Canaima National Park in our two week trip -- particularly Auyan Tepui , the Gran Sabana and Angel Falls -- but from what we saw in those 16 days, their claim is well justified.

During the first eight days of the trip I trekked up, on and down Auyan Tepui, the largest of the table top mountains in SE Venezuela (see http://www.yourlifeisatrip.com/ for an account of that trip) while my wife, Katherine, toured the Gran Sabana. For the remainder of the trip we would ride in a “curiara,” an indigenous dugout canoe, to Angel Falls.

Before heading to Angel Falls, the plan was to spend a day with the Pemon people of Kamarata, a village in the heart of the park. Although all of the porters on my trek were Pemon, this would be the first opportunity to meet them where they lived.

We spent much of the day watching a woman make casaba, the cracker-like staple made from the yucca plant. We ate it hot off the grill while it was still chewy and moist with home made kumachi, an indigenous hot sauce that is as fierce as anything this chile-loving chowhound has ever eaten.

While watching and munching, I talked, via translation by our guide, with the woman’s husband, a teacher, about his and his colleague’s efforts to preserve their traditional culture – making casaba and pottery, practicing traditional medicine, and preserving the stories and songs that are the heart and soul of their oral tradition. The setting -- the backyard of his home with his wife making casaba, his young daughters playing, and the savannah, tepuis and waterfalls as background – made the experience seem even more intimate. I felt completely immersed in the moment and the place.

Our cultural immersion continued with a visit to another house to watch a woman, a locally renown potter, make a bowl in the traditional Pemon method and style. The day was capped off by a barbeque with the porters from my Auyan Tepui trip, who all lived in or near the village, and the haunting, strangely moving singing of the “old man” (at 66 he was two years younger than me!). We went to sleep in hammocks with mosquito netting under the thatched roof of the churuata, an open sided indigenous hut. This was our first of four nights sleeping in hammocks. It took a while to get used to it, but I eventually drifted off and slept like a baby.

For the next two days, nine of us, including a 4 man boat crew, made our way down the Akanan and Carrao rivers in a sturdy dugout canoe with, in the only apparent concession to modernity, a large outboard motor. Other than three other canoes, without outboard motors, and an occasional churuata, there were few signs of “civilization” on or along the river. But we did see swarms of butterflies and lots of birds including cormorants, parrots, toucans, kingfishers, egrets, vultures, hawks and swifts.

We usually made camp by lunchtime. Campsites were rustic, but roomy and comfortable. The thatched roofs of the churuatas shielded us from the sun and rain. We had the campsites completely to ourselves. Late in the afternoon, as the storm clouds built up on the tepuis, the guides served us hot tea and snacks. We watched the late afternoon downpours from the comfort of our churuatas.

The second campsite was my favorite, a spacious pavilion situated about 20 feet above the river with a large, almost luxurious covered deck. We spent most of the afternoon on that deck gazing at the panorama before us -- the river and jungle, of course, but especially the majestic tepuis on both sides of the river including the one I had climbed just a few days before, Auyan Tepui.

We were close enough to see cracks in the 3000’ sheer rock walls that jutted out of the jungle. They looked, in Katherine’s words, like “the ramparts of massive prehistoric castles” – dark, gothic, and imposing. Wildly shaped clouds swirled around the tops, and the waterfalls looked like pencil thin lines of white against the black rock. I counted at least 15 waterfalls. We sat there for hours, reading, scanning the tepuis and waterfalls through our binoculars, and watching a cormorant silently skim the tree tops in front of us.

The last full day of our trip featured a wild ride up the Churun River to Angel Falls. The walls of Auyan Tepui closed in around us as we neared the falls. We headed into the mouth of a narrowing canyon, bashed against the current through the rapids and skirted the huge boulders that had thundered down over the years from the walls of the tepui. We saw many waterfalls along the way. Then we caught a glimpse of the big one. Angel Falls in all of its vaunted vertical glory loomed through a break in the trees across the river as we pulled into camp.

After setting up camp, we ferried across the river and hiked through the jungle, then up a steep rocky trail to the overlook for a full frontal, top to bottom view of Angel Falls. It was less than a kilometer away, but it’s full-throated presence made it seem much closer. We not only heard and saw it, we felt it -- the spray, of course, but also the wind from the air displaced by the plunging water. We leaned back and tracked globes of water as they fell from the top of the falls until they vaporized before reaching the bottom. We sat there held in its thrall until we were cold and wet, then lingered a few minutes more.

Back at camp at sunset, we sat and watched the sky change color above the falls, listening to the exotic cackle of parrots across the river. An hour later we fell asleep to the music of its distant roar.

Cambodia Off the Beaten Track

Our narrow wooden boat churns upstream powered by what looks like a motor from a small lawn mower. The wide, almost empty river is straight out of “Apocalypse Now.” I feel vaguely like Martin Sheen looking for Colonel Kurtz as I scan the sparsely populated river banks. The small boat has barely enough room for the four of us -- my wife Katherine, our guide, the operator and me.

We are heading to a small, isolated village buried in the jungle about 45 minutes up a tributary of the Mekong River, deep in the heart of Ratanakiri province, a mountainous region in the far northeastern corner of Cambodia. This is as far away from our home in Los Angeles as you can get in this world -- geographically, culturally, and in pretty much any other way you can imagine.

The village we are visiting is home to the ethnic minority people known as the Tompuon, one of the most isolated groups of people I have ever seen – no TV, internet, electricity, or modern sanitation. They survive by cutting timber, growing rice, raising pigs and chickens, and selling trinkets to the few tourists who come their way.

The Tompuon inter their dead in the jungle less than a hundred yards from the village in small pavilions guarded by carved, life-sized wooden figures representing the people buried there, usually a husband and wife. The figures and pavilions are often decorated with objects that reveal something about the deceased – drums for a musician, a figure wearing glasses, and in one case, an electric fan, a curious artifact in a community where the only electricity is provided by car batteries recharged every few days by a diesel-powered generator.

Ratanikiri is not easy to get to. As of this writing there is no domestic air service anywhere in the country other than flights between Siem Reap (the closest town to the ruins at Angkor) and the capital city of Phnom Penh. It takes two days to drive from Phnom Penh, much of it over rough dirt roads, to get to Ban Lung, the provincial capital and the closest town of any size to the Tompuon village. Fortunately, we did not have to do any driving since we had a driver and a guide/interpreter for most of our 15 day trip (NOTE -- We booked this custom tour through Asianventure Tours, http://www.asianventure.com/).

Travelers who make the effort to get here will see that there is more to Cambodia than Angkor Wat and the Killing Fields. Ratanakiri has much to offer besides strange cemeteries and bad roads. The province is also home to other ethnic minority communities, a bustling market that offers a colorful array of local handicrafts and often unrecognizable food, and numerous waterfalls. The closest waterfall to Ban Lung, Chaa Ong, is the most inviting. A short walk through the forest and down some stairs leads to a rocky ledge behind the falls where you can view the jungle-fringed gorge below through a gauzy veil of crashing water and hanging, dripping roots.

Of course we couldn’t leave Cambodia without visiting ruins and temples. Since Katherine and I had already visited Angkor Wat and the other ruins that comprise the famous Angkor complex 10 years earlier, our plan was to focus on several newly-accessible and lesser known sites on the way to Siem Reap as well as sites in the outlying area.

Getting there was half the fun. It took three days. We drove part of the way along the mighty Mekong, stopping to take a sunset boat ride in Kratie to see the rare freshwater Irawaddy dolphins, and past blocks of crumbling colonial French buildings in the riverside village of Chhlong. Outside of the towns and villages, we drove through watery fields of rice, sparkling in the sun, with water buffalo soaking in muddy ponds to escape the heat.

We also stopped at several temples and ruins along the way, varying greatly in terms of style, period, degree of restoration, and function. Some were primarily of historical or archeological interest, such as the pre-Angkor Hindu ruins of Sambor Prei Kuk scattered throughout the forest. Other sites were of more recent origin and still in active use as Buddhist temples, such as the hill top pagoda of Phnom Santuk, which requires a sweaty but scenic climb up an 809 step stairway. We often had the sites almost completely to ourselves.

But it was the sites near Siem Reap that had the most impact. Beng Mealea, about an hour and half drive from Siem Reap, is dark, sprawling, overgrown, crumbling and remote. It looks like it is being slowly taken over by the jungle. Trees, branches, roots and vines encircle collapsed walls and roofs. I felt like a character in an action-adventure-fantasy movie (a Lara Croft with less testosterone?) climbing over piles of rubble from one room, hallway and courtyard to another. Again our timing was perfect, just before sunset, so hardly anyone else was there for most of our visit.

Closer to Siem Reap in distance but even further away in historical time is the Roluos Group. Dating back to the 9th Century, these sites predate the larger monuments of Angkor and served as their inspiration. It was here at the Bakong, the largest of the group and the last stop in our whirlwind tour, that I finally got it. With help from our guide, I began to see how the designs and artifacts of the Bakong were adopted, modified and enhanced in the imaginations of those who came after them to create the grandeur of the Angkor empire. His words morphed the crude chiseled carvings and stone-stacked towers of the Bakong into the more intricate filigrees and soaring structures of Angkor Wat, Angkor Thom, and Banteay Srei.

The highlight was a visit to a school on the road to Koh Ker, a very remote site in northern Cambodia near the border with Thailand that had only recently been partially cleared of land mines. Once again we were back on very rough roads in an area with little tourist traffic. Visiting a school was on our itinerary, but where and when we stopped was up to us and our guide. We were prepared with a gift, a world atlas in English with lots of illustrations.

Although he wasn’t expecting us, the teacher graciously tolerated the intrusion and seemed grateful for our gift. Most of the kids gawked in amazement, not sure what to make of us. Without electricity for TV and computers and situated far off the beaten tourist track, most of them had probably never seen a Westerner before. Their faces – some shy, most staring in wonder, others playing towards our cameras as if they were ready for Hollywood, all unbearably cute -- made me teary. My memories and photos still do.

The bottom line – especially for anyone willing to venture off the beaten track -- is that Cambodia is not the easiest place to visit, but it is well worth the effort. The bad roads, noise, and endemic poverty are more than made up for by the gentle, good natured people, the charismatic children (even the ones constantly hawking post cards and scarves), and the hauntingly majestic sites. Cambodia will wrench you out of your everyday bubble and thrust you into another reality, making it all too clear just how different other parts of the world can be. In addition, the dollar goes far, the country is safe, and if you like your travel experiences seasoned with a hefty dose of weird, it doesn’t get much weirder than the life-like totems in the Tompuon cemetery or the tree-wrapped rubble of Beng Mealea.

Most important, the country has a fascinating, unsettling and complex history that will snap you out of your Western-centric complacency. From the ancient majesty of the Khmer Empire to the horrors of the Khmer Rouge and the poverty and corruption of the present day, Cambodia offers a sobering perspective on the rise and fall of civilizations. It makes you wonder if some future archeologist will one day sift through shards of plastic and metal in the remnants of our cities and towns and marvel at how advanced our own civilization once was and how far it had since fallen.

Moose and Mousse on the Gaspe Peninsula

(photos by Eric Brodnax)

The clang of crashing antlers echoed through the clear, cold mountain air as two huge moose butted heads just 50 yards away in the early morning sun peeking over the ridge in front of us. This was our reward for getting up at 5 am to hike a steep two uphill miles to this moose playground/battleground in the heart of the Gaspe Peninsula in the southeast corner of Quebec. It was the last day of our “familiarization” trip hosted by local tourism boards and tour companies to promote this relatively easy-to-get-to region that is as rugged as it is civilized.

While I watched this amazing wildlife tableau play out before me, I was still digesting my gourmet meal from the evening before – possibly the best smoked salmon I have ever had, a spicy clam and crab soup, veal in gorgonzola sauce, and a decidedly decadent chocolate mousse. Such is life on the Gaspe Peninsula -- wilderness and nature plus French food and culture without the inconvenience and expense of a trans-Atlantic flight.

The trip began with an afternoon canoe trip down the Bonaventure River on the southern coast of the Peninsula. The sky was clear and the air was brisk as we paddled down the fast flowing river and bounced through the benign rapids. There were just enough rocks and ripples to make it interesting. Our paddle ended as the setting sun turned the few wispy clouds into rosy streaks across the sky.

Our reward for braving the “wild” waters of the Bonaventure was an outstanding dinner, prepared and served by our hosts from CIME Aventures (www.cimeaventures.com) in their rustic but comfortable ecolodge -- grilled codfish in a miso marinade, soup made from oranges and root vegetables, beet salad with a ginger, garlic and Dijonnaise seasoning, barbequed salmon marinated in maple syrup and served with rice, almonds and cranberries, vodka and Malpèque oyster shots, and homemade apple pie. We were really roughing it! By now we were thoroughly immersed in the charm of the region -- the yin-yang combination of nature and French culture, especially the food.

Day 2 was more rigorous. After a drive of several hours to Gaspesie National Park in the interior of the Peninsula, we embarked on an 8 mile hike on the international extension of the Appalachian Trail in the Chic Choc mountains, guided by our hosts from Absolu EcoAventure (http://www.ecoaventure.com/). The trail snaked up and down over rocks and tree roots and -- since it was mid October, at the very end of the tourist season -- through patches of ice and grainy snow. We covered a total elevation gain of less than 1000 feet, but the ups and downs made it seem higher.

The views from the cliffs, outcroppings and the rocky mountain tops were well worth the effort. The Appalachians are one of the oldest mountain chains in the world. Originally thrusting 40,000 feet above sea level, they have been worn down by 480 million years of wind and rain, giving them a soft, rounded, ancient look. The view over the rolling, tree-covered hills and snow-dusted ridges and through the wide valleys to the St. Lawrence River evoked ancient connections and primal memories. I felt like I was looking at my prehistoric history, when my cellular ancestors were brewing in the vast waters of the earth, perhaps even in the very body of water I was looking at that very moment.

After the hike we checked into the picturesque Gite du Mont-Albert, a four star hotel with a zillion star restaurant in the heart of the park. Just as the gourmet meal and fine wine started to lull me into a relaxed sense of well being, our guides announced the plan for the next day – a well-before-dawn wake-up call to hike up a short but steep trail to watch the sun rise, and if we were lucky, see a couple of moose frolicking in their natural environment.

Only about half of us made the early morning wake up call. I was glad that I did. Watching those two moose bang antlers in the soft glow cast by the rising sun was pure magic. We saw over a dozen moose that morning – at least three adult males with big sets of antlers and several mothers with their kids. The setting was also spectacular – trees, rocks and rolling snow-covered hills with not a sign of civilization in sight other than the trail, a simple wooden viewing platform, and a handful of other, early rising hikers. There were also no sounds other than the clanging of the antlers, a high pitched keening from the youngsters, and our excited but hushed whispers.

As we descended the trail to head back, I stopped to gawk at one male with a big rack (not a phrase heard often in everyday life) just a few yards off the trail. When he started to move in my direction, I decided that it was time for me to also move, in the opposite direction. I’ve seen moose before – mostly in Newfoundland by the side of the highway – but rarely in their natural environment like this.

From there on, it was all downhill – literally. The hike down was easy and fast. We got back to the hotel in time for a fast cruise through the breakfast buffet and one last chance to immerse myself in the gustatory delights of the Gaspe Peninsula (with apologies to Homer Simpson, “hmmm, crepes, hmmm”). Then we hit the road. Since we had to catch a ferry to take us across the St. Lawrence, there wasn’t enough time for another leisurely gourmet meal, so we made a quick stop at a local market on the way. My knowledge of French, which consists of little more than “bon jour” and “merci,” (I pronounce it “mercy”) limited my choices to an already prepared, “to-go” sandwich of brie and beef on a crusty French roll topped with sautéed peppers. Somehow, I made do.

The Hidden Venice Beach: A Walking Tour in the City Where No One Walks

Someone once wrote that if you tip the United States on edge, everything that’s loose will slide down to Los Angeles. I would add, if you tipped Los Angeles on edge, it will all slide down to Venice Beach.

The best place to see all those loose odds and ends is the “boardwalk,” which has no boards but lots of asphalt. That is the Venice Beach known far and wide – the low rise mix of vintage buildings and radical modern architecture lining one side of the boardwalk and the vendors, entertainers, and champions of obscure causes with provocative signs -- “meat is murder” and “circumcision is worse” -- lining the other. And then there are the people walking along the boardwalk in outfits they would never wear at home.

Few visitors stray far from the boardwalk. Those who don’t miss the best show of all -- the other attractions that make Venice Beach the largest spontaneous outdoor theme park/playground and one of the most interesting communities in the world. To discover the hidden highlights of Venice Beach, just follow this easy, leisurely walking tour. It should take about three hours or more if you want to shop, linger, and eat, or less than three if you are in a hurry.

THE BEACH
The first stop is the beach, which begins just a few yards west of the boardwalk and extends for over 100 yards to the water’s edge. On the way to the beach, stop and check out the new skateboard park at the foot of Market Street and watch the boarders sail into the air, frozen in mid flight against a dramatic background of broad sandy beach, crashing waves, coastal mountains and big sky.

From here, you can take off your shoes and shuffle on the sand to the water. Most days the beach is almost empty except for a few sunbathers, surfers, or meditators gazing at the sailboats gliding off shore or, at the right time of year, dolphins playing in the breaking waves. Look south and you can usually see the outline of Santa Catalina Island in the distance; look north and you can get a better look at the background that framed the soaring skateboarders -- a beach curving around a vast bay all of the way to Malibu and beyond. Behind that, the Santa Monica Mountains taper down to the ocean. When visitors tell me that they think that Los Angeles is ugly, this is where I bring them to change their mind. I have never failed to do so.

CANALS
The next stop is the Venice canals. To get there head back to the boardwalk, then walk south past the basketball courts, paddle tennis courts and Muscle Beach. South of Venice Boulevard the boardwalk turns completely residential – no stores or stands selling T-shirts and sunglasses, no tattoo parlors, no entertainers, just some of the best architecture on the boardwalk, including a house designed by Frank Gehry, one of his earliest commissions. If you know anything about Frank Gehry, you can’t miss it; if you don’t, it’s the one with the faux life guard stand in the front on the second story. Enjoy the relative peace and quiet here, far from the hustle and bustle of the boardwalk several blocks to the north.

Turn left on 27th Avenue, a walk street (not actually a street, just a wide sidewalk between two rows of houses). At the end of the block carefully jaywalk across Pacific Avenue (disclaimer -- I am not responsible for jaywalking tickets, injuries or death). Follow the path on the other side of the street past the very large, very modern, high tech house with big windows – a hint of things to come – for a few yards until you reach the first of six canals. Once home to motorcycle gangs and drug dealers, this neighborhood is now an architectural showcase with some of the most expensive homes in Los Angeles.

Cross the bridge over the canal and head left. Wander along the canals at will, heading generally in a northeasterly direction. Walk up one canal, cross one of the rustic bridges, walk along the other side, cross another bridge, etc. There are no design constraints in Venice, other than height limits, setbacks and engineering requirements. This, coupled with the money, ego, hubris and imagination of the creative community that lives here -- screen writers, directors, producers, successful musicians and artists, and high end professionals -- produces a colorful and eclectic mosaic of architectural styles. The houses, canals and bridges, along with the flocks of ducks and geese that also make the canals their home, provide a picturesque and serene contrast to the crowds of vendors, entertainers, and tourists on the boardwalk.

INLAND WALK STREETS
After you have had enough quirky, cutting edge architecture head to the NE corner of the canals, at Carroll and Ocean Avenues. The next stop is the inland walk streets, a community even more hidden than the Venice canals. Walking along these walk streets is like strolling down an English country lane.

Although it is less than a half mile from the Venice canals, it requires an intricate, seemingly random walk to get there. To avoid getting lost, which wouldn’t be so bad since you would no doubt discover other interesting neighborhoods, just follow these directions.

1. Turn left on Ocean Avenue,
2. Walk one short block to Venice Boulevard,
3. Turn right and walk east along Venice for a couple of blocks to Abbott Kinney Boulevard (AKB).
4. Cross AKB, then turn left and cross Venice Boulevard
5. Walk along AKB for a couple of blocks. Take your time, note the restaurants, galleries, stores, etc.
6. Make a right on Palms Boulevard, walk a short distance on the right hand side of the street to Electric Avenue
7. Cross Electric Avenue, walk a few more yards, then start looking for the narrow pathway through the bushes and trees on your right.

This is Crescent Place, the portal to the inland walk streets. Tall trees and bamboo and overgrown ivy and bushes line the path on both sides and arch overhead. Turning down this path is like entering a wormhole into another universe, or falling into a rabbit hole like Alice on her way to wonderland. Follow Crescent until it ends one block later at Shell Avenue. Shell is marked by a landscaped traffic circle, but with little if any traffic, it is more like an urban park than a traffic circle. Turn right and follow Shell for a block or so until you see the beginning of another walk street, Marco Place, on your left.

This is when things really get magical. Marco, like all of the walk streets, is little more than a sidewalk lined on both sides by houses as architecturally diverse as those on the canals with striking, often whimsical gardens in front. Walk for two blocks until you get to Linden Avenue, make a left, cross Superba Avenue -- a real street, with cars -- then make a left when you get to the next walk street, Nowita Place. From this point on, you are heading back down two more blocks of walk streets to the no-traffic circle at Shell, then to Crescent Place, Palms Boulevard and eventually to Abbot Kinney Boulevard.

THE REST
Turn right and walk down AKB, checking out what are arguably the hippest galleries, restaurants, bars, cafes, and stores in Los Angeles. Walking up and down this street is a constant stream of young men and women tweeting on their Blackberries and IPhones.

After you have had your fill, turn west on Westminster Avenue and walk about three blocks to the boardwalk for the sunset (or walk another block on AKB and turn west on Brooks). If its Friday or Saturday, go to the roof-top lounge of the Hotel Erwin in the heart of Venice (1697 Pacific Avenue, one block from the beach, just south of Windward), appropriately named “High.” Here, you can have a pricey cocktail and observe the mating rituals of twenty and thirty somethings. In the ultimate triumph of hormones over aesthetic appreciation, they seem more interested in each other than the view.

I have been all over the world but this is still one of the most spectacular and memorable views I have ever seen – 80 feet above the madness of the Venice Boardwalk at the height of its insanity in the late afternoon on a clear, warm, weekend day. There may be better views, in more exotic locales. But I doubt that anywhere else in the world has as rich a stew of people, architecture and scenery that can be sampled so easily and leisurely as the one in Venice Beach.

Dental Tourism: Getting Drilled in Bangkok

It’s Colts 13, Houston 0 as the half winds down. My wife and I are watching Peyton Manning lead the Colts to yet another NFL victory on a big flat screen TV. Nothing strange about this, except its Wednesday afternoon and we are sitting in the lobby of the Dental Hospital in the heart of one of the poshest districts in Bangkok. Like many other cash-strapped seniors, we are dipping our toes into the wave of the future with our first adventure in medical/dental tourism.

This is not my first dental experience in Thailand. In the late 1990s, on a flight to Thailand for a business trip, I cracked a temporary bridge eating some nuts. It didn’t hurt and wasn’t much of a problem at first, but as I talked and chewed, the sharp edge of the broken bridge jabbed into my tongue. The easy solution – don’t eat or talk for two weeks -- was not an option, so the first thing I did upon landing in Chiang Mai was to ask my colleague who met me at the airport to recommend a dentist.

The dentist office did not look promising. It was dark and dinghy with equipment I hadn’t seen in years. The possibility of pain was the least of my worries, though. It was at the height of concern about the spread of AIDS throughout SE Asia, and I wasn’t at all sure that I wouldn’t get the disease from this hapless dental adventure. My heart started pounding and I broke out into a sweat. “Should I leave and risk looking like a wimp and insulting my colleague,” I asked myself, “or should I stay and risk pain and death?” The risk of embarrassment won out over the risk of pain and death, as it usually does for me.

As the dentist lowered my chair to get a better look, I gulped, or at least the closest thing to a gulp given the wad of cotton in my mouth. I caught a glimpse of my colleague in the waiting room smiling and waving to me as if I had nothing to fear. In just a few seconds I realized that he was right.

She was the most careful, cautious and gentle dentist to ever thrust hands into my mouth. I barely felt a thing as she filed down the sharp edge. It was all over in just a few minutes. She charged me five dollars for her work.

On a more recent trip to Thailand a few years ago, just as dental and medical tourism in the country were beginning to take off, another colleague explained to me how the Thais were able to develop such high level competence in dentistry and medical surgery. “When Thai women catch their husbands cheating on them,” he explained, “they cut off their penises while they are sleeping.” As a result, Thai doctors had a lot of practice reattaching the “offending member” and, in the process, developed world-class skills in microsurgery, skills that come in handy in gender reassignment, cardiovascular, and complex dental surgery. I don’t know if his explanation is accurate, but it sure got my attention.

This past fall my wife and I, facing looming dental bills, decided to give dental tourism in Thailand a try. Unlike the dental office years ago in Chiang Mai, the Dental Hospital in Bangkok is a gleaming white and chrome three-story building in Sukhumvit, the heart of the international district. Inside is an atrium, the waiting area, with a large man-made pond and a floor to ceiling wall of glass in the rear looking out on lush gardens and Koi ponds behind the building. The overall effect is serene, as serene as one can be while waiting for a dentist.

Most of the people in the lobby were Westerners, ergo the football game. For those not interested in American football, there is fast Wi-Fi access for those who bring their own laptops and a computer work station for those who don’t. This facility is clearly devoted to affluent Thais and tourists from the US, Europe, Middle East and elsewhere in Asia.

Katherine is the guinea pig for this experiment since her dentist in the States told her a few weeks earlier that she had two cracked fillings and needed to replace them with expensive crowns. After waiting for a few minutes in the atrium, she was ushered into an office where a dentist checked the X-rays, looked into her mouth and recommended, in excellent English, replacing the fillings instead. A second opinion, from another dentist across the atrium, was the same.

Over the next couple of weeks, Katherine returned three times to replace the two fillings in question and fill seven other cavities. The fillings were done so painlessly that Katherine – a serious dental chicken – only needed Novacaine twice. She claims that it was the easiest, most comfortable, and pain and anxiety free dental work she has ever had. The total bill came to about a third of what it would have cost in Los Angeles and a tenth of the cost of the work recommended by her dentist in LA. Six weeks later, the fillings are still intact and trouble free.

The overall experience exceeded even our most optimistic hopes. Everyone on the staff – dentists, receptionists, technicians and others -- spoke excellent English and was professional, attentive, and meticulous. The dentists were gentle and reassuring and seemed to be sensitive to the kinds of concerns that wary Westerners might have, like the concerns I had years ago in Chiang Mai. We appreciated the efficiency of the inclusive team-oriented approach, with all services from general dentistry to complicated implants, all available under one, gleaming roof.

To make sure that our experience was not the exception, we spoke to a Western couple we met in the waiting area. They told us that they live in Hong Kong but travel to Bangkok at least once a year for medical and dental procedures and exams and are very satisfied at the results, and especially the cost.

The overall experience was so positive that we almost look forward to doing it again next year. Hard to believe we are actually talking about going to the dentist….

Mahout Training in Northern Thailand

My wife, Katherine, likes large mammals – gorillas, bears, whales, hippos, even me. That is why I am sitting on a very large elephant, riding bareback, at the Thai Elephant Conservation Center (TECC; http://www.changthai.com/) about 20 miles outside of Lampang in northern Thailand. We are here for three days of mahout training, an introduction to the basics of elephant care and handling.

The TECC is one of several centers located throughout Thailand dedicated to protecting this revered national symbol. For centuries, elephants were used to log teak forests, transport goods through the mountains, and perform any task that required serious muscle. Since logging was banned in 1989 to protect Thailand’s forests, these magnificent beasts have been put out to pasture, literally and figuratively. Many have been exploited in tacky tourist shows; others by their desperate mahouts who bring them to the big city to cadge a few baht from tourists who feed them bananas and take photos. Even more tragic are the hundreds, maybe thousands, that have been poached – murdered – for the ivory in their tusks.

The elephant preserves, like TECC, help save Thailand’s elephants by providing a financial incentive to the local communities to protect rather than poach the animals. The centers also educate tourists and school children about the role of the elephant in Thai history and provide them with medical care and treatment. The main attraction at most of the preserves are the elephant shows which showcase traditional skills such as moving, hauling and lifting logs, and responding to the commands of their mahouts, as well as more gimmicky tricks like painting pictures and playing xylophones.

MY OWN PERSONAL ELEPHANT
The center also offers 1-3 day courses in mahout training, the reason we are here. We are signed up for the three day course, along with three others. Our group of five ranges in age from 30s to the mid 60s and represent three different countries.

Just a few minutes after our 8:30 am arrival at the Center, we are wearing our blue mahout suits (with pants big enough for both my elephant and me) and trying to memorize the basic commands, in Thai, from a one page cheat sheet. Before I have barely mastered what I consider to be the most important command, “how” for “stop,” we are each introduced to our very own elephants and mahouts.

Mine is huge (the elephant, not the mahout). Won, my mahout, barks a command, and Poomphwoum (or something like that) bends her front leg back towards me. Won motions for me to step on her leg and pull myself up by holding an ear in one hand and a roll of skin in the other. Somehow, with absolutely no skill and less grace, I manage to get on. Before I can even process the idea that I am actually sitting on an elephant 8-10 feet off the ground, Won starts running through the basic commands and I practice getting on and off.

It’s a bit scary at first sitting on top of this behemoth bareback with nothing to hold on to. I balance myself with the palms of my hands resting on the two lumps on the back of her head. It is my only means of support and seemingly all that keeps me from falling off.

Soon, too soon, we are riding our elephants in single file to the lake a hundred or so yards away. The elephants ease into the lake just as a tour bus pulls up. With the tourists’ cameras clicking away, the elephants dunk themselves -- and therefore us -- for the first of several times over the next two and half days. After the initial shock of being up to our shoulders in muddy, but thankfully, warm water and realizing that we won’t drown, we laugh and frolic as our elephants dip, rise, and spray us with their trunks. With instructions from our mahouts, we make our first clumsy attempt to wash our elephants.

Then it’s back to the open air amphitheater for the show. Instead of watching the show, we soon realize that we are still part of it. We ride into the amphitheater waving triumphantly to the amazed audience. After a few minutes of demonstrating how to get on and off, we are finally off duty for a few minutes as the real mahouts lead the elephants through their paces for the rest of the show.

Following the show, we check into our rustic bungalows at the adjoining Chiang Thai resort on a lush, green, jungle-covered hillside, change out of our wet mahout suits, and have lunch. After a brief rest, we return to our elephants and ride them deep into the jungle. It is an amazing way to experience the jungle – a quiet, swaying ride on the back of a huge animal, at “chirp” level, to use Katherine’s words, an animal that is as intrinsic to the setting as the trees and brush.

We ride for about two hours, get another dunking in a lake, then leave our elephants behind, tethered in place with a very long chain, and walk back on the trail for a ride to our bungalows. The image of “my” elephant as I look back, feeding in a field with the jungle as background, is unforgettable.

The Center’s staff cooks us an excellent Thai dinner featuring lots of fresh vegetables and tall bottles of Thai beer. The air is cool and there are few mosquitos. As we get ready for bed, Katherine pretty much sums up the day -- “There is nothing as thrilling as riding your own elephant through the jungle. Temples are great but this gets my heart pounding.” For the first time since we arrived in Asia three weeks ago, we don’t hear a thing as we fall asleep except for the occasional chirp of a bird or insect.

RIDING TALL
We return the next day to the jungle and walk up the trail to where Poonphoum waits for us. It’s a strange feeling walking through the jungle, spotting a large elephant ahead of you and heading directly towards it. My instincts say stop, but of course it’s OK. We carry treats – stalks of bamboo – and Poonphoum seems glad to see us, or at least to see Won.

Over the next day and a half as we ride further into the jungle, I begin to feel more steady and comfortable, aside from a sore butt and inner thighs, and am able to appreciate what an extraordinary experience this is. I even begin to feel a little control – just a little – as I shout “bai, bai” (go, go) and nudge her with my knee in the direction I want her to go.

Riding bareback, I can feel the powerful muscles undulate under me. It’s not a fast power, like an overpowered automobile, but a slowly-push-through-anything kind of power. And its live power, driven by muscle and sinew, just like me but orders of magnitude greater. And it’s a power that I know I could not control if she ever got it in her head to ignore me or Won.

As we say goodbye to our elephants and mahouts on the last day, Katherine is moved to tears. So am I. Every one of us has been deeply touched by the experience and by the beauty, intelligence, agility and almost human-like qualities of these extraordinary animals. It’s hard to think of a three ton beast as gentle and lovable, but that is exactly what we feel. We turn often for one last glimpse of our elephants and a final wave to the mahouts who looked after us and put up with our bumbling but earnest attempts to live in their world, if only for a few days.