They say that nothing in life is free. It’s true. So although I’m going to tell you how to get your accommodation for free so you can travel your heart out and extend your dollar, don’t expect it to come for nothing.

Instead, you may have to paint murals on the property, or milk goats, or harvest organic ginger, or manage a hostel or campground, or even just be a warm body in an empty house and walk the dog.

Working in trade for accommodation is also called Caretaking. Your room (and sometimes more, like food around a family dinner table if you are remotely located) is provided free of charge, in exchange for your time and effort. Some are skilled positions, and others welcome untrained hands. Some work environments are manual, others are administrative. Some involve long hours, while others yet seem too good to be true (which is rarely the case – trust me)!

The Caretaker Gazette is a premier marketer of a huge variety of caretaking opportunities; they have over 25 years under their belts, so you could say the groundwork has been well-laid. Their huge quarterly reports feature opportunities from North America to Bhutan and beyond. When I initially joined and read a listing to house-sit a vacation property on an island in Micronesia, I thought I had died and gone to heaven.

Although I didn’t follow up on that opportunity, The Caretaker Gazette paved the way to my learning about permaculture and life off the grid in a Hawaiian paradise, as well as leading eco-treks on llamas and grounds keeping for a five star cottage resort in Australia. In so doing, I also turned down opportunities to manage a fruit-filled property in Ecuador, and tend a mountain resort in Colorado.

One of the beautiful things about caretaking is not only the money you save on accommodation, but the ability to dedicate the time you are not spending working to another craft or stream of income. Artists enjoy using the often remote caretaking locations as creative retreats, and retired couples find that caretaking can be a way to keep busy and stretch their retirement dollars with rent-free living. Professional Hobos like me use the free time to see a new spot in the world, as well as make money with writing to pay for incidentals and transportation to the next destination.

Caretaking positions can last from a few weeks to a few years depending on the job, so there is something for everybody from those taking a shorter trip, to others taking sabbaticals and beyond. Between quarterly gazette installments, regular updates of new positions are emailed to subscribers – sometimes multiple times a week.

So if you are looking for something different, The Caretaker Gazette may open your mind to – quite literally – a world of opportunities.

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We all know that word-of-mouth is one of the best ways to find decent accommodation. Without it, we can search the internet to our heart’s content, looking for deals. But if all we have to go on is a webpage or advert without any reviews, we could be very (unpleasantly) surprised when the time comes to check in.

Darn Good Digs is a website featuring user-recommended accommodations around the world for under $150US/night.

For example, knowing that I’ll be in India shortly, I searched for local good digs on the site. In so doing, I discovered that the Inn Seventh Heaven has a great vibe, awesome food, I learned a little about the area, and I even read a few tips for booking the less expensive rooms by a user from Australia who has stayed there before.

User nominations are all screened by the website administrators, who research and elaborate on good digs nominations if not enough information is given by the user. Thus, the quality of each review is kept to a high standard and is consistent throughout the Site.

Darn Good Digs has even more reason for you to visit them now: they are having a contest, and are giving away a Brooklyn Industries Travel Bag to make it worth your while.

Contest entry is easy: Simply sign up for their newsletter, or for two entries, nominate your own fav digs for the Site.

Click here to enter the contest, which ends July 27, 2009.

Note: The author has no vested or affiliate interest in Darn Good Digs

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I toured China with a ballet in 1993. And back then, China was a steal, but I still spent thousands of dollars on the experience.

Now, you can see a good chunk of China for under $1,000, courtesy of Friendly Planet Travel.

I’m really impressed with this package. It includes return airfare from Los Angeles, all domestic flights, transfers, taxes, accommodation for the entire ten days, touring, most meals, and of course – the opportunity to see China with a knowledgeable tour guide.

For more information, check out their China deal (and many others) here.

Note: The author has no vested interest in Friendly Planet Travel

Photo “The Great Wall of China” from exfordy on Flickr

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So you just booked your next flight. If you had the good fortune to select your seat, it was a stab in the dark. You wanted extra leg room, so you chose a seat by the emergency exit, only to realize too late that this particular seat – on this particular aircraft – is one of the worst in the house.

How do you know which seats to reserve?

Enter seatguru.com.

The folks at Seat Guru will help you with all things airline. Find your plane on the comprehensive list, and you will get a map of the seating layout, including where the good, standard, and poor seats are. You will learn where all the power outlets are, as well as the overhead tvs, emergency exits, and lavatory. This seating chart takes the mystery out of which seats are the ones to have, especially for that long-haul flight where placement on the plane really counts.

Added benefits to browsing Seat Guru include airline information. Choose your airline from the left-hand side of the page, and you will find their general information including contact numbers, the aircraft in their fleet, affiliated frequent flyer programs, check-in information, baggage bits, and regulations in regards to infants, minors, and pets.

Throw in there some frequent flyer and travel tips, and you have a fairly comprehensive (and free) service dedicated to keeping your next flight free of nasty surprises.

Photo “Cathay First Class Cabin” by Richard Moross on Flickr

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After spending six weeks in Thailand, I had a new appreciation for how Asians like to dine. My boyfriend and I didn’t get sick (at least not from the food), and we enjoyed all manner of Thai eateries. Here are some highlights (and otherwise) of our culinary adventures

Street Food: Are You Brave?

For those with an iron constitution and a little courage, the street food in Asia is not only cheap and cheerful, but also a staple for many residents. Usually for less than a dollar, you can help yourself to a serving of your favourite meal, cooked right in front of you. Pad Thai, curries, sweet roti, fried rice, green papaya salad, fried meats and fish, and yes – even insects, are available for sampling.

Some of the best places to enjoy a street-food-meal are at the local markets, where in between shopping for local crafts and souvenirs, you can stop off for a meal or drink.

The best way to avoid a case of digestive distress from eating street food is to choose stands that are frequented by locals, and have a high turnover. In fact, some would argue that street food is more sanitary; you can watch the food being prepared in front of you, which takes some of the mystery out of the matter compared to eating at a restaurant.

We enjoyed the street food of Asia, and had no incidents to speak of (as many people worry about). I will say though, that after many weeks of this type of eating (ie: eating while standing or walking through thick crowds, and typically shoveling the food down whilst in search of our next street-food course), we found that our ability to simply sit down and enjoy a meal is now hindered. But at restaurants they tend to look at us funny if we say we want to eat standing up, so we sit down, try to slow down, and not rush off to another restaurant as soon as we’re finished.

“To Go, Please”

Asian people also don’t like to eat while standing and walking, so when they choose to eat street food, they often get it to go. And when you order this way, you can expect your meal to be served up…in a plastic bag.

Order curry, and you’ll get a small bag of rice, another with curry in it, and maybe a third with various condiments. They have a great way of tying the bags with an elastic so they are full of air and securely fastened, and yet easy to open. I tried and tried to emulate their bag-tying prowess, but to no avail.

It was when I saw people getting drinks to go – also in plastic bags – that I realized fast food is an art form in Asia.

I guess it is a good thing – plastic in general isn’t good, but a few plastic bags is less wasteful and harmful for the environment than hard plastic cups, or Styrofoam.

Food Court

While in Chiang Mai, we had one of the best food court experiences of all time. In a temple courtyard on the night of a weekly local market, dozens of street food stalls set up along the perimeter of the square. In the middle were some beautiful thick richly-coloured wooden picnic tables and benches. And typical of so many public eating establishments in Thailand, we found it to be impeccably clean.

What capped off the experience and made it memorable for us was the accompaniment: monks chanting. The hum and low lull of their voices in unison provided all the ambiance we needed for an incredible experience.

Mongolian Grill?

One night in search of a new set of street food stalls, we passed by what appeared to be a Mongolian Grill. We had dined at such establishments many times back home in Toronto; a large round grill occupies the middle of your table, and you are brought trays of various meats, fish, and vegetables to cook up and dip in a variety of delicious sauces.

“Sweet”! We said, as we excitedly took our places at a table. What fun this will be.

When we looked around at the other customers, we were pleased to discover that the place was not only packed (a good sign), but we were the only white people there (also a good sign).

The server spoke absolutely no English (this evening was full of good signs), so she basically brought us the standard fare for this restaurant. We immediately recognized the little plastic trays as they were brought to our table. Via sign language the server asked if we knew what we were doing, to which we casually indicated that we were old pros at this form of dining. She filled the perimeter of the grill with water (our first sign that maybe we were in over our heads), and walked away with what in retrospect I can only imagine was a slight smirk.

Still sure we knew what we were doing, but wanting to confirm our knowledge, we stole glances at the couples and families enjoying their meals near to us. Lettuce and fish went into the water (which was now boiling), and the meat went on the grill.

“Okay, this is no problem. It’s a little different, but still a Mongolian Grill, just as we thought,” we said with a sigh of relief.

Then, we took a look at the meat in front of us. Something fatty – bacon? Something pink. Something resembling ribs. Something else shiny, something that looks like liver, and two more trays of bacon-looking meat. It appeared that instead of getting a selection of different meats, we got a selection of different parts of a pig.

It was the intestine/colon that got to me. I won’t go into specifics, but suffice it to say that from the overly chewy consistency to whatever it was that squirted out when I bit down on it, I had discovered a culinary limit. The entire time, I couldn’t get out of my head an episode of Anthony Bourdain’s No Reservations, where he was relegated to eating wild boar colon over a fire in the African bush. What was in my mouth could well have been something relatively innocuous; but there was no convincing me that it wasn’t pig ass.

We muscled our way through the rest of the meal, noticing that we weren’t as smoothly getting through the dinner as our neighbouring tables were. We had huge amounts of meat charred and stuck to the grill, and we certainly did not ask for seconds, like most of the other diners were so eagerly doing. They seemed to be having a gay old time of it – we seemed to want to puke.

And sadly, I don’t think I will ever look at a Mongolian grill the same way again.

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Up to 70% of travelers report an illness or impairment while traveling abroad. What’s worse is that a staggering proportion of these illnesses are preventable, with the right amount of knowledge and risk management.

The good news is that there’s now a resource for us travelers to figure out what we need to know to stay healthy and happy on the road: Travel Medicine.

Let’s say you are planning a trip abroad. In addressing the finer details, you will be researching visa requirements, health and government warnings, vaccination recommendations, and if you’re lucky – electrical standards, the local time, and other particulars that can mean the difference between a good trip and a great one.

Everything you want to know about a country can be found on Travel Medicine’s country profile pages, like this one. Here you can browse each country’s vaccination requirements, time zones, recent medical updates and outbreaks, risk summaries, maps, embassy contact information, and a list of hospitals and physicians, among other precious tidbits of information.

Want to know where the closest travel clinic is to you in preparation for your trip? Go here.

And travelers and health practitioners alike all flock to the beefy International Travel Health Guide for comprehensive information about a variety of travel-related illnesses as well as tips for making your trip safe and successful.

While browsing, you may also realize you need mosquito protection gear, first aid kits, or a variety of travel accessories. These are also available on Travel Medicine too.

Travel Medicine is one of the most comprehensive worldwide health-oriented websites I have found to date, and is a great way to plan a trip abroad: to anywhere, from anywhere.

Note: The author has no vested or affiliate interest in Travel Medicine.

Photo “Medicine” by KB25 on Flickr

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I remember it like it was yesterday. We were in the Rocky Mountains near Jasper Canada – myself, and two climbing mates: Kelly and Luc. We hiked. We climbed. And we caved.

The year prior, I had my first caving experience in the same place. We aimed high with Disaster Point: a very technical cave involving multiple rappels (abseils) into a glorified hole in the ground. Without rope, you can’t even get close to the entrance, and you would certainly have a “disaster” on your hands if you were in the cave and lost your rope. (Okay, so maybe it was not the best cave to have chosen as a first for me, but there you have it).

So as you might expect, as a newbie caver, I absolutely froze when I suddenly realized I was over 30 metres underground, I was cold, and I was looking up at an icy hole as my route back to the outside world. Before bottoming the cave, we got the heck out.

Fast forward one year later: once again at Disaster Point’s doorstep. As a climbing and caving team, we had put a lot of time into training and generally frolicking in Canada’s Rocky Mountains. And I had a bone to pick with Disaster Point: it was going to be mine this time. No turning back.

The first rappel (abseil) was straight down a chute approx 30 metres. We slid down next to a huge icicle , and at its narrowest the chute was only about 1-2 metres in diameter. From there we swung ourselves onto a balcony where we could (ahem) admire the scenery, and scope out the next rappel.

Straight down again, the second rappel was much shorter, and landed us on another small balcony. We stayed on rope though, and continued down through three very small squeezes (with names like “birth canal”, very little is left to the imagination), and eventually sumped out (a caving term for hit the bottom as far as we could go, but not necessarily as far as the cave goes – due to water, mud, or rocks) over 60 metres from the very top.

Having made it to the bottom though, was not the end. Now we had to get out! (Similarly in mountaineering, reaching the peak isn’t necessarily the time to celebrate – the way down is often more dangerous than the way up).

After waiting for what seemed like an inordinate amount of time for Luc to reach the top of the first rope so the next person could ascend, Kelly & I were getting nervous. We had lost almost all audial contact with Luc, save for hearing the occasional muffled sign of frustration. He wasn’t responding to any of our calls, which indicated to us that he likely couldn’t hear us. Having only the bottom of the rope to hang on to (our lifeline in this situation), all we could do was wait, and not think about the cold, our fading headlamps, or the worst case scenarios that kept creeping into my mind.

Finally and thankfully, we heard the faint and delicious words “Off Rope” coming from above, signifying that Luc had made it to his destination and the next person could start ascending. That was my cue.

Ascending at the best of times is no easy task. Armed with any number of different systems, you are relegated to hauling yourself up the rope, sometimes in thin air, and sometimes using the features of the rock around you to help (or hinder) the process.

After making it back up through the tight squeezes, I was able to communicate with Luc but was losing contact with Kelly who was still waiting at the bottom. I figured I was on easy street, and wondered what took Luc so long to ascend. Of course, I was about to find out.

Topping out is almost always tricky business when climbing (either underground or otherwise). Sometimes you have to haul yourself over tricky obstacles, and oftentimes the anchoring system isn’t the most user-friendly for getting over the edge with ascending devices. In this particular situation, there was absolutely no sack in the rope, since it twisted down and around all those tight squeezes.

To spell out the situation, I found myself at the top of the ascent, but unable to actually get over the ledge since the rope was stuck. Luc fought the same battle, and eventually won through brute strength. Brute strength isn’t one of my more well-known traits, so it was not an option for me.

Of course I’m here to tell the story, so you can tell we survived the episode. It involved a lot of teamwork, keeping a calm head in an upsetting situation, and working through the problem. More specifically, we systematically created backups to attach me to fixed objects, then I disconnected from the rope I was hanging on, and climbed over the ledge.

The remainder of the ascent was relatively uneventful, and the moment of sheer joy and love of life in reaching the top is something I’ve never experienced before. It was a sense of accomplishment and a rush that coursed through my body and lasted for hours.

So having survived a cave as ominous sounding as Disaster Point, we’re ready for the big time! Consider us an astute caving team, ready for hire. Or maybe just a bunch of mountaineering nuts in the Rockies of Canada. Either way.

Photo “Rocky Mountain Wapiti III” by Lost in the Shadows on Flickr

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If you are heading to the alpine resort town of Thredbo, nestled in the Snowy Mountains of Australia, check out Candlelight Lodge.

Thredbo, known as the heart of the “Australian Alps” or the “rooftop of Australia”, is located at the base of Mount Kosciuszko – Australia’s highest mountain. It is a mecca for skiing in the winter, and hiking and mountain biking in the summer. Although world-class skiers might arguably be disappointed at the quality of snow here, Australia isn’t exactly known for its powder snow, so we have to cut them some slack. To many Aussies, snow in and of itself is a novelty, so playing in it at the Snowy Mountains is a treat. And since here at the tippy top of the Australian Snowy Mountains you can actually get snow any month of the year (although it doesn’t stay on the ground long outside of the winter months), visitors any time of year might enjoy the novelty of Australian snow play – if even for a day.

But the real secret to traveling the Thredbo – and staying at Candlelight Lodge – is that you will find almost nobody here during the spring and fall seasons. At the height of summer, you and 2000 other people (per day, no exaggeration!) will be fighting for your perfect summit picture at the top of Mount Kosciuszko. And in the depths of winter, you will pay exorbitantly for skiing, and accommodation in the town ranges from $165-$400/night (and up) for two people.

But in the off-seasons, you will get great weather, awesome hikes, no crowds, and prices in general that are a fraction of their peak rates.

Candlelight Lodge has a flavour that blends the Australian with the European. Wander through the halls and see pictures of Candlelight Lodge as one of the original dwellings in the area, reflecting a world when Europeans settled here after the war to work on the local Hydro scheme and found a piece of home in the “Australian Alps”.

Accommodation is suitable for individuals, couples, families, and groups. Included is breakfast in the morning, and a host of amenities not the least of which are a sauna, games room, cozy lounge, laundry, internet, and videos.

So if you want a taste of the Snowy Mountains in Australia, enjoy the European-flavoured town of Thredbo, and say hello to the folks at Candlelight Lodge. If you stay with them, they will surely help to make your trip enjoyable.

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When you are traversing a spiny ridge over 10,000 feet in the air, with an incredibly steep rocky scree slope on one side and cliffs overlooking thin air on the other side, and the wind is blowing fiercely, there is but one golden rule to live by: Don’t Look Down! At least, that became the mantra on our recent ascent of Mount Richardson, near Lake Louise.

When mountaineering, “Down Look Down” seems like a bit of a strange idiom; you would think that soaking in the scenery and looking up, down, and all around would be the name of the game. And of course – it is. However in my experience, there are times for looking around, and times for concentrating on the task at hand.

I have begun to boil mountaineering down to the process of identifying a series of problems to solve and overcome in order to reach the summit (and descend too – let’s not forget about that!) safely. You take it step by step, ledge by ledge. You get over the hump that is in front of you (whether it be a cliff face, snow slope, or simply a big tiring hill), and when you reach the end of that small adventure, you rest, soak in the scenery and bask in your recent achievement, then tackle the next obstacle between you and your goal. (Kinda like life, huh)? It’s a great way of training the mind to focus on the task at hand, and not worry about some of the “small stuff” that can occupy valuable space in our minds so often.

The mountains have a wonderful habit of being quite deceiving on the eye. Climbing actually starts with standing at the bottom and surveying the mountain. You think you see a clear path, and man – it even looks easy. You don’t actually SAY it’s easy out loud though, because the “mountain gods” might hear you and decide to show you otherwise.

So instead, you humbly survey your path, and take a peek at alternate routes as much as possible. Then, you start your ascent, or even take more time and start with some initial reconnaissance, as we did on this trip.

Our original plan was to summit Mount Richardson, then traverse down and across a giant bowl of rocks and snow underneath two other peaks, and rise up again to summit Ptarmigan Mountain on the other side of this small range of four peaks. However what appeared to be a clear-cut and easy traverse from the ground became a different story once we got a little closer on our scouting mission.

What seemed from a distance like gentle snow slopes sometimes morphed into almost vertical drops once we got close. And what we were sure was an easy path across a ledge turned out to have a huge gulley dropping out hundreds of feet in the middle.

It was a good thing that we took an extra day to figure out these finer details, because it could have meant some serious delays (and possible problems) on our summit day.

So after an 8 mile hike into our campground to set up, and a further 6 hours of scouting (even climbing halfway up the mountain) to determine the best routes, we were ready to turn in for a well-deserved night’s sleep.

The next morning had our group of six up early and ready for anything. We ate, dressed, and packed up all the necessities we would need for our long day of climbing: at least 2 litres of water each, lunch, first aid kits, trekking poles, ice axes, helmets, and lots of layers for the cool thin air.

After hiking from our campsite to Hidden Lake (a beautiful and still partially frozen glacial lake at the bottom of the 4 mountains) we started moving up to the first saddleback, where we practiced some self-arrest techniques using our ice axes. The premise of the refresher was to ensure proper use of our ice axes, such that should anybody lose their footing on a snow slope we would know how to stop ourselves effectively – a pretty handy technique if you ask me. Some of the cliffs already looming below didn’t look too nice. Ice axes are also quite useful for balance and extra security when moving through both snow and rocky landscapes.

At this time of year (July), there should have been very little or no snow on these mountains at all, however the winter past saw epic amounts of snowfall in the Rockies, and consequently the standard path up Mount Richardson was impossible to traverse. Such is part of adventuring in the mountains – you don’t ever know what you’re going to see and you need to be prepared for anything and everything.

The next step to our ascent was the long undulating ridge which trended gradually upwards towards the peak of Mount Richardson. Because we were off the beaten path due to the snow, we had to take each obstacle as it arose, treading where people don’t generally go on this mountain. Sometimes the obstacle was getting around a large boulder by scrambling and climbing over it or carefully around it (without looking down at the thin air beneath you of course). Sometimes the ridge rocks were too much to get over, and had to be given a wider berth by moving down a snow slope and around to the next ledge. And on a few welcome occasions, all we had to do was meander along the wide path at the top of the ridge, taking in a luscious untouched green alpine meadow on one side, and Hidden Lake with its ever-changing blues and greens on the other side.

Much of the mountaineering game is a mental one. Some of the obstacles you face would be complete non-issues if you knew there were few if any consequences. Think of it this way: if you had to walk across a narrow beam that was 2 feet off the ground, you wouldn’t give it a second thought; you could practically run across it. But put that same beam up much higher (when the consequence of losing your balance would be considerably more dire), and you might freeze. At the very least you wouldn’t brazenly run across.

In mountaineering, you need to see what is in front of you, and know for yourself that you can get across that proverbial beam, whether it is two feet or two thousand feet off the ground. It requires the mental confidence and focus on the task at hand in order to get past that moment, hence the adage: Don’t Look Down.

Of course, we safely arrived at the glorious peak of Mount Richardson (seven hours after leaving camp that morning), and soaked in the 360 degree view of such splendours as Lake Louise, Mount Assiniboine (the highest mountain in the Canadian Rockies), Mount Hector (the top of which looks like Snoopy lying on top of his dog house), and clouds racing mere metres above our heads on this windy oasis.

Descending was much easier and quicker than ascending, and was loads of fun. Instead of carefully carving out snow steps up and across widely exposed areas of the mountain (a challenging hurtle which I mustered the courage to lead myself), we simply plopped down on our butts and slid down, of course arresting ourselves with our trusty ice axes as we neared the bottom of each snow patch. Instead of trudging up the slippery scree on which every three steps up inevitably entailed falling one step back, we would “scree ski” or slide in a controlled manner on our feet with every step we took.

And we were certainly thankful that the descent wasn’t as long and arduous as the ascent; some members of our team were very dehydrated, and Kelly even managed to injure his knee about two thirds of the way down and back to camp. It’s easy to happen: for him it was a matter of one foot falling through a hole in the snow, while the other foot was still planted behind him, twisting his knee.

Thank goodness it didn’t happen further up the mountain, and thank goodness for the supportive team of climbers around us. Kelly managed to get back to camp on his own steam (amazingly), where he sat back and iced it while I took care of the dinner preparation and cleanup. On our hike out to the car the following day, we were so lucky to have generous team members help Kelly carry out his belongings so he didn’t have to worry about any extra weight, and he painfully managed to hike all the way out at a decent pace I might add.

At the beginning of this weekend, we didn’t know any of our team members at all. But after three days of hiking together, cooking and eating together, climbing, problem solving, and overcoming challenges together, we grew, learned about each other and ourselves, and became quite close in a sense. We supported each other through our individual trials and learning experiences. We had lots of time to find out each other’s personal reasons for being in the mountains, and sometimes even discovered our own internal mountains to be climbed.

And as we discovered and celebrated each other’s differences and challenged ourselves along the way, we always kept our heads high and enjoyed the views as much as possible. But when we had to focus on the task at hand, all of us held to one surefire rule: Don’t Look Down.

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