What is the best way to describe a Contiki tour?
Fun, fast, friendships, best value for money and by far the most you can fit into a short amount of time..

I found it was a great idea to go in and out of London even though the tour ends in Paris, they give you a free transfer back to London, and the flights are usually cheaper too.

It's an absolute must to do all the optional excursions, since it's great value for money and usually the entire group does it.
Comfortable shoes is the one item you won't regret taking!! And pack for all seasons, especially travelling during Spring or Fall, since you can go from snow in the one country to summer in the next!

Favourite moment during the tour? It's really hard to pick..... maybe drinking the 2 Euro wine on the gondola ride in Venice... or eating strawberries on the steps of Sacre Cur overlooking all of Paris... or was it maybe the cable car up to the Swiss Alps?
It's really hard to choose just one.

Even though this was my third trip to Paris, there is always more to see.

I have many tips and stories, so please contact me for your European trip, whether going by yourself or in a tour. I would love to share my knowledge.

We stayed at the H10 Oceans Turquesa resort which is located between Cancun and the Mayan Riviera on the Carribean Ocean. Our rooms were spacious and very well appointed. The pools were gorgeous, and the grounds very well kept. The staff was very attentive, always smiling and willing to help. The beach at our resort was beautiful, absolutely perfect for beach walking and sunbathing. The water was very wavy, but warm and turquoise in color. Besides the beach, the best thing about this property is the location. It is great for travellers who want to get out and see what Mexico has to offer. We were located close enough to visit Cancun, Playa Del Carmen, and some fantastic archeological sites. I would recommend leaving your resort and exploring the country to anyone travelling to Mexico. Cancun is bursting with nightlife, neon lights and serious party people. The lights are always on, and there is always something to do. This is the place to be if you are looking for non-stop action and loud music, but not so if you are longing for beachs. Stay for the nightlife and the beautiful resorts that offer great amenities and fantastic pools, but do not stay for the beaches as they have been hurt by hurricanes, and are not suitable for strolling or sunbathing. Playa Del Carmen is also a really hip place with great night life, but more subtle than Cancun. There are plenty of shopkeepers waiting for your pesos, and a plethora of restaurants to find your favorite dish in. There is great contrast to be seen with Mexican children playing in the street admist the toursitic influence of posh night clubs and boutique hotels. If you are looking for a night on the town with some authentic Mexican flair, Playa del Carmen will not disapoint. Souveniers are aplenty and the Tequila is cheap. The most memorable day of my vacation, happened also to be the hottest day the region has seen this year. We took a tour to the Mayan Ruins in Coba. Our air-conditioned tour bus picked us up at our resort and drove a bit more than 2 hours into the Mexican jungle. The sights along the way offered some insight on what Mexican life is like outside of the resorts and off the beaches. When we arrived at the ruins we decided to rent bicycles as the site is rather large and would require a lot of walking. It cost 3 pesos to rent a bike for the day. Our guide was extremely knowledgeable and explained in detail the secrets and mysteries of these acient ruins. We climbed a very large pyramid caught up in history and myth - going up was hard, but coming down was the hardest. After the ruins, we were privileged enough to visit a small Mayan community, and experience the ways of Mayan life. We met two families who invited us into their homes and let us experience their daily lives. The young children ran barefoot and carefree playing games amoungst themselves while the mothers weaved hammocks, and tended to household chores. To end the day, our tour guide brought us to a "cenote" which is a natural sink hole filled with fresh cold water. And after biking through the jungle and climbing pyramids, it was incredibly refreshing. It was a perfect end to a perfect day. For travellers who enjoy cultural experiences I would absolutely suggest a weekend (or longer!) in Mexico. Stay at a resort for the comfort, good food and relaxation, but venture out into the unknown and see what you can discover!

September 12, 2003

Living at the far end of the earth, travelling becomes synonymous with getting up well before the crack of dawn in order to connect to an international flight. In protest to waking at this ungodly hour, my body turns on me and strikes me down with some terrible illness every time I begin a journey. This trip was no exception. I woke up with a streaming flu, and it was far too early for a chemist to be open to drug myself for the flight. I was just going to have to struggle through.

In Sydney I met up with the tour organisers. They were pet food manufacturers. The rest of the participants were shop owners from Perth who had met their sales targets for their brand, the trip being the incentive. My job was to herd everybody together, help them to check in and out of their hotels and book a few nice restaurants along the way. Not too hard, except by this point my entire head was blocked.

Things went further downhill. Somewhere between Frankfurt and Paris, my sinuses exploded from the pressure. My nose bled for the next two days, instantly knocking me out of contention for the Most Attractive Tour Leader award. 

When our tour bus pulled up on the wrong side of a tiny, crowded street of Paris, a rude Parisian driver nearly reversed over one of my tourists. 'Stop!' shouted her husband Tony. So the Parisian guy got out of the car and shoved him. I would have defused the situation, but suddenly remembered that I am terrified of conflict. Plus my nose was already bleeding and I didn't feel like making it worse. So I stood gawking and waited until the scary guy got in his car and drove away. Don't judge me; I signed up to be a tour leader, not a bouncer.

One of the tour participants had broken her foot the day before, but had elected to come along anyway. She asked if I could try to get her a wheelchair. So while everyone else checked into their rooms at the Hotel Burgundy for a well deserved siesta, I went down to the pharmacy to try and procure a) a wheelchair and b) the strongest cold and flu tablets known to man. It was then that I realized that perhaps I had overstated my ability to speak French somewhat. Sure, I got a high distinction in second year French at uni, but to be honest my technique lies largely in thinking of the Italian word for something and then saying it with a French accent. It often works, but not always, particularly when my throat is swollen shut and I can barely be understood even in English. I ended up doing the age-old traveller charades, pointing at my nose, throat and chest in a clumsy imitation of a deaf-mute.

By the time I made it back to the Hotel Burgundy, everybody on the tour had headed out for sightseeing and shopping, so I missed the chance to bond with any of the group. I decided to freshen up from my journey before setting off myself. I had forgotten how small single hotel rooms in Europe are. I could pretty much brush my teeth in bed and still spit neatly into the sink. Speaking of which, I was faintly horrified by my own appearance. Here I was in the city of style and I looked like I'd been dragged through a hedge backwards, while the hedge was being dragged through a mulcher. This was not good. I took a couple of cold & flu tablets, splashed water on my face and told myself I was as hot as any Parisian chick.

Fortified with medication, my next task was to find a restaurant for dinner that night. At last time was on my side! I located a traditional brasserie a couple of blocks over. The pseudoephedrine kicked in as I walked through the door. Suddenly I could remember everything I wanted to say. I made a reservation for 28 people for 7pm and negotiated a menu. Snails in garlic butter, slow roasted duck, creme caramel for dessert and a selection of local wines. I couldn't wait to partake.

The Hotel Burgundy was conveniently located in the Opera District, walking distance from the Louvre and the Galeries Lafayette where the best shopping is to be found. However, by now it was too late to attempt museums and art galleries, so I wandered idly, looking in shop windows. I spotted a chocolatier and couldn't stop myself from going on. Tiny, exquisite, hand-made chocolates were laid out on trays. My mouth watered. Then I caught sight of the sign '5 euros/100gm.' I needed to back out of here very, very carefully so that I didn't break something and have to take out a loan to pay for it. As I turned, a saleswoman blocked my path. Oh dear, what was I going to do? 'Est-ce que vous voulez assayer des chocolats pour nous?' she asked me politely.
I couldn't believe my ears. Stunned, I blinked at her a couple of times while I tried to work up a response. She mistook my hesitation for incomprehension.
'Would you like to taste some chocolates for us?' she repeated in English.
Mais oui! I spent the next ten minutes tasting their new range and scoring it out of ten.

Paris is so much better than I remembered.

February 19, 2005

Clicking your heels together three times and saying, 'There is no place like home,' is NOT an effective method of transportation.

It was 3am. The chill night air was a welcome relief against my sweaty skin as I heaved myself up stair after stair. My headlamp lit a small circle in front of me, but otherwise the night was lit only by the starry expanse of the milky way. I placed each foot down carefully; the last thing I wanted to do was break an ankle and have to be carried down this godforsaken mountain. Once more, I asked myself what on earth I was doing here. There were only 130 metres of altitude and 2.5km of trail between me and the summit of Mount Kinabalu, the highest mountain in South East Asia. My head throbbed, my heart was beating like a taiko drum and I felt my ears might explode from the pressure. 'I need a break,' I gasped, slumping on to a rock on the trail.
'Are you OK?' Sara asked me.
I nodded weakly. Actually, I was convinced I was about to die of heart failure/altitude sickness/sheer terror, but I didn't want to worry anybody else.
'In that case, I'll keep walking,' she said. 'If I stop, I can't get up again.'
She disappeared into the darkness above. Robert flopped down on the rock next to me, panting for breath. Our monosyllabic Malay guide, Edwin, rested on one foot, looking calm and unruffled. Edwin climbs this mountain twice a week with tourists like ourselves. He must have legs of steel.

I could hardly believe that only 32 hours had passed since I had landed in Kota Kinabalu, tired, but happy to be on holidays. I had joined Robert and Sara at the Hotel High Street Inn, a clean and comfortable 2 star property in the centre of KK, for a week of R&R. Robert is my former flatmate and Sara is his fellow biology student from Germany. They were in Borneo to do a 9-week project on tree canopies in the jungle. 

Robert briefed me on our upcoming trek in a nearby plaza festooned in fairy lights, where we shouted over the Karaoke singers as a guy who claimed to be called Marijuana poured our beers from icy tins into our glasses. The beer was flat, strong and cold and it went down far too easily. 'I have bad news,' Robert said. 'We have to be up at 6am tomorrow.' All of a sudden, I was overwhelmed by a wave of jetlag.
'I've gotta go to bed,' I sighed, and headed back to the hotel.
All too soon, I could hear knocking at my bedroom door. I fumbled my way through a haze of sleep, dragged on my clothes and headed downstairs for a breakfast of delicious yum cha at the Chinese Restaurant below. A huge red banner proclaimed 'Gong Xi Fa Cai,' Happy Chinese New Year. Sara and Robert looked dubiously at the dishes in small bamboo steamers on the counter, but I shrieked in delight. 'Steamed pork buns! Prawn dumplings! Chicken feet!' I forced them to try several new delicacies and they were instantly converted to the joys of yum cha. After stuffing ourselves, we gathered up our luggage and loaded it into our waiting taxi.

We sped off through the early morning traffic and soon reached the confines of KK. The air was redolent with the aroma of banana plantations and tropical flowers. It brought back memories of my years spent in Far North Queensland and I pointed out poincianas and mango trees to my friends. A winding road took us higher and higher in the mountains. My heart leapt into my mouth more than once as our driver overtook slow trucks on blind corners. Naturally there were no seatbelts. Soon, the driver pointed out the distant peak of Mt Kinabalu. I gulped. There was no way I could get up that thing, I thought. Sara looked quietly terrified in the seat next to me.

No matter how light your pack feels at the bottom of the mountain, it will always feel three times as heavy within half an hour of walking. At the national park entry station, we repacked our luggage and stored the excess with the ranger. We arranged a guide, paid park entry fees, climbing permit fees, insurance fees, and a couple of other random fees. Each fee required a separate form to be filled out in triplicate and taken to a different window. Bureacracy is a curse. Finally, we were aboard the bus to take us to the starting point at Tampohon Gate. By the gate is a plaque honouring the fastest climbs. Apparently somebody once climbed it in 1hr40min, or thereabouts. The trail map showed that we were 8.7km from the summit. Can't be that hard, I thought, That's less than the walk to work from home.

The iron gates were opened for us and we passed through. The first 100m were downhill, lulling us into a false sense of security. I bounded ahead, excited to be outdoors and moving. The redolent aromas of the rainforest filled my nostrils. Soon, the steps went up instead of down. Still, I was in fine form, for a while, at least.

As we got higher and higher, I realised I was sucking air in deep gasps. There didn't seem to be enough oxygen to go around. My thighs burned from the effort of climbing. With each step, I focused on using my lower leg to push my body upwards from the ground. My heart was beating so hard it hurt. Huts were located every 400-900m and the rest break they offered was a welcome relief. Perching on a wooden plank, discarding my pack for a moment and taking a few sips of water were the highlights of my existence. It wasn't long before I couldn't make it from one hut to the next without a rest in between. We began to meet walkers coming down from the previous day's expedition. 'Good luck!' they encouraged. I was deeply envious of them. I couldn't wait to be going back down.

At first, the views were awesome, but they soon disappeared beneath a thick veil of cloud. Swirling mists curled around us as we strode on. All I could see were the steps in front of me, the foliage above and the lichens on either side of the trail. The soil changed from red ochre to dusty grey to sandstone yellow. Between the second and third kilometre of the trail, there was a series of over 250 steps. I paused, wheezed, forced my unwilling limbs to continue.

Suddenly, at about 4.5km up, we emerged above the clouds. The view was awesome. Stunted trees similar to those of the Hartz Mountains gave way to vistas of the distant peaks. Below us, huge cumulus clouds swirled and reformed, rushing over the trees below. There were no steps now, but granite rocks formed a kind of jumbled staircase which my throbbing feet continued to climb. My rests were more frequent now and my head had begun to ache, which no amount of water seemed to be able to cure.
'Don't take any headache tablets,' warned Robert. 'They can be very bad at this altitude.'

Despite the sandwiches I had eaten along the way, my stomach churned with hunger. I couldn't wait to reach the lodge at 6km, 3900m above sea level, and our destination for today's walk. What I wouldn't give for a shower and a hot meal!
'Only 20 minute more,' promised Edwin.
With a sigh, I hauled myself to my feet and struggled on. And there it was! After nearly six hours' climb, I was ecstatic. Like Mecca, the lodge appeared in a clearing ahead of me.

Then I saw the sign on the glass door: 'Due to dry season and no rain, we have not enough water even to flush toilet and no shower.' My shoulders slumped. If that was bad, the meal was worse. For the princely sum of 20 ringgit each, we could eat all we wanted from the buffet in chafing dishes in the restaurant. I didn't want much. There was something which could have been mutton in a brown sauce, overcooked vegetables in broth, some stringy chicken pieces, soft rice and boiled eggs in sweet and sour sauce. It was less than inspiring. But, I reflected, somebody had to carry all that up the mountain for me to eat it. And it's probably hard work cooking up here - the pressure, or lack thereof, would make it take twice as long. So I obediently tucked into the available food before slumping into my bunk bed around 8pm.

Though it was only 9 degrees outside, our room contained an oil heater which made it stifling. On the top bunk (yep, I drew the short straw - wasn't even sure how I was going to make it up the ladder) I felt I might die of heat. Each time I turned, the flimsy structure squealed in protest, so I lay rigid with horror, sure the entire thing would collapse if I moved. I finally passed out, a sweaty, stinking mess, my hair askew, my body ravaged and aching.
It seemed only a moment passed before Sara was calling out to me from the bunk below.
'Are you awake?' she said softly.
I wished I wasn't. 'Yes,' I called back. 'Coming on down.'

It was a struggle to get into my clothes, strap my torch to my head and stumble outside into the cold air. And there I was, sitting on a rock, not sure if I could go on.

You have no choice but to succeed, I told myself. It's just a matter of when. I willed my limbs to obey and got to my feet. Looking up at the bobbing lamps above me, I reeled as I realized just how high it was. Remembering my postural low blood pressure just in time, I focused on the ground in front of me. For crying out loud, I'm a travel agent! I spend 50 hours a week chained to a desk by an umbilical phone cord. I get dizzy taking brochures off the top shelf.
'Don't look up,' Robert advised me. Point taken.

Just then, we emerged beyond the treeline. The smooth slope of granite loomed above me, a rope pegged into the stone. I gulped. Crikey. Don't look up, I reminded myself. I turned around, perched myself on another rock and looked out at the vista beneath me. More headlamps bobbed up the trail from below. Further still, there were the lights of the lodge, and deep below that, the lights of villages lower in the mountains. I was struck by a sudden dizzying flash of vertigo and I clung to the rock beneath me. Don't look up, or down, I told myself sternly.

Instead I turned, took hold of the rope, swallowed my fear and pulled myself up the mountain. I found it hard to let go of the rope to take the next step. Trust your body, said a voice in my head. It will not let you fall. And so, one step after another, I went on. And on. And on. My headache was no better, but I was continuing.

Edwin kept me silent company as I stopped for frequent breaks. Fifteen minutes before dawn, the Muslim climbers broke into prayer song. The notes echoed eerily around the granite peaks. I wondered how they would kneel on the steep surface, but I couldn't see them in the darkness. Looking up, I could just see the peak above me, so close, but so elusively far. I was going to make it! Drawing on my last reserves of strength, I kept on.

I shrieked as my foot slipped on a rock, only metres from the summit. Don't fall! I ordered myself. A crowd of climbers was already gathered at the peak, smiling wearily down at me. I grabbed the rope, took a deep breath, grunted and kept climbing. In the east, the first rays of sun appeared over the horizon, casting eerie shadows on the rocks around me. Abruptly, I reached the top end of the rope. Robert called out to me, 'You're almost there, but you must touch the sign at the top!'

The last few steps were easier than I expected. I skipped up the steep incline like a mountain goat, paused for some other climbers to take their photo in front of the sign. Then I darted forward, hit it with a resounding clang and said, 'Done!' Everybody burst out laughing.

I had made it. Now how was I going to get down?