How does one sum up one lone day in a city you never visited before? A tough task.

I touched down in Vancouver at 10.30am on Monday morning. It is my first visit to the west coast of Canada and to this city that’s gearing up for the 2010 Winter Olympics. Driving into downtown from the airport, it felt very much like Seattle – a Pacific Northwest metropolis with a stunning natural setting that takes your breath away. Mountains meet the ocean meets the rainforest greenery and old-growth forests hiding hundreds of years of unspoken wisdom.

After checking into my downtown hotel, I went out to explore. I had a 5.30pm appointment so my encounter with Vancouver was to be short and hopefully sweet. I strolled Robson Street, the main shopping thoroughfare lined with big-name stores and funky independent boutiques. It was a pleasant walk but shopping isn’t what a city makes. At least for me. Food, more so. My lunch was delicious, at a small waterfront restaurant, Raincity Grill on Denman Street, that serves organic locally sourced food from within the 100-mile radius. My salmon was succulent and perfect fuel for the walk along scenic English Bay toward the Granville Island ferry.

After what was probably the shortest ferry ride of my life (about five minutes long and $3 cheap) on the tiny Aquabus boat, I took a wander through the delightful Granville Island Public Market. The food looked so appealing that I almost regretted having had that filling lunch. What followed was a ramble along the back streets of this artist enclave chockablock with galleries and crafts shops. I loved the echoes of the area’s industrial past – once home to sawmills, warehouses and factories – and the bridge running above, giving it an urban edge. Below, a few market scenes.

At 3pm, I had the ambitious idea of zipping over to Stanley Park in a cab in order to rent a bike and see this evergreen oasis on wheels. By the time I arrived to the park’s edge, I realized I am about to enter a 1000-acre swath of dense forest and hop on a sea wall path that takes at least an hour to circumnavigate. I had to be back at my hotel within the hour so, regrettably, I had to stand up Stanley.

Or so I thought. But the evening had a lovely twist in store. After dinner, I joined a small group – two Saudis, two New Yorkers (including yours truly) and our Canadian guide Pieter – for an evening exploration of Vancouver sights. While I prefer to stumble into things unexpectedly, explore independently and get lost in cities new to me, this particular tour was a pleasant surprise. We saw the usual roster of sights: the First Nations totem poles in Stanley Park (I did make it after all, although on four wheels not two), the hip gentrified waterfront community of Yaletown, the narrowest office building in Chinatown and the panoramic views from Vancouver Lookout, a viewing deck more than 40 floors above ground with a 360-degree view of Burrard Inlet and the North Shore Islands.

But what impressed me more were Pieter’s stories, the tidbits of information only locals know, the “secret” spots like Third Beach in Stanley Park at sunset and historic Gastown, the birthplace of Vancouver with cobblestone streets and Victorian houses once frequented by sailors and now transformed into a restaurant-bar row near the edge of Vancouver’s rough alleyways. We ended the night at a Gastown sidewalk over a glass of red wine, watching the gallery of local faces – quarreling couples, quirky characters and homeless artists paraded past us, some stopped for a chat… No better way to end my single day in Vancouver than with a little local flavor.

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I first visited Sarajevo with my parents in 1984 during the Sarajevo Winter Olympics. I recall walking through the cobblestone streets of Baščaršija quarter, as if I’ve walked into a fairytale. I remember savoring the sweetest baklava ever at a cake shop. I recollect staying in a high-rise with friends of my parents, in a tiny apartment with air perennially perfumed with strong coffee. I remember burning my finger on hot running water one day and sporting a painful blister for the rest of our stay. I remember the figure skating events we attended. I remember the warmth and famous Bosnian hospitality of all the people we met along the way. What I don’t remember is any talk of ethnicity, in this diverse city of former Yugoslavia where Muslims, Serbs and Croats lived together as one people.

Fast forward. It is 1992 and I am sitting at home in Zagreb with my parents, watching the news of the infamous bread line massacre in Sarajevo. Memories of my Olympic stay start flooding back, as I watch the blood, gore, missing limbs and corpses of a city I recall with tenderness. It turns out to be just one of many massacres that the city suffered over the coming years. I experience them through my Bosnian refugee friends in London in the mid-1990s and then later in the States. There are stories and stories, most involving loss and a great deal of anguish. The war narrative unrolls… but the resilient Bosnian spirit doesn’t give in. In 1995, with the city still under siege, the first Sarajevo Film Festival is held to an audience of 15,000 people, with 37 films from 15 different countries.

Fast forward yet again. It is 2006. Sarajevo is slowly waking up from post-war slumber, recovering from its many wounds. By this time, Sarajevo Film Festival is an internationally acclaimed event, with big names in the movie industry and film buffs flocking to the city each August for a few days of cinematic fun and great parties. With a friend of mine, I make my way from Croatia to Sarajevo that summer, to catch the festival buzz and see the city I loved back in 1984.

We’re awaited by a friend of a friend of a friend who would host us in his house for the next couple of days. In Bosnia, people tend to open their doors generously to friends three times removed. For the next week, there are endless parties, cool events, hidden restaurants and cafés we’re taken to (I won’t reveal the names and locations, as I promised to keep them under wraps), all fueled by copious amounts of strong coffee.

Our hosts, two brothers, had spent the entire war in Sarajevo. They talk about the siege as just another fact of life. And there’s me, who had only visited the city once as a ten-year-old, feeling intense sadness the whole entire time of my stay – during parties, film screenings, walks, talks, coffee breaks… One afternoon as we’re walking through the city streets swarmed by international visitors, our host points out the market where the war’s bloodiest massacre took place in 1994. I stand there for a while, overwhelmed, quiet, wondering how this place of horror turned into a sight, a curiosity, a point of interest for tourists.

On most days, we’d descend into town from the hillside neighborhood where we stayed, passing what I saw as the city’s most wrenching sight: the shattered Sarajevo Library. In August 1992, Serb artillery shelled the library, originally built as the town hall in 1896. Shelves and shelves of books, manuscripts and archives went up in flames, a record of the city’s rich history lost within minutes. With boarded windows and a charred facade, it now stands as a painful symbol of a shattered culture.

I’d urge anyone to go to Sarajevo, don’t mind me. It’s a delightful city, with some of the nicest funniest people you’ll meet anywhere, excellent food (don’t skip the delicious burek meat pastries and cheese and spinach pies!) and lovely cafés. There’s something very serene about listening to call to prayer as you walk the twisting streets of Baščaršija or sip coffee in a restaurant garden. And despite all that’s happened, there’s a definite cheer to the city and its people. Perhaps it was just me coming to terms with the war that ravaged my former country, dealing with a sense of guilt for not having stayed behind, for not having done more for my Sarajevo friends.

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When mulling over travel memories, I thought of my 2005 visit to Laos. That spring, I just swam out of a difficult break-up and, in my typical fashion, ran off to Australia and Asia for five weeks of travel therapy. What’s a nomad to do? So I picked up a dear friend who was then living in Sydney and together we set off on a three-week journey around Vietnam, Cambodia and Laos. My first encounter with Asia, this whirlwind adventure left me craving to see more, something I still intend to do.

It was in dusty Vientiane – perhaps the most provincial of all the capitals I’ve seen – that we hooked up with a friend of mine from New York who was backpacking around southeast Asia. One of the afternoons in Vientiane, we decided to check out the herbal massage and sauna at a Buddhist temple outside of town recommended by our guidebook as the most traditional around. So, off we were in a tuk-tuk to the forested temple of Wat Sok Pa Luang.

The next thing you know: we’re up in a sort of a tree house where a couple of smiling Lao ladies order us to strip into a sarong, push us into a pitch-dark wooden cabin with heavy herbal scents and a bunch of benevolent eyes you can half-discern through the steamy air. Just as I am starting to feel faint, we’re invited back out and onto the massage table, where I am treated to what is probably, to this day, the most vigorous massage of my life. It all happened very fast, without words, and with a sense of surreal comedy about it. We laughed the entire tuk-tuk ride back into town.

After the short stay in Vientiane, the three of us hired a driver to take us up to the Buddhist mecca of Luang Prabang on the Mekong River. With the only buses up north running at night, we didn’t want to skip what was apparently some of the most beautiful scenery in Laos. So we splurged on a private drive – definitely worth it! The nine-hour jaunt was packed with stomach-churning twists and turns through the mountains and a few unexpected adventures. At a tiny village where we paused en route, we accidentally stumbled into an impromptu karaoke session in somebody’s hut. Suddenly, we were a part of the afternoon party, dancing with a pair of grinning ladies, a lone drunk (or opium-high) man and a group of kids watching us in giggles.

We then came across a bizarre trading of dead animals. As we drove past a string of villages, men stood by the side of the road, exhibiting fresh kill for sale. At one hamlet, our driver stopped and inspected what seemed like a dead fox by poking it at several spots along the flimsy corpse. Meanwhile, we wondered whether the poor thing will end up thrown on top of our backpacks in the trunk. But we drove on foxless.

With bird flu at its most panicky height back then, we laughed out loud when the driver stopped for a lunch break at a roadside eatery. This – see photo! – was our only choice of food. Needless to say, we resorted to snacks for the rest of the long trip.

When we arrived to Luang Prabang – which stands out as one of the most serene towns of all I’ve ever visited – what awaited were a couple of days of exploring its many temples and – yet another funny episode! One sunny afternoon, we got a boat to take us to Pak Ou Cave (also known as the Buddha Cave for the multitude of Buddha sculptures that it hides) but it was only faraway from shore that we realized our boatman was absolutely wasted. It was a rocky ride, to say the least. We blamed it on the infamous Lao Lao rice whiskey, produced in a nearby village and known to be dangerously potent.

Among other things, Laos lives on in my mind as a good laugh.

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Barbados may be known as a celebrity hideout, with sky-high prices at five-star properties and private villas paired with a happening Zagat-rated restaurant scene. If you have cash to splash, there’s plenty to keep you happy on this vibrant Caribbean island. But, fortunately, it’s not only for the upscale traveler. Here are a few recommendations for things to do if you want to taste the local flavor and experience the island Bajan-style.

For starters, instead of staying on the pricier west coast, choose the rugged and less developed east coast of Barbados. Here, the charming fishing village of Bathsheba is a surfers’ mecca and home to the cozy Sea-U Guest House Hotel – the place to stay if you’re on a budget and seeking a less mainstream escape.

For entertainment, the Oistins Fish Market on a Friday night is a must, regardless of the fact it’s become a pretty touristy affair. It gets packed with locals and visitors who roam endless stalls selling Bajan treats such as fried flying fish, cou-cou (a cornmeal and okra dish) and macaroni cheese. A great place to grab a bottle of cold Banks beer and wander around, listening to live music and checking out old couples dance to ballroom tunes.

Visiting rum shops in Barbados is not to be missed. There are over 1600 of these picturesque shacks on the island – great spots to mingle with the local crowd, taste some rum and play a game of dominoes. On my recent trip, I ended up at Merten’s rum shop in the village of Half Moon Fort on a Friday night, listening to John, a fisherman born and raised in the area who has stories to weave that can easily last till sunrise. Across the road is St Elmo’s grocery and adjacent to it a karaoke bar, where the singing was some of the most earnest I had ever heard. If you’re hungry, there’s also a fish shack next door where Bajans like to grab a quick bite.

Many of Barbados’ restaurants require reservations and some even a dress code. If you want something low-key, head to Fisherman’s Pub in Speightstown, the island’s second largest town that in reality feels more like an oversized village. At this simple spot alongside the jetty, you’ll get lovely water views and cheap Bajan fare such as pepperpot (a spicy meat stew) and jug-jug (a mix of corn and green peas) as well as West Indian staples like chicken curry, rice & beans and plantains.

After you’ve done the eating and drinking, take one of the free hikes around the island, organized by the Barbados National Trust. These three-hour jaunts (morning and afternoon available) will take you through cane fields, tropical gullies, and rarely visited communities. Donations are welcome and go toward the work of the National Trust and Treading Lightly (an environmental education and conservation project).

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In the winter of 2006, I visited the island of St Lucia in the West Indies. Today, as I watched the colorful sunset from my Brooklyn apartment, an evening on a terrace in St Lucia came to me. I vividly remembered the sea breeze, rainforest sounds, hummingbirds, the scent of tropical flowers… In honor of that moment, here comes a post about St Lucia.

What I saw of the area around the capital of Castries and the island’s northern part left me pretty cold. While there are plenty of resorts and hotels for a variety of budgets, it’s an overdeveloped area without much soul – not my cup of tea. But base yourself on the southwest coast around the tiny colonial town of Soufriere, and you’ll be in St Lucia’s sweetest spot. This is the land of lush rainforests, simmering sulphur springs, pretty fishing villages, gorgeous waterfalls, and stellar beaches. There’s plenty to keep you happily entertained without giving in to the tourist traps of the north.

My home in St Lucia was Le Haut Plantation, a working family-run plantation with two swimming pools, a set of pleasant rooms and, best of all, affordable prices (from $175 a double at the peak of winter season). The rooms have no television or phone – a perfect way to really disconnect! The highlight was the unobstructed view of the Pitons, St Lucia’s landmark twin mountains, from my private veranda. This vista made my jaw drop at every look, no matter how many times I rubbed my eyes to ensure I wasn’t dreaming.

A short drive from Le Haut Plantation (there’s a complimentary shuttle for guests) is the beach at four-star Anse Chastenet Resort, a lovely strip of volcanic sand. After a day of tanning and swimming, you can take a water taxi to Jalousie beach and get a stellar view of the island from the sea. For first-class snorkeling, head to Hummingbird Beach, a twenty-minute drive from Le Haut Plantation.

Don’t skip the many rainforest trails in St Lucia, a definite draw card for outdoorsy types. The island’s mountainous interior is covered by 19,000 acres of rainforest, crisscrossed with 29 miles of scenic trails. The easiest path – it takes about two hours – runs through Barre De L’isle Forest Reserve, a ridge that divides the eastern and western halves of St Lucia. If you’re feeling fit, venture into Edmund Forest Reserve for a four-hour trek through pristine bush.

For culinary pleasures, head to Jade Mountain Club, where the award-winning chef conjures up tasty tropical treats. If you have cash to splash, book a table at Dasheene, the signature restaurant of five-star Ladera. If dinner is a stretch, at least have a cocktail at Ladera’s Tcholit Bar known for its panoramic vistas. Other places to stay and eat on St Lucia’s southwest coast are Mago Estate Hotel at the edge of the rainforest above Soufriere, with a series of open-front rooms providing Piton views, and the more upscale Stonefield Estate Villa Resort on a former lime and cocoa plantation.

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Among a variety of things I loved about my five-day visit to Barbados, a highlight stands out: the stirring sculptures at the Gallery at Lancaster Great House. The fascinating pieces made of coral stone and plaster by the resident artist Jerome Radigois from Martinique dot the gorgeous garden of the pink-colored house.

On view until May 30th, this alfresco show is a celebration of the human being. What particularly touched me was the solitude of each figure, even those in pairs and groups. The artist describes his work as “an intuition process, meeting with one’s self, a rediscovered body, an act of love, a universe materialized, an ancestral combat, a spring of life.”

Also currently on display inside this beautifully restored private home is the show “From the Antique to the Contemporary: Barbadian Furniture from 1680-2009″, nicely curated and informative of local crafts and materials, with sturdy and elegant mahogany featuring as the star wood. Previous shows at Lancaster Great House have included works by international and Barbadian painters and photographers, many raising funds for various charities.

A fantastic place to visit if you want a dose of local art in a stunning environment, the Gallery at Lancaster Great House is free and open Tuesday to Saturday from 10am till 4pm. In addition to rotating exhibitions, it also has a small but lovely selection of art pieces and souvenirs at the gift shop.

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Thought I’d share the latest series of short videos on Croatia that just went up on LonelyPlanet.tv. I hope you enjoy watching them as much as I enjoyed shooting them.

Photo “Sea view. Rovinj, Croatia” by akk_rus on Flickr

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A week ago, I returned (sans swine flu) from a five-day stay at the newly opened Banyan Tree Mayakoba in Mexico, the first North American property of this Singapore-based hotel chain. During my career as a travel writer, I have had the privilege of staying at a variety of stunning five-star hotels and resorts around the world, places normally beyond my reach. And so it happens that I’m not all that easily impressed. But when it comes down to Banyan Tree, I was absolutely swept off my feet. It felt like walking into a fairy tale.
From the moment I arrived and was presented with a beautifully scented hand towel to refresh myself, I felt as if a cloud lifted. Things became even lighter when a buggy transported me along the resort’s scenic pathways to my own private spa pool villa where Asian and Mexican design blend seamlessly. As I explored the many perks of this stunning spot, I thought I had died and woken up in heaven.

What followed were mornings when I’d wake up to open a sliding glass door of the bedroom and swim right into my own sizable pool. Other mornings I’d hop on a bike parked outside my villa and ride through the protected nature reserve of mangroves that edges the resort all the way to the beach, for a soothing walk along the sands. In the afternoons, I’d doze off in the hammock of my verdant courtyard, watching the waterways and feeling the breeze on my skin. Each night, I’d first dip into the hot tub in the garden and then draw the bath on an enclosed outdoor patio, light a dozen candles, pour the fragrant salts and phase out under starry skies.

Beyond my private villa, plenty of experiences delighted me in the Banyan Tree world. The three-hour Thai herbal detox massage at award-winning Banyan Tree Spa was a journey to a perfect world, a short glimpse of heaven, and then back. Each of the meals was a culinary feast: from contemporary Thai cuisine of the signature restaurant, Saffron; to Mediterranean-inspired fare at Tamarind; modern Mexican cuisine at Oriente; and stellar seafood at Sands on the beach.

On Earth Day, I joined a boat tour along the canals with an ornithologist, spotting endemic birds and learning about various environmental projects by the Banyan Tree’s Green Imperative Fund, such as reforesting the mangroves of Mayakoba; funding an orphanage in Playa del Carmen; and reviving the area’s endangered melipona bee population. At the end of the mini-voyage, I planted my own buttonwood mangrove three. May it grow tall and strong out there in Mayakoba.

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Today, shaken out of sweet morning sleep by the sound of heavy construction in the apartment upstairs, I started pondering New York, this city of constant change, a place of overwhelming noise, an urban giant ever in flux. And what better portrays it than the sight of industrial wasteland that surrounds us everywhere we go in this metro-monster.

On some days, I almost love the derelict buildings, factories falling apart, the nooks and crannies of this concrete jungle. One of my favorite areas to wander is Red Hook, the underbelly of south Brooklyn recently revitalized with an influx of artists who moved into the dock buildings and warehouses along the waterfront. Controversially, IKEA opened in the area in 2008, replacing historic townhouses and a dry dock that was still in use. Despite these changes, Red Hook still possesses the gritty industrial vibe I have a penchant for. It’s also home to one of the first bars I went to in New York, the legendary Sunny’s (253 Conover St), which back then only opened its doors on Friday nights and drinks were served on the honor basis.

I love to stroll around the Gowanus Canal near my place in Brooklyn, a heavily polluted stretch of water that was once busy with cargo ships and these days aches for a serious clean-up. The environmental initiative started a few years back and change is already felt – the canal certainly doesn’t have as toxic of a smell as it had when I moved to Brooklyn in 1999. Like in Red Hook, many of the area’s warehouses have been turned into artist studios which you can visit on the last weekend of every October, as part of Gowanus Artists Studio Tour. Also check out Issue Project Room, a fantastic performance space at the Old American Can Factory.

These areas are all casualties of New York’s industrial evolution. I can hate them on those eco-conscious, back-to-basics days but there’s no denying – they will always be a part of New York’s scenery. Instead of hating, I’ve developed a love relationship with the “dark side of New York”. As I write this, the sound of drilling and floor lifting from the apartment upstairs is almost unbearable. Through my windows, I can see a new condo building that was being constructed to my chagrin for about four years right outside my living room, where there was once a beautiful patch of sky. But it’s New York City we’re talking. Nothing stays the same here, everything falls apart, no attachments advised. Take it or leave it. I guess I’m still taking it, ten years later, tuning out the noise and dust, and learning to love this urban wasteland. Or at least learning to live with it.

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On a mid-February afternoon, as I was finalizing guidebook research in the unassuming Altiplano town of Oruro in Bolivia, I made my way to the last stop on the itinerary – Casa Arte Taller Cardozo Velasquez (Junín 738; catcarve.blogspot.com). I had read about this private museum/studio of a local artist family and it peaked my interest. In fact, I was longing for something more serene and offbeat in Oruro, to take me away from the water bombs, spray guns and screaming kids leading up to Carnaval.

The moment I walked into the courtyard of the Cardozo Velasquez family house, I knew I found that special place I was looking for. Gonzalo, the head of the family – an intense man exuding subtle authority – welcomed me into their world. One of the five daughters, a sweet well-spoken teenager, gave me a tour of the workshop where they produce their work. Gonzalo’s sculptures are all over the courtyard – with a towering piece devoted to Pachamama (Mother Earth, according to Andean beliefs) at the center – as is beautiful pottery made by his wife María and paintings, photographs, collages and drawings by the five daughters: Nayra, Wara, Tani, Lulhy and Kurmi. A plethora of unusual art objects by family and friends grace the whimsical little house.

After the tour, we sat down in the cozy library and talked for hours over tea made with fresh medicinal herbs from the garden. I learned about the Sunday morning workshop that the family has been doing with the children of Oruro – they go out into the streets and paint with kids, producing fun colorful canvases. On each first Friday of the month they hold a k’oa ceremony in the courtyard of the house, a ritual blessing to the Pachamama in which a “mesa” is burned over coals. The “mesa” consists of incense, decorated sugar cubes, native herbs and various other objects, depending on what you’re asking Pachamama for. This ritual is open to anyone who happens to be in Oruro on a first Friday and has an open mind and respect for the Andean culture. So do stop by if in Oruro. I wish I could have stayed for a k’oa.

It’s easy to get lost in this magical world of the Cardozo Velasquez family. As I walked away, packed with lots of new thoughts and ideas, I felt renewed, inspired and somehow more in touch with the world around me. To see a family so deeply rooted in their surroundings and connected with the traditions of their corner of the world gave me a sense of comfort and a surge of creativity. It felt like accidentally stumbling into a parallel universe – one that you leave physically but, spiritually, it stays with you.

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