To find the Earth’s equator is now pretty easy. You stand around where you think it is with your handy GPS and the gadget tells you where to go and when you’ve arrived. Back when the equator was first mapped, it was the 1700s, and no one thought to bring along their GPS.

The story of the equator (well, equators, but we’ll get to that in a minute) in Ecuador starts in the 1700s when the first geodesic expedition took place, the French Geodesic Mission, whose goal was to find and mark the equator. The equator passes through 14 countries. The ones on major land masses were sort of uninviting, or at least seemed like a hassle to the French (present day Uganda, Somalia, places like that). So they turned to South America, and specifically it seemed like a nice Spanish controlled territory (now Ecuador) was traveler friendly, a nice colonial city, Quito, was already built nearby. So they asked the King of Spain if it was cool for them to go equator hunting and he said sure, provided you take a long these two Spanish scientists to share in the glory. So they all set off in 1735.

They got to Quito, met up with an Ecuadorian scientist, and started measuring the curvature of the Earth around Quito. They stood on tall hills (there are many around Quito), they walked around a lot, they measured. Through some math that I cannot admit I fully understand, they came up with the location of the equator. And that spot is called Mitad del Mundo (Middle of the World in Spanish).

Kelly & Jacob on the equator

Ecuador’s Equator #1: French

Ecuador eventually became independent of Spain, and decided to commemorate the expedition and the equator, which they named their country after (yep, Ecuador is Spanish for equator), by erecting a monument. There’s a long walk up to the monument, the path flanked by big heads of all the scientists on the expedition.

The path culminates with a view of a stone building topped by a representation of the Earth (on its side for optimal equator viewing). Inside the stone building is an Ethnographic Museum, which houses some very worthwhile exhibits on the various cultures and peoples of Ecuador, both indigenous and not.

If you trek out to the Mitad del Mundo, I highly recommend a visit to the museum. And, of course, there’s a big line painted on the ground to represent the equator complete with compass markings.

The monument is great, there’s just one problem with it, its not actually on the equator. The French guys were good at math, but not perfect, they came in a mere 250 meters off.

Ecuador’s Equator #2: Actually at 0°0′0″ Lat.

Kelly & Jacob at actual equator

Located on the actual equator is the Inti Nan museum. Besides sitting atop the actual GPS calculated equator, the museum has hands on exhibits about indigenous Ecuadorian life (houses, food, stuff like that). The exhibits were interesting, but more interesting are the experiments you can participate in on the equator.

Try to walk the equator line straight with your eyes closed, its impossible, you feel like you’re falling. You can balance an egg on the head of a nail, gravity is straight down, so it becomes a much easier task. Watch the Coriolis effect in action as water spins down drains. All of it was fun in a sort of freaky and nerdy kind of way.

I highly recommend visiting at least one, if not both of the equators in Ecuador. I know it seems like a really touristy thing to do, but how often can you hop over a line and across a hemisphere?

– Kelly G

Following in the French Geodesic Mission’s footsteps and traveling to Ecuador? Browse Viator’s tours to Mitad del Mundo.

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Editor’s Note: Luke posted this last year for his mum. We thought it nicely captures the spirit of Mother’s Day, so we are re-posting Luke’s original ode today in honor of moms (and mums) everywhere.

Fighting my way to Sydney airport on Easter Thursday evening — along with 20,000 other travellers, dropper-offers and picker-uppers — I wondered whether my mother would enjoy the activities I’d lined up for her over the next couple of days. At 78 she shows no sign of slowing down. And short of a parachute jump there’s not much she wouldn’t try. So here are three totally different things to do in Sydney with your mother, your friends, your lover - or just you.

“Luke, I am your father…”

If you were any higher in Sydney it would be illegal. Sydney Skywalk is purportedly twice the height of the Sydney Harbour Bridge but only a tenth of the effort since you get to the top by elevator. The staff work hard to make your Skywalk a real event and have their jokes - and facts - down pat. The ultimate joke was on me of course, for not even realizing the significance of having the name “Luke” on my “SkyWalker” certificate.

Once kitted out with our overalls and radios and associated ear pieces, beanies, parkas and clipped-on this and double-tied that, were we ready to go outside. Mark my words - even on a sunny day it can be cold and windy up there. In fact it was only when I caught Mum wiping her nose on the beanie (also tethered to her overalls) that I realized I should have smuggled a tissue up for her.

Needless to say, the views from that height are sensational. At almost 900 feet high the glass floor section isn’t for the squeamish but then, neither is my Mum’s beanie after she’s done with it. There’s the added kudos of everyone staring at you as you file through the indoor public spaces toward the lift. (Oh alright - call it showing off).

Ice, Ice baby.

If I carry my Star Wars theme through to our next stop, it would be to note the uncanny resemblance my Mother bears to Yoda once she’s decked out in a fur-trimmed hooded parka that’s two sizes too large. Sydney’s Minus5 Ice Bar is on the Italian-style promenade linking Circular Quay with the Opera House, so if you’re visiting Sydney, you’re bound to be in the area. In a grown-up Willy Wonka kinda’ way you can eat your cocktail glass since it’s made purely out of ice. Steer clear of slurping from the little waterfall because it’s actually anti-freeze. Reindeer skins on big ice thrones lend it a great “Norse God” feeling.

The sun shone, the sea sparkled, the prawns were in abundance.

Sydneysiders can be so damn smug about their harbour and it’s days like these that you understand why. With nothing to do but load your plate with oysters and prawns, settle back at your window side table (if you’re lucky) and watch the harbor slip past and enjoy views that you just won’t get from land. It’s still a working harbor so mega-ton freighters piled high with shiny new cars vie for space with two- man skiffs and luxury yachts.

We joined the Sydney Harbour Magistic lunch cruise at King Street wharf; you can have a good wander around Cockle bay and the nearby Darling Harbour tourist precinct before or after your cruise. You can also join or leave the boat at Circular Quay, and now you know where Minus5 Ice Bar is, too. My secret tip? The little deck in front of the buffet was empty while everyone was chowing down so stake a table and toss a coin for who goes to the bar for the second glass of chardonnay.

The verdict’s in - Mum just called. Her flight’s landed and she’s home safely, tired but happy. I hope she didn’t really put a glass from the Ice Bar in her bag…

–Luke Crosthwaite

Browse Viator’s complete list of Sydney tours and things to do, Melbourne tours, and more things to do in Australia.

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The road to Fes from Marrakech

Do I remember my first visit to Morocco?

Let me put it this way — do you remember the first time you were run over by a bus? Dropped from a plane without a parachute? Locked in a room with a poisonous snake?

Yeah. I remember my first trip to Morocco.

I was 20 years old. I was doing my junior year abroad studying in Ireland and somehow — forgive me, if you haven’t already — I convinced two of my closest friends to include Morocco on our “around Europe in 4 weeks” backpacking odyssey that summer.

At the time Morocco was nothing more than an idea to me. A distant concept. A combination of Indiana Jones meets the Arabian Nights. I had never visited an Arab country before, let alone a Muslim country. Neither had my two friends. It was going to be an adventure.

And in the interest of making a very long story much shorter, here’s the abridged version of what happened. (If you want to read the full version, I’m afraid you must buy a very forgettable Lonely Planet travel literature title — you have been warned.)

It is hot

Three 20-year-olds arrive in Morocco by ferry from Spain. They immediately board a train — a 14-hour train — to Fes, 4th class. If you’ve never heard of 4th class, that’s the section of the train with chickens and goats, no glass in the windows, wooden benches, and certainly no tourists.

We had completely forgot to buy water and food. We had nothing to eat or drink. Literally. And it was hot, as in 115-degrees hot.

At some point the train stopped moving completely. We sat roasting, idle, unmoving, in the Moroccan sun. My friends probably said a few unrepeatable and mean things to me, but I don’t remember. All I can remember is the heat. The hot sun. Desert.

We are kidnapped

Towards dusk, a nice man started chatting us up. He spoke fluent English. He was charming. He found a few cans of soda for us. He showed us how to write our own names in Arabic. He was our hero.

He suggests that, rather than arrive in Fes around midnight, why not jump off the train at the next stop. There’s a small town, he can give us the address of a good hotel, we can spend the night and catch the morning train to Fes, refreshed.

Of course. How sensible. We’ll do it.

A series of confusing events follows. We get off the train. There is no town. It’s desolate. A man in sunglasses directing us into the back of a waiting Mercedes. The three of us looking at each other, what do we do? Man in the sunglasses is pushing us into the car now. We are speeding off. The man from the train is nowhere to be seen. But a police car — siren blazing — all of a sudden appears behind us, chasing us. The Mercedes we’re in sets a new land-speed record and we outrun the coppers. We’re not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Are the police on our side? What side? Who’s side?

Wait — what’s going on here?????

We meet our kidnapper’s mom

After a half-hour or so in the Mercedes — did I mention it was black with auto-locking doors, I kid you not — we pulled into a small town and are dumped in front of a house. Magically, the main from the train opens a door and welcomes us with a huge smile. I can’t prove he said the words, “welcome my friends!” But I would bet my left kidney that he did.

He leads us upstairs, ignoring all of our questions, and shows us a comfortable-looking room with three beds. He tells us to drop our bags, have some tea, freshen up — and that dinner will be served shortly.

Dinner?

This is not me. But I’m afraid I looked as silly as this guy.

He then introduces us to his mother, who’s busy cooking and yet greets us with a friendly ear-to-ear smile like we are old friends or long lost children. And we meet two other ‘guests’, two American girls who’ve been here for nearly a week. They’re full of compliments and great stories about the week they’ve had.

Here’s how we summed up our situation. First, it seems we had been kidnapped from a Moroccan train. Second, it’s pretty likely we were chased by Moroccan police, but got away. Third, we’ve been taken to our kidnapper’s house, which is actually more like a bed and breakfast than a torture chamber. Fourth, his mom is a great cook. The lodging rates are good. Maybe we’ll stay here a while…

We have an amazing time in Morocco

After this admittedly rough start to our trip, Morocco continues to baffle us yet we have an amazing time anyway. Things I am proud of doing: exploring the souks in Fes and making friends with Morocco’s rabid soccer fans (this was during the ‘90 World Cup). Meeting some amazing people, eating some incredible food, and having a travel experience unlike any other in my life.

Things I am less proud of doing: accidentally stealing a Moroccan’s wallet and getting punched in the face. Being told that we would “fit in” better if wore the local dress — a jellaba — and then actually following that advice.

Since that first trip, I’ve been back to Morocco a few times. Each visit has been utterly unforgettable (in the best possible way). I’ve formed a deep attachment to Morocco, to the Moroccan people, and to sights and sounds of a country like no other I’ve visited.

I’m sure it’s hard to believe that this post is intended to be a full-throated endorsement of traveling to Morocco. Yet it is!

True, Morocco is not the easiest country in the world. And sure, you must learn to cope with any number of complexities and difficulties. No matter. If you’re contemplating a trip to Morocco, just go. I guarantee you will not regret it. Maybe you’ll be lucky enough to get kidnapped by the same lovely family we were kidnapped by. If so, tell them hello from Scott and his friends.

–Scott McNeely

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The islands, beaches and rainforests that surround Cairns make it world famous – an essential stop on any trans-Australian itinerary. It’s the most popular base for diving or snorkeling over the magnificent Great Barrier Reef, but you might struggle to fit that in around the bungee jumping, hot-air ballooning, skydiving, fishing, white-water rafting and horse riding. Animal sanctuaries are plentiful, so you’re certain to indulge your koala-cuddling fetish, and there are miles of eco-friendly boardwalks that penetrate deep into the rainforest. We’ve pulled together our Suggested Itineraries in Cairns to make trip planning easier for you. Read on for our highlights.

Day 1: Best of Cairns

Take a full-day tour that combines the best of Cairns, Kuranda and their environs. The breathtaking Skyrail rides high above the rainforest canopy, before a 30-minute helicopter ride to a helipad on the Outer Great Barrier Reef. Maybe you’d prefer an early morning hot air balloon ride that and also takes in the Kuranda Scenic Railway and the Tjapukai Aboriginal Cultural Park theatres and museums?

If heights, pre-dawn starts and champagne at breakfast makes you feel queasy, try an all-day 4WD Daintree and Cape Tribulation Tour that will keep you on terra firma. Morning tea is taken at the Daintree River, and then you go deep into the world’s oldest rainforest.

Once your day-tour is over, head down to the Aussie BBQ at Cairns Night Zoo, which features steak, seafood and vegetarian options served with fresh salads and drinks. After ‘grub’ you’ll seek out owls by torchlight (flashlight), pat possums and koalas, and enjoy a traditional bush dance.

Day 2: Make Like a Fish, Make Like a Bird

The Discover Diving Program takes beginners and experienced divers to the Outer Barrier Reef 63 kilometres (40 miles) from Cairns for a day-long PADI-certificate course over the remarkable reef. Or sign up for a small-group diving and snorkelling tour to the Outer Barrier Reef or to Agincourt Ribbon Reef.

Skydiving in Cairns

If that’s too sedate, try the Tarzan-inspired Minjin Jungle Swing or (you know you want to …) a Cairns bungee jump from a 50 meter (164 feet) tower –- photos and DVDs can be purchased to show your friends what fear and trembling looks like on your face.

Are you just too tough for bungee jumping? Try firing yourself out of a canon or, better, skydiving in Cairns.

Once your pulse has normalized and the burnt-orange hues of day’s end begin to glow in the late-afternoon sky, it’s time to think about dinner. How about a four-course dinner cruise on the Ocean Spirit IV in placid Trinity Inlet?

Day 3: Oh My Aching Head… and Body!

So you’ve played hard during the day and partied hard at night, and now you need a more restful day. Cairns has a lovely foreshore pedestrian promenade and a 4,800-sq-kilometre saltwater swimming lagoon. You could sign up for the day-long Kuranda Skyrail and Rail tour and check out the hugely popular Skyrail then return to Cairns aboard the famous Kuranda Scenic Rail, winding around curves, across bridges, and through hand-hewn tunnels.

If that doesn’t sound appealing, breakfast at the Cairns Tropical Zoo includes breakfast at the Koala Café and an informative talk by the wildlife keeper.

For some evening entertainment, witness Dreamtime storytelling and performance with the Flames of the Forest Dining Experience in a secret forest clearing as dusk settles and the stars come out. A full three-course meal comprising high-end cuisine, bush ingredients and superb boutique wines accompanies an Aboriginal dance-and-music show. Also check out the Tjapukai by Night (read Kerrie’s recent post about the Tjapukai too).

This is just a sample of the oodles of things to see and do in this traveler’s paradise – browse our complete list of Cairns tours and things to do.

–Rowan M

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I make my way to the meeting point in Berlin, at Gesundbrunnen, feeling a slight degree of trepidation. The Cold War is a mystery to me, as is most of modern history. I was a little worried that the tour would be more for the boffins and military enthusiasts than someone like myself. I was happily proven wrong.

Berlin Underground: Going Down

Going underground, stepping back in time

We all follow obediently as our excellent tour guide leads us briskly across the square, over the road, and into the entrance of a park, before heading through a door in a small brick building, with, ironically enough, a Holiday Inn sign perched on the roof.

Once inside, we have an introduction to the place, with general information about when the bunkers were built, and how they were used in the Second World War, and then re-fitted a nuclear shelter during the Cold War. The historical overview takes us from the 1943 Tehran Conference to the dividing of Berlin into American, British, French and Soviet sectors at the close of World War II, to the 1948-49 Berlin Blockade. I learn about the non-socialisation rule of West Berlin, where a soldier could be fined or court martialled for fraternising with the German community or — heaven forbid — falling in love with a local girl. (Any social and political system that keeps people on different sides and prevents us from seeing each other as human beings, and acting with compassion is, I guess what keeps the theatres of war in operation.)

The Berlin Underground tour office

We hear about the preparations made for civilians to take shelter in the event of a Third World War, and how the impact of a nuclear attack would devastate the city. It is a sombre and terrifying prospect, although something that is timely to reflect on in this nuclear age. As I travel and meet people from different cultures and backgrounds, I am continually struck by our common desires to find community, connection and a sustainable future together on this beautiful planet. It’s good to be reminded of the history underneath this remarkable city, which is constantly regenerating itself, and to appreciate the peace and freedom that most of us take for granted.

What does one eat, living in a bunker?

One of the details that intrigues me are the supplies kept in the bunker: boxes containing hundreds of thousands of items, toiletries, shaving brushes, medical kits and canned food, including oranges, “herrings in tomato sauce” and sardines from Portugal. This glimpse into the preparations for survival provides a fascinating insight into life at the time, and also tells a story of racketeering and greed, which you will have to take the tour to find out more about!

Moving deeper into the tunnels, we pass a grated opening that looks down onto the train line, and stories from our guide that give an indication of the desperate measures people were prepared to take in order to try and reach the democratic West. There is the darkly humourous sign indicating friend (Communists) and enemy (evil Capitalists) posted at the entrance to the ghost stations (subway stops that in East Berlin were sealed and closed-off), offering a slim hope of escape as West Berlin trains ran through them.

There is a chilling tale of the sewers, and gruesome details about the measures that the Soviet authorities were prepared to go to in order to secure the underground borders. This is best left to the tour guide to tell, as the location also helps create an echo of the atmosphere where these events took place, and gives a sense of the complete control over the population, which is of course the least appealing aspect of any totalitarian state.

Not all the walls came down in 1989

I am fascinated to learn that after the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989, the removal of the underground borders takes almost another 10 years. Living in contemporary Berlin as part of the international community, it is easy to forget just how present and immediate this history is for the people who grew up here. Berlin is a city that is constantly changing and reinventing itself, however the marks of history are deeply scored into the architecture and pysche of the city, and are still visible in the underworld.

Scene from a horror movie? Nope, just a seedy part of Berlin’s history

Taking a short underground ride to the next station, we have the fabulously bizarre experience of entering one of those anonymous doors you see along the railway corridors. The entire U-Bahn station of Pankstrasse was designed as a nuclear shelter in the 1980s, and can be hermetically sealed, with enough room for around 1,500 people to survive the blast and a few weeks afterwards.

We have a taste of the simulated “catastrophe rehearsal”, with an introduction to the decontamination chamber (and the bright blue-and-yellow tracksuits which were the only clothes allowed inside), then a look at one of the medical rooms.

There is a slightly seedy aspect to the recent past of this facility, however there was no time to go deeper into the complex, although another tour explores this one in far more detail.

During construction of new buildings, the engineers often dug very deep into the soil of Berlin, and the subway system is only a part of its subterranean architecture. Many other objects are to be found in Berlin’s sandy underground. Cemeteries, secret air-raid shelters, sewers and even an aircraft factory were built under the surface of the city. A lot of these structures still exist nowadays.

Birth of the Berlin Underworld

In the autumn of 1997, a few enthusiasts got together in order to explore this subterranean world. The organization they founded, the Berliner Unterwelten (Berlin Underworlds Association), locates and documents such hidden installations, making some of them accessible to the public. And it uses these sites for cultural purposes (such as exhibitions, theatre performances and concerts). The organization has already discovered numerous forgotten subterranean structures – but many other secrets are still to be discovered down there.

I am left with a sense of sadness, for the effects of war on humanity, and respect for the courage and dignity which people of all backgrounds show in the most extreme circumstances. It was a relief to return to the sunshine and light of the outside world, not having had to spend days or weeks inside a bunker for survival, and gave me a much deeper understanding of the events and history of this extraordinary city.

–Jodi Rose

Planning a trip? Browse Viator’s list of things to do in Berlin, including Berlin walking tours and the Underground Berlin: Subways, Bunkers and the Cold War tour that Jodi reviews in this post.

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The problem I have is that with the very mention of the word “history” my eyes glaze over and my mind wands to a far away land. Don’t get me wrong, if I go somewhere with a long and eventful history I will check it out - I was fascinated by the Colosseum in Rome and will never forget seeing the Giza Pyramids in Cairo for the first time - but you won’t find me pouring through books and text to learn the history of a place before I get there. Ancient history is ok, full of gruesome stories and strange goings-on, but modern history - yawn!

On a recent trip to my heaven on earth - Port Douglas - I decided to remedy the situation and visit somewhere I had not been before in my numerous visits to paradise. I jumped on the Scenic Railway for a visit to Kuranda, a popular day trip from Cairns. The train ride goes up the mountains through the edge of the rain-forest with brilliant views over the city all the way down to the ocean. The building of the railway is an historical event in itself and there is commentary on the train as you travel, but as I said - eyes glazing over, mind wandering - I’m not a reliable source to repeat it to you.

Strolled around Kuranda markets, grabbed some lunch then headed back down to Cairns on the Skyrail, a cable car line over the top of the rain-forest which really is worth doing if you are in the area. Gives a whole different perspective of the rain-forest. Back on terra firma it was time for the last activity on our tour, a visit to Tjapukai (pronounced Jab-a-kigh) Aboriginal Cultural Park. Throughout school in Australia we learn a little about Aboriginal culture and history but most of what I remember is the ‘dream-time’ myths and legends. I know the indigenous people of Australia were badly treated by the first settlers but never really took an interest in learning the details.

Tjapukai is run by a local Aboriginal tribe and the small group of performers are very proud and passionate about their culture. You first see a live telling of the Aboriginal story of creation, before moving on to a music performance, of course featuring the didgeridoo and dancing. The there is a demonstration on how to make a didgeridoo, boomerang and spear throwing lessons (yes, its interactive so be prepared to duck!), and a presentation of bush medicines. It was all very interesting and enjoyable, but nothing ground breaking for me, just a pleasant day out.

To finish the visit at Tjapukai it was time for a short movie about the history of the Djabugay and Irukanydji people, the original inhabitants of this part of Australia. As the film began my mind already began to drift to thoughts of which restaurant to go to for dinner, but was abruptly brought back to focus as the story immediately highlighted the harsh reality of this part of Australian history.

The original owners of the land were hunted and slaughtered like animals - men, women and children. Those not killed were enslaved and forced to abandon their culture to adopt that of the Europeans. Their land was taken from them and they were not allowed to hunt and forage for food. Before there was time to process the brutality of the initial treatment, the film shows the ongoing affects of forced change and loss of identity suffered by descendants of these people. The struggle they face to find their place, trying to regain some of the rich culture and traditions almost lost 200 years ago, while coping with the ever changing modern world. The film finished on a positive note, profiling some of the ’success stories’ of the tribe today who are inspiring younger generations to forgive the past and re-embrace their heritage.

Seeing this film made it easier to understand and feel compassion for current day Aborigines who struggle with addictions and resentment. Our prime minister recently made a long overdue apology to the indigenous people of Australia and my visit to Tjapukai helped me understand why this was so important. It also inspired me to learn more about my own country’s history and find out how we got to where we are today.

Here at Viator we love to wax lyrical about the meaning of travel, why we travel, how we travel, whats the meaning of it all? For me its simple - I travel to learn. I think I can say on this occasion - I traveled, I learned - goal achieved.

-Kerrie O’Mahony

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Try as I might, I can no longer stay quiet about the cyclone in a teacup brewing over at Lonely Planet.

You know, the Thomas Kohnstamm firestorm. The travel writer who takes drugs, has sex, fabricates information, and writes a tell-all book about his experiences called Do Travel Writers Go to Hell?

FULL DISCLOSURE: I used to work at Lonely Planet, and before that I wrote more than a dozen guidebooks for Lonely Planet as a full-time travel writer. And no, I have no ax to grind. As I’ve said in a previous post about Lonely Planet and the BBC, I love the people I worked with and I retain a decent amount of respect for the founders, Tony & Maureen Wheeler.

Don’t believe everything you read in books

Here’s a link to the article in the New York Observer that started it all. The original slant on Thomas’ books was: “It’s about his experiences as a delinquent travel guide writer who cut every corner because he was so short on time and money.”

Next, the London Times gets a hold of this and ups the ante. Their headline: “Lonely Planet writer, Thomas Kohnstamm, claims he fabricated guidebook.” In fact the claim from Thomas is that, “They didn’t pay me enough to go to Colombia. I wrote the book in San Francisco. I got the information from a chick I was dating – an intern in the Colombian Consulate.”

The counter-claim from Lonely Planet: “When he was commissioned it was understood that he wouldn’t be going to the destination. He claimed he wasn’t paid enough to travel, but he was only employed as an office based researcher. He was never expected to go out there.

Lonely Planet followed up with an earnest report about what inaccuracies and problems it has found in books written by Thomas.

So far so good. A forgettable travel writer swings a book deal with Random House to write a tell-all about the world’s last significant, independent travel media brand. The book is duly written. Lonely Planet is duly shocked. And the media smells blood.

Where it all turned pear-shaped for Lonely Planet

I was reading an excellent interview with Thomas himself when it hit me like a piano in the head.

WHO REALLY CARES???

Who really cares about Thomas, about his ethics, about the integrity of Lonely Planet’s “freebie policy” or the accuracy of its books — who really cares about travel books in general???

You see, Lonely Planet depends on a small handful of people — three writers, apparently, in the case of a Brazil guide Thomas contributed to — to form the ‘Lonely Planet’ view of a destination. Three people. Some of whom research from a desk. Some of whom actually travel. And then it takes a small army of editors, cartographers, designers, printers, warehouse staff, shippers, and bookstore staff to get the books into your hands. Total turnaround time: 18 - 24 months.

If you read between the lines of what people like Lonely Planet’s publisher Piers Pickard are saying, one subtle point is made over again and again. The point is, “don’t worry, we’ll review Thomas’ books, we’ll commission new writers, and in 18 months we’ll publish an update. We at Lonely Planet are all about integrity, accuracy and authenticity, so give us 18 months or so and, we promise, we’ll fix this mess!”

Oh please.

What they should be saying is: Hey, we realize that the current guidebook model is fatally flawed. That we rely on too few people to create our travel guides; that it takes far too long to research them; that we don’t pay writers enough to cover every corner of the places we send them; that it takes our staff far too long to produce them; that it takes our printers far too long to manufacture and ship them by boat around the world; that it takes bookstores far too long to stock and finally sell them.

In the year 2008, should your travel guide require such herculean effort to produce? Should it be so vulnerable to the bad decisions of a few ‘travel experts’? In a collaborative world dominated by Wikipedia (even Thomas has his own page now) and Wikitravel, of Facebook and social websites, of TripAdvisor and WAYN and Viator and a million other user-generated websites dedicated to travel, the real question for me is: In the year 2008, what still makes Lonely Planet special?

The answer has never been its authors. They’ve always been hit or miss. Some are wonderful, some are not. That was true back in the 1970s. It’s still true today.

The answer for me is the people — the travelers — who actually use Lonely Planet’s guidebooks. It’s the only thing that makes Lonely Planet truly special, the thousands people who road-test the books each year and actually go somewhere. Without the travelers, Lonely Planet is nothing but a creaky old bookmaker.

And yet…

The episode gave Lonely Planet a golden opportunity to let its travelers ‘update’ Thomas’ errors. To adapt its book-and-ink model and jump head-first into a world where travel information is generated by the wisdom of people on the ground, now, being there, doing that.

What if… Lonely Planet asked the hundreds (even thousands?) of LP travelers actually in Colombia and Brazil RIGHT NOW to send updates and help collaboratively to create the world’s most up-to-date description of traveling in South America.

What if… Lonely Planet started printing books on-demand? Sure, you still buy Lonely Planet guides in bookshops. But now you also buy them online, click-print-overnight shipped, containing the latest content from official authors, Thorn Tree users, Blue List contributors, the unwashed masses, you name it.

What if… Lonely Planet bought a company like blurb.com and created the world’s first on-demand travel bookshop, with titles from ’sanctioned’ LP authors as well as do-it-yourself titles from passionate Lonely Planet travelers.

There are so many ways Lonely Planet could have turned the Thomas affair to its advantage. Instead, its publisher promises to check for inaccuracies in the books and update them… in 18 to 24 months. In other words, it promises more of the same old creaky solutions.

Until Lonely Planet finds a way to move beyond the book — and indirectly, to move beyond its current model for researching and creating travel content — they will suffer from uneven content produced by authors who typically have not enough time or money to do a proper job. And inevitably, some of these authors will be as mediocre as Thomas. That’s just the nature of the beast.

So what amazes me about this whole episode?

Thomas sheds no new light on the dilemma faced by generations of travel writers. It’s always been that way. Ask any travel writer you know, including this one. We’re not angels. Yes we cut corners.

What’s amazing to me is that Lonely Planet and most other guidebook publishers keep trying to fix a model that is so clearly broken. Lonely Planet, hear me! It won’t be too long until the next Thomas Kohnstamm is unearthed, with his or her own stories of woe to tell. This is an inevitable fact, you must live with it.

Whether you thrive or collapse as a business depends solely on your response. Are you ready to compete in a world where fixing problems in 18 to 24 months isn’t good enough anymore?

–Scott McNeely

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Sunday morning, New York City, D Train

Get on the bus

There are all kinds of ways to see a city. If you take a tour, you’ll know you’re getting through all the highlights in an efficient and reliable way. Or you can jump on one of the many tourist-oriented transport options you find in big cities: San Francisco’s trolley cars, for example, the subway in New York City, or the City Circle antique tram in Melbourne.

Hopping on a bus, train or tram can give you a real insight into the lives of the locals. What do kids gossip about on their way to school? What are the latest fashions in office wear and mobile phones? What do old ladies buy at the market? What constitutes personal space in this culture? And how do people react when a drunk vomits on himself on the last train of the night?

The following is a small selection of some of the world’s great public transport trips – in other words, it’s only the ones I’ve been on. So get yourself on down to the comments page and let me know about the great trips I’ve missed.

San Francisco, USA: 33 Stanyan bus

When I lived in San Francisco, I’d catch the 33 Stanyan bus for kicks. The line starts a short stroll from The Presidio – a park with a great view of the Golden Gate bridge – then heads down Arguello Blvd until it hits the city’s hippy-and-buffalo hangout, Golden Gate Park. Stay in your seat for the ride down Haight Street (or hop off for a cocktail at Murio’s Trophy Room and a CD purchase or two at Amoeba) to the corner of Ashbury, where no matter how hard you look for history you’ll only see a Ben & Jerry’s outlet.

You’ll get a taste of San Francisco’s famous hills as you head up Ashbury Street. As you cross over 17th and make a couple of tight turns into Market you’ll get a spectacular view over the Mission District, San Francisco Bay and – if there’s no fog – maybe even Alameda. You could get off here and enjoy the view for a while, but the 33 isn’t legendary for its reliability, so ‘a while’ may constitute up to an hour.

The bus heads downhill to the corner of 18th and Castro in the heart of the Castro district, the city’s gay neighbourhood and another good candidate for a spot to alight. If you stay on you’ll make your way down 18th along the side of gorgeous Mission Dolores Park and on into the Latino-dominated Mission. On weekends, the bus terminates around here, so hop off as the bus crosses either Valencia or Dolores for a wander around hipster clothing stores and tasty taquerias. If you want a quicker route back to downtown, the BART train stops at the corner of 16th and Mission.

Melbourne, Australia: 96 tram

Melbourne, view from a tram window

National Geographic recently listed Melbourne’s 96 tram among the world’s top 10 tram trips. It doesn’t have the glamour and gorgeous views of other nominees, like the Lisbon 28 or the Budapest 2, but the 96 will take you around some of Melbourne’s top sights without the kitschy trappings of a more touristy tram.

The 96 starts its travels on Nicholson Street in the northern suburb of East Brunswick, currently just about the most fashionable hipster area in the city. Stroll over to parallel Lygon Street if you want to indulge in some mod-Lebanese at Rumi or a glass of pinot at the Alderman.

On its trip southward, the 96 skims the edge of Fitzroy – previous contender for most fashionable hipster area – and if you hop off at Johnston Street you can wander through the Spanish district to its heart, Brunswick Street. Otherwise, take a look out to the right as the tram passes the Carlton Gardens, home to the disconcertingly opulent Victorian-era Exhibition Building and its contrastingly modern neighbour, the Melbourne Museum. The tram then scoots past the steps of Parliament House, where there’s bound to be a bridal party or two lining up for photos, and along Bourke Street, downtown’s main artery and shopping strip.

At the south end of the city centre, the 96 heads east over the river and past Crown Casino, where most of your fellow passengers will alight, tempted by poker machines and cheap booze. Don’t do it! Stay on board and you’ll leave the streets and turn on to a disused rail line, a treat for public transport nerds. South Melbourne station is the stop for the South Melbourne Markets, where you can while away an hour or two tasting produce and buying ridiculously cute cupcakes. The tram rejoins street traffic at St Kilda, where you can take a ride on a 1912 rollercoaster at Luna Park or have a paddle at St Kilda beach, and terminates at Acland Street, home to some of the city’s most artery-clogging cake shops.

Prague, Czech Republic: 22 tram

Trams in Prague

The 22 tram in Prague is a beauty. It treads a fine line between tourist tram and actual mode of transport, but that’s just because it goes past so many spectacular attractions. It’s also popular with pickpockets, so it’s a good way of offloading any spare euros you have on you.

The 22 is one of the city’s longest routes, but for visitors its logical end points are probably Namesti Miru (or Peace Square) in Vinohrady and Prague Castle (though enthusiasts can stay on past the castle to visit the Hvezda summer palace and the site of the famous battle of Bila Hora).

Take the metro to Namesti Miru station, which has the city’s longest escalator and some of the best interior decoration in the metro system. Up above, there’s a pleasant church, restaurants and some lovely residential architecture. Hop on the tram as it runs towards the river, passing by the Gehry-designed ‘Dancing House’ on its way to the seemingly bubble-wrap-shrouded National Theatre. Cross the Vltava River on the Legii bridge – on the far side you can hop off and duck down a little flight of stairs to lovely, riverside Kampa Park, which leads to the tourist-thronged Charles Bridge.

The tram turns right on Ujezd, past backpacker fave cafe, Bohemia Bagel, and the funicular that runs up to Petrin Hill, home to a fake Eiffel Tower and a beautiful monastic library. You can also stop off at the church were the Infant of Prague lives – he’s an odd little Jesus figure who wears a frock and attracts hordes of pilgrims – or stay on until you get to Malostranske Namesti (Little Town Square) and the spectacularly baroque Church of St Nicholas, a stand-out even in this church-saturated city. From there it’s up a steep hill and you’re at the Castle gates.

My public transit wishlist

What I wouldn’t give to ride the Loop in Chicago and admire some of the most spectacular skyscraper architecture in the world. Less accessible, more dangerous but doubtless just as thrilling is the Simonstown suburban line in Cape Town, South Africa, which teeters along a sea cliff for much of its length (or so I’m told). India’s sparkling new Delhi metro doesn’t offer much in the way of sightseeing, what with being underground, but would surely be one of the world’s most interesting rides.

And this one is just a hunch, but given the alleged unpopularity of Santiago’s new bus system, I reckon a ride on the Transantiago would be a luxuriously uncrowded way to see the Santiago’s sites.

–Jane Rawson

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Why do we travel?

In the last few years, I’ve done a lot of travelling. I’ve been to fantastic places, seen amazing things. But did I always know what I was looking at? And does it matter?

I know people who plan trips well in advance. They lock themselves into dates and flights and hotels, and they do a lot of reading. Guide books, national literature, internet sites. They know exactly what they should see, know the significance of it when they’re seeing it, and tick it off the list as “seen”, collecting the obligatory photographs along the way.

Not wealthy, just optimistic

I have no problem with that. It’s just I travel very differently. Perhaps I miss out on a lot of what they gain from the experience. But perhaps they miss out on a lot of what I learn and experience. Throwing away the guidebook and camera lets you actually see something. On a tram in Rome, I heard two women talking:

One: And tomorrow we should do the Vatican.
Other: I guess it’s going to take ’til about Wednesday to have done Rome.
One: Yeah, there’s a lot we have to see here.

Should? Do? Have to? Are these words that put blinkers on travel?

I suppose an important – and lucky – thing for me is that currently travel is my life. I have no home; I have storage units, one in London, one in Australia. I have three suitcases: a week, a month, more than six weeks. So I basically land somewhere, wander around to get a feel for it, find coffee, read books, have my computer nearby so I can get on with my writing, watch DVDs if I feel like it, sleep, don’t get too hooked into worrying I might waste a moment of being in that place or exhaust myself trying to see it all in one go. That’s not to say I don’t seek out the heart of the place, just that the place will remain; I can come back. And no, I’m not wildly wealthy, just optimistic.

This is old, it must be special

Recently I went to Egypt. I’d wanted to see the pyramids since I was a kid, captivated by their enigma and exoticism. I’d had this romantic dream of wandering up to the pyramids, staring at them, being moved by them. We ended up with a driver/guide although our hotel was just down the road in Giza. I had to let go of my dream. And I was really glad I did. I’d done no reading on Egypt since I was about 12, the Lonely Planet guide was deep in someone’s bag and, strangely, walls can’t actually talk. Our guide told us some really interesting things, helped us bribe a policeman to let us into the Pyramid of Cheops and saved us from sunstroke because, actually, the pyramids at Giza are quite far apart.

In Lisbon we wandered the streets, looking at buildings and monuments, blown away by the beauty and the sheer life of the city, but with little knowledge of their significance or history. Later we filled in the information with some reading and a bus tour, but at first it was pure response. Although with the inescapable: ‘this is old, this is Portuguese, this is a civic statue, this must be special,’ reason for looking in the first place.

I like travelling like that because it gives me fresh eyes – sure, they are Australian, 21st-century eyes, but that is who I am, when I live and inevitably the filter through which I understand things. But for first impressions, I really like responding to something without preconception. Does anyone ever really see the Mona Lisa anymore, or do they just see a ‘famous painting’? I remember being in the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam and there was a couple behind me when I was looking at ‘Sunflowers’.

Him: Do you want to look around?
Her: Nah, I really just wanted to see that one cos I’ve got the poster. Let’s go.
Him: Okay.

These people didn’t see Van Gogh. I know they are not typical travellers, then again, maybe they are in these days of guidebooks and must-sees. We all have such preconceived notions of what places are about, what is the most important thing that we absolutely must see, and the impression we should take back with us, that we risk failing to see the reality, the lives, the unique moments all around us.

Let’s get lost

One of my favourite things is getting lost. Just wandering through a place, following my nose and exploring: real life is in the washing hanging between buildings in Zagreb, kids playing football in backstreet Venice, the suburban supermarket in Bratislava. I’ve also stumbled across the homeless congregated beside the river in Rome, and inadvertently crossed boundary streets between safe and unsafe areas of New York; when getting lost you still have to stay aware and hold onto a healthy degree of respect for the unknown place you’re in.

I’ve been lucky to work in many places: Croatia, Slovakia, Poland. In that situation you can scratch a little below the surface. But there are many, many places I’ve visited for only a few days and I’m the first to admit that some of those visits have had very superficial agendas: I was ‘The Sound of Music’ tourist in Salzburg, I went to Egypt specifically to see the pyramids, I ran from mosque to hammam to market in Istanbul.

Other cities, I have just wandered and stumbled on things and missed many must-see sites; there is a long list of things I don’t even know I’ve missed. But I’ve still had an experience of those places, seen them through my eyes not those of a tourist guide/book, and interacted with people who actually live there. And does not going inside Sagrada Familia in Barcelona mean I haven’t really been to Barcelona? Haven’t experienced Gaudi? I feel like I have. I have seen some of his buildings, had a response to them, then read a bit, understood what he was trying to do, and evaluated that according to my own initial response.

I studied art history at university and on my first trip to Europe I went from gallery to gallery ticking things off (and realising the futility of studying art when you see only out of context reproductions of works of art). I don’t think I actually looked at any of those artworks. I don’t feel like I stood in front of any one and thought about how it made me feel, or what I saw. I was programmed and having secondhand responses. Now, I’ve forgotten so much of what I learnt that I can stand in front of a painting or sculpture and really see it. Or so I like to think – I know I still ascribe value (or not) as soon as I know who the artist is.

We have a very monetary and hierarchical way of seeing the world. Of course some things are important because they have shaped our culture into what it is, and some people have risen above the pack in terms of their vision and their ability to give the world great gifts. But are they the only people worth consideration? And are the things worth a fortune the only things worth valuing?

Ignorance is possibility

Sometimes my way of travelling is deeply flawed: I got off a train in Vienna and didn’t even know which way the city centre was – the man I asked thought I was quite idiotic. I’ve eaten some terrible meals, paid way too much for things, missed looking at important monuments.

But I’ve had adventures, I’ve been surprised by the world and the people in it. I’ve nearly been swapped for three camels in Cairo, drunk red wine mixed with coca-cola in Zagreb, taken nude mixed saunas in a squat in Amsterdam. I’ve been offered work in porn on the streets of New York, thrown out of a mafia party in Bratislava and offered a Russian tank in a market in Warsaw (two weeks delivery). Then there were the World War II bullet holes in the walls of my apartment building in the ghetto area of Warsaw, and living in the building of the first bank in Zagreb, chandeliers and all.

Information is power but perhaps ignorance is possibility. I want to be awed by the depth of history, the beauty of genius, the wonder of our world as much as anyone; I just don’t want to be blinkered by other people’s interpretation. Or my own preconception.

Maybe I need to visit everywhere twice: once in ignorance, the second time with guidebook in hand. If only I was wildly rich… Anyone want to buy some optimism?

–Philippa Burne

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Naturally nobody has a map, but the general instructions seem to be, “head west to the big road, then head south; turn right just before you hit Bangkok“. Uh-huh. Great instructions to cover a 900km trip!

Thai Group Consciousness (TGC) - it’s for real!

So it’s 4am, off we set westerly into the darkness. Sure enough after an hour or two we hit “the big road,” and duly turn south. A few more hours, and the dreaded murmur begins to make its way around the car: “shortcut!”. Everyone’s getting restless, so it’s time for a Thai Shortcut. “Turn right,” go the instructions, so off I turn, away from “the big road” heading east.

Naturally, no-one’s taking personal responsibility, but the on-board Thai Group Consciousness (see below) is giving instructions: ‘right’, ‘left’, ‘right’, ‘right’; with the roads slowly getting smaller each time. I’m getting a wee bit (!) frustrated, as I don’t fancy doing a 900km trip via village back-streets, and would really like to arrive before the week is out. “Relax,” says Ann, “people know where they’re going”.

Sure enough, half an hour later, we end up in the carpark of some forlorn temple, in the middle of nowhere. “Maybe we should ask for directions,” I suggest.

So we consult the guard, and ask him how we get to Nakon Patom. And he tells us “sure, turn left, right, left and left, get on the big road, head south a few hundred kilometers, turn right just before you hit Bangkok”

The next day everyone chipped in and bought me a map.

————————————————————————————

Thoughts About Thai Group Consciousness (let’s call it TGC)

It’s a strange thing, and none of the other farangs (Westerners) here can explain it either, but Thailand seems to operate on a different plane of consciousness. Firstly, no-one can ever make an individual decision. Any decision is always given to the group (there’s always a group), and collectively, after much sitting around, arm-waving, pointing in odd directions, the ‘group’ collectively arrives at its decision, with no-one accountable for blame.

Secondly, the TGC has brilliant long-range communication. Case in point: last year David (who’s English) and Noi, friends of ours, decided to visit my wife’s mum to collect some chickens. They live about 120km away, and had never been to her place. So they set off with vague instructions, and about half way there they decide they’d better bring a gift. So soon they pass a plant nursery, and pull in to buy a pot-plant for Ann’s mum. Meanwhile, Ann’s mum has become worried that maybe they might get lost, so decides to get in contact with them. But she doesn’t know their mobile number.

So David’s standing in the nursery, somewhere between his place and Ann’s, when the owner of the nursery approaches him with the office telephone. “It’s for you” he says, handing the phone to David…

–Jordan Digby

Planning a trip? Browse Viator’s things to do in Thailand, Bangkok tours and activities in Phuket.

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