Heavy breaths expelled themselves from my lungs in an audible rhythm, my feet setting the pace as I battled along the dusty track. The sky burned blue and the sun beat waves of stifling heat down to the parched earth; the arid soil was cracked, the path was steep and I was sweating. Profusely. My pulse throbbed in my temples and my palms glistened with a sheen of moisture. It was seriously hot, yet here I was, about to hike up a volcanic crater.

Image by rjones0856

Of all the activities in Hawaii, I’d chosen to tackle Diamond Head. From the beaches of Honolulu’s famous Waikiki shoreline, this towering protrusion of soil and rock appears to be just another mountain; up close, its true form – that of a gaping chasm – becomes apparent. The stark contrast between the rich, deep green hues of Hawaii’s lush forests and the barren expanse of empty space within the crater’s walls is striking; nature’s palette changes from lush jade and sea greens, to pale yellows and faded gold.

The 760ft high tuff cone grazes the clouds, standing as an iconic reminder of Hawaii’s raw, volcanic nature. Although some 150,000 years dormant, this United States monument is far from forgotten; its silhouette forms an integral part of the Honolulu skyline and over 1 million visitors reach its peak every year.

Image by Eric Tessmer

Hiking in Oahu in the height of summer, when Hawaii’s weather is at its most punishing, is difficult. It is recommended that you set off as early as possible, before the sun is too strong to bear; I had set off around 9.30, and by 10 I wished I’d sacrificed that extra hour in bed.

The incline was challenging, but not impossible; the trail to the lookout point was busy with eager ramblers. Young children bounced up steps as their parents lagged behind, and the older walkers were slow, but persistent. There was a sense of purpose amongst the crowd, an atmosphere of anticipation; we all knew what was waiting for us at the summit.

I was beginning to wonder if I’d actually make it. Since I was technically walking in a cavernous hollow, there was simply no breeze to quell the oppressive heat, and the loose rubble underfoot was making it increasingly difficult to stay upright. A particularly graceless fall down a gritty slope left a dull reverberating pain in my right kneecap and a look of grim determination on my face.

Unrelenting, I pressed on, my pulse dictating the pace of my footsteps. My fellow hikers and I trudged single file up a narrow tunnel of unforgiving steps; the shadowy passageway was cramped, but at least it was cool. Our ascent was almost complete. 100 thigh-aching steps later I emerged, the higher altitude offering some relief in the form of a slight sea breeze, which could only mean one thing…

The view of Oahu from Diamond Head is like a panoramic postcard; shoreline skyscrapers meet the whitewashed waves as they roll in from the pacific; the urban buildings retreat into the hills, flecking the verdant landscape like confetti; and the sea meets the sky in a smash of turquoise and sapphire, fresh and deep and seemingly infinite.

It took a while to absorb the view; Hawaii from up high is a striking image, and was certainly worth the effort. I wasn’t looking forward to my descent – my quivering quadriceps weren’t particularly keen either – but it had to be done. After all, it was now clear to me that I had a lot to discover in Oahu.

Hiking in Hawaii: Views from Diamond Head

Culture is to Vienna what romance is to Paris. Both shroud their chosen metropolis in a velvety cloak so proficiently, that even those who’ve never stepped foot outside the Hofburg Palace or along the banks of the Seine, can instantly relate to these iconic labels. So, rather than run away from what makes Vienna one of the best weekend escapes out there, we’re here to embrace it; With our top 5 cultural ‘must dos’ when on a Vienna city break:

Go to the Opera

Yes, really. Vienna’s State Opera House is the place to see an opera and with the option of bagging standing tickets for just €3, there’s no excuse not to give it a go. Indeed, even if you make a bolt for it after the first act, you’ve got fantastic value for money…

Do it: Standing tickets are open to all and go on display 80 minutes before the start of the performance. Take a scarf to save your spot in the theatre and make sure you wait until the interval to wander the grand reception rooms opened to theatre goers (and don’t forget your camera).

Attend a Ball

Should your trip to Vienna fall between Christmas and Lent (Fasching) you’ll be in with a chance of taking in one of the top sights in Vienna, their balls. Lavish and steeped in history, these events are the highlight of the Viennese social calendar and offer a spotlight on traditional Viennese customs. Tickets for the most splendid aren’t cheap, however, once in you’ll be treated to an evening of ceremony, dance, music and laughter… as well as some serious people watching.

Do it: The ball held in the Vienna State Opera House is the most decadent however; following hotly on its well-polished heels is the Coffee House Owners Ball which you may find more accessible. The ball is held in the impressive Hofburg Palace and tickets are available online or over the phone.

Head for a Coffee

If you haven’t heard about Vienna’s Coffee Shops you need to listen up. An integral part of city life, and Vienna culture, café’s and coffee shops sprung up some 300 years ago and haven’t waned in popularity since. Once a meeting place for poets, writers and intellectuals to sip and procrastinate, today they are a great way of enjoying some of Vienna’s most delectable treats.

Do it: Coffee Shops in Vienna are abundant and you are encouraged to sit and take your time. Popular haunts include Café Central and Café Demel, the latter requires you to select your cake at the counter before taking a ticket to your seat for service. The former is table service. Both offer up some seriously delectable cakes.

Visit St Stephan’s Cathedral & Climb the South Tower

Architecture in Vienna is a huge part of the city’s allure. Palaces are sprinkled throughout the streets with their facades adding grandeur difficult to match in modern glass creations.  While touring the palaces could take you a weekend on their own, visiting the cathedral, and climbing its south tower can easily be fitted into a morning.  There are 343 steps to contend with – but the views at the top make it (just about) worth it.

Do it: Go early as the winding staircase doesn’t lend itself to crowds. Also, make sure you take your camera to capture Vienna’s skyline (with or without the snow…)

Hit the Shops

Shopping in itself may not sound like a very cultural activity; however, it depends on what you shop for. Head out to the city’s long-running Naschmarkt and surround yourself with local arts, crafts and homemade treats. This market is Vienna’s largest and it starts early with stalls springing up from 6am. Loden Plankl is another good cultural treat as this family run business sells traditional Austrian attire from Dirndl dresses to Lederhosen and everything in between.  Downstairs you’ll also find a collection of scarfs and socks – perfect if your trip happens to coincide with the coldest winter in 16 years…

Do it: Vienna shopping is all about the local treats. As well as crafts and clothing, chocolates are another shopping must. Café Demel have a fine selection on display for purchase, including the popular ‘langue de chats’ (or cat tongues), which incidentally don’t actually contain anything feline. But will not doubt get you licking your lips…

Top 5 Cultural Vienna

We’re steaking a claim in Travel Talk on Twitter this week, as there is nothing that lies so close to our hearts as a good old natter about nosh. Never ones to shy away from dishing the dirt, the #TTOT community were out in full course force to serve up succulent stories that encompassed both perfect platefuls and utterly questionable cuisine. We were pretty bowled over, but now it’s time for you to feast your eyes on this week’s finest…

The questions this week were:

Q1. Plan a picnic with 3 foods from 3 different countries.

Q2. What’s the strangest food you’ve had while travelling? Have a photo? Show us!

Q3. What dish have you always wanted to try?

Q4. Have you ever visited a place just for its cuisine? Where?

Q5. Is there a food/snack you always pack when you travel?

The ‘Feline Kinda Funny’ Shout Out for kitty-chen nightmares.

@aspiringnomads: The cuter the tastier…imagine what kittens taste like.

The ‘Jump For My Love’ Shout Out for never skippy-ing a tasty meal.

@NewFrontiersUK: I have always fancied kangaroo meat!

The ‘Almost Heaven, West Virginia’ Shout Out for horseradish-ing around.

@Elkhorninn: Wasabi peas! Yes! When WalMart in WV started carrying them I thought I’d gone to heaven!

The ‘Sound of Sibilance’ Shout Out for ostentatious online dating profiles.                                                                          

@GetawayMagazine: Sweet. Small. Perfect.

The ‘Walker This Way!’ Shout Out for Laying down the law and accepting nothing but the real McCoy.

@ooharradventure: Crisps! Sorry, no country has yet matched the UK’s huge selection! Think Wotsit breakfast followed by Monster Munch sandwich lunch.

The ‘Pig-n-Mix’ Shout Out for unwanted ham-me-downs.

@DifferentTravel: Haha, and nobody likes a sweaty pork pie.

The ‘Oh Na You Didn’t’ Shout Out for committing common as-salt.

@spanishsabores: I bring salt because nothing worse than almost loving something but it’s undersalted! I prefer to sneak it on not to be rude!

The ‘From Dusk Tortilla Dawn’ Shout Out for a classic Queso transference.

@Insure_My_Villa: That’s what I love about the America. “Grab your passport kids, we’re going to Mexico for dinner!”

The ‘Cock-a-doodle-brew!’ Shout Out for falling fowl of homonyms.                                                                                  

@journeytom: Beer butt chicken = Yum.

The ‘Special Fly-d Rice’ Shout Out for slimy, yet satisfying snacks.

@halfofjess: Bugs are boring. Especially fried. They taste like chips/crisps. The boiled ones are the interesting stuff.

The ‘Dinner-Dinner-Dinner-Dinner Batman!’ Shout Out for just winging it.

@detourdumonde: Bat wings are stringy. Definitely stringy.

The ‘Really Ribetting Stuff’ Shout Out for cuisine that hasn’t quite croaked.                                                                                        

@tntmagazine: Strangest food – moving toad for dinner in Japan. Terrifying!

The ‘Oh My Gusts and Gartersnakes!’ Shout Out for winding up the evening  early.                                                                                                                     

@Trabblr: A six course meal made entirely of snake in Hanoi served by a flatulent waitress.

We don’t want to make a meal of it, but we’ve got more than your fill of fabulous foodie tales right over HERE. See you again spoon!  

#TTOT Shout Outs! Topic: Travel Food

In the few weeks before going to the German city of Osnabrück to visit my sister, I only had one thing on my mind: sauerkraut. Well, two things: sauerkraut and sausage, German sausage to be precise. Though most people seem to recoil at the mere uttering of the word ‘sauerkraut’, I can’t get enough of the stuff. A type of pickled cabbage made through a process of fermentation, it’s a typical German dish, most commonly served in the region of Bavaria, southern Germany. And it goes tremendously with a nice bit of bratwurst.

Osnabrück, however, is in Lower Saxony, not Bavaria. After breakfast, lunch and dinner without even the slightest hint of any kind of pickled vegetable, I was beginning to get a bit worried. My mum, stepdad and I were only there for a few days and there were only so many restaurants we could go to. But, my sister consoled me; that evening we were going to a traditional German restaurant where it was possible there might be some sauerkraut on the menu.

We arrived at the Hausbrauerei Rampendahl later that evening. Coming in off the cold cobbled street we were greeted by a warm interior of green and pine, the bar in the centre very much the focal point. It was as if everything had been constructed around it, the upstairs seating area a viewing gallery from which to observe the bronze pipes and patterned glass hovering over the bar. In fact, it probably had; the restaurant has its own microbrewery, producing different varieties of dark and light beer, under the name Rampendahl.

“Don’t even think about ordering a starter”, my sister warned us, “the portions are huge”. Scanning the menu I quickly realised that tonight would not be the night that my sauerkraut cravings would be satisfied. My sister and I both ordered the Brewer’s Wife’s Chicken, an enormous mound of chicken breast, creamed cabbage, hash browns, gravy and the slightly questionable addition of a fruit salad.

After just three mouthfuls, I could feel myself getting full. The combination of a plate stacked with delicious food and a stomach that’s decidedly unsure as to how much it can take always fills me with a sense of impending doom. Would I be able to eat it all? Mind over matter, my eyes far bigger than my stomach, I ignored the warning from my belly and ploughed on, unbuttoning my jeans to allow maximum consumption.

Conversation hit an all-time low; we were so focused on getting through the German feast in front of us that any attempt at speech had gone out the window, only occasionally acknowledging each other’s presence. Finally it came to an end; I pushed the last mouthful of chicken in and took a sip of the delectable home-brewed beer, I had done it. I was full and warm and sleepy, heavy with food and drink, and content.

After a jolly good laugh at the mere suggestion of a dessert, my sister told us that as well as brewing their own beer, they also made their own korn, a popular German spirit usually made from fermented rye. Though the idea of even attempting to consume anything else seemed ludicrous, it seemed silly not to try it.

Out came four shots of Osnabrück’s finest korn, with a slice of salami and a dollop of mustard to boot. I think the salami is meant to sit on top of the glass, rather than sink into the alcohol as mine did; let’s just say I’ve had nicer salami. Having been told by my sister to save a little bit of beer to wash away the taste, I wasn’t expecting it to be particularly pleasant…

Although I still hadn’t had the chance to stuff my face with sauerkraut, I was feeling suitably stuffed after an evening at the Hausbrauerei Rampendahl. Good German food together with good German beer goes down extremely well, although I can take or leave the korn to be honest.

*The next day, just before leaving, I finally got what I’d been longing for the whole weekend: a magnificent serving of bratwurst, sauerkraut and mashed potato. It surpassed my expectations and was quite simply, heaven on a plate.

In Search of Sauerkraut

Image by Cimm

Paris is not often associated with budget travel. Known as the epitome of luxury and style, where the bourgeois elite only ever dine on miniscule servings of haute cuisine and dainty designer macarons, the French capital just screams ‘expensive!’  But is this really the case?

It doesn’t have to be; you just need to know where to go. In a city where a soft drink costs more than a glass of wine and endless tourist traps lure you with over-priced snacks, working out where to eat in Paris can be a tricky business; this, combined with the currency conversion and language barrier makes it even more compliqué.

Unless you want to survive solely on wine and cheese (come to think of it that isn’t such a bad idea…) here are five ways you can eat on a budget in Paris.

Crepes: Pancakes but Better

Image by Suvodeb

There is just no question; the French can do food. Top-class culinary precision and divine execution of flavour combinations even filters down to street food, the most striking example of which being the crepe, found in every neighbourhood. Think wafer-thin dough, oozing melted cheese and thick-cut ham, garnished with crunchy fresh salad and cracked black pepper. If you have a sweet tooth, go for nutella and banana; a simple but satisfying classic. Quality of crepe varies from vendor to vendor, so hang back and check out what other hungry patrons are getting for their money before you hand over your euros.

Price: €3 – €9

That’s a Load of Falafel

Image by Seamus Walsh

It may not be the first thing that comes to mind when you think ‘French cuisine’, but falafel is one of the most popular street snacks in Paris. These middle-eastern pita parcels of delectable deliciousness are stuffed with all sorts of tasty ingredients; from the scrumptious fried aubergine, pickles, tahini and hot sauce, to the chickpea falafel balls themselves, this feast of flavours is one not to be missed.

Falafel is a great option for non-meat eaters, as the French don’t seem to cater for, or in fact understand, vegetarianism at all. L’As du Fallafel on Rue des Rosiers (in the Marais, the Jewish quarter of the city), is known as one of the greatest places to eat falafel in Paris, so prepare for queues; we guarantee it’ll be worth the wait.

Price: €5 – €8

Have a Mosey in the Markets

Markets are a quintessential aspect of French life; the fresh produce and lively atmospheres found in Parisian market places make for top browsing conditions, and whether you’re looking to cook your purchases in your hostel kitchen, or grab something warming as you wander, you can be sure to find some bargains along the way. Marché Richard Lenoir, a stone’s throw from Place de la Bastille, is a people-watcher’s paradise; locals scrutinise the wares displayed at colourful stalls as curious tourists observe and imitate. Pencil in a morning on the itinerary so you can take your time; check paris.fr for opening times.

Price: Depends how hungry you are!

Dining out in Paris is a Picnic

Image by Yisris

The weather in Paris can be unpredictable, but if it’s dry, you just can’t beat a picnic in one of the city’s many parks and gardens. In the summer months, head to the Sacre Coeur via a boulangerie to feast on warm baguette with creamy cheeses, artisan charcuterie and a bottle of Beaujolais as you watch the sun set over the iconic Parisian horizon. Fruit and vegetables are very reasonably priced in Paris and the dairy section of the supermarket is often the largest in the whole shop; a quick whizz around Monoprix and voila! You’re ready to faire un pique-nique.

Price: Wine €2+ Picnic for Two: €10+

Rue Mouffetard

Image by Fil.Al

If you simply must sample some of the restaurants in Paris, we recommend swinging by Rue Mouffetard, in the 5^th arrondissement, for some tantalising menus with prices to match. Wander the narrow cobbled street and browse the offerings chalked onto the ‘prix fixe’ menus in swirling handwriting outside each restaurant. You can feast on a three course dinner and wine for under €20; menus include French classics such as soupe a l’oignon, boeuf bourguignon, coq au vin and escargot (yes, snails).

Price: €10 – €20+

Bon Appetit!

How to Eat on the Cheap in Paris

It was a European idyll. A steep riverbank at my feet, sparkling water shushing gently on the stony shore; to my back the tackiest of restaurants in Austria, built with faux-traditional tourist trappings, all white walls and dark wooden beams, like somewhere the Waltons might have lived if recast as Bavarian mountain goat herders. My classmates were having a traditional breakfast inside. I had opted instead for a fresh Austrian pastry to eat in the morning sun. Any moment I anticipated an encounter with singing Von Trapp children. Except this cliché had taken a horrific turn; I had dropped my pastry down the riverbank.

Photo Credit Flickr: Rick Smit

Travellers generally accept that the ten-second dropped food rule can be stretched. Hygiene qualms are compromised when the only available sustenance is vended by a surly stall-keeper with a higher hair-skin ratio than the dog sleeping between the ketchup bottles.

The paper wrapping had protected my pastry during its tumble. It rested now at the bottom of the slope, just shy of the water’s edge. It could be salvaged. Such delicious Austrian food could not be left behind. The coach had already begun its car park turning manoeuvres. The first of my companions were emerging from the breakfast restaurant. Time was of the essence.

Photo Credit Flickr: Ted Drake

The slope was mostly soft mud and loose rocks, with a smooth wide stone midway down. I tried to map a path, a favourable trajectory; I needed some kind of reliable European engineering, a sequence of ropes and pulleys perhaps, or a small platoon of lumberjacks in lederhosen to safeguard my descent.

My foot probed the slope. Behind me the coach revved and I stepped recklessly. My shoes slithered in the mud, gravity assuming command. I fanned my arms like fleshy wings to try and maintain balance. The smooth stone was my undoing. As soon as my foot made contact it slipped out, pitching my body back. Only my behind broke the fall.

I jolted down on my rear before a heavy-landing at the base of the slope. My senses recovered instantly, engaging standard protocol of frantically checking the perimeter for witnesses. There were none; no giggling Von Trapp children. Just the river gently whispering to the stones.

Photo Credit Flickr: Cookiepediachef

Attention returned to the pastry, consolation for my trauma. But it was missing. I scrabbled amongst the rocks until I could no longer ignore the truth. Lifting myself up I found the paper bag, squashed quite flat into the mud, in flagrant breach of even the most generous ten-second rule.

Defeated, I picked my way upriver until I stumbled upon an easier path to the car park. My tardiness had been noted.

‘Where have you been?’ asked my teacher. ‘And what happened to your trousers?’

Craning to peer behind myself, I discovered a spectacular tear in my saddle, a startling area of underpants on display.

‘Never mind!’ He ushered me toward the doors.

Any and all spare clothes were stowed deep within the belly of the bus. Hungry and ashamed, I ascended the steps to face the mockery I had earned, all in the name of Austrian pastry.

Austrian Pastry Misadventure

Five things you need to know about the Blue Lagoon, one of Iceland’s most popular attractions:

1. The water is so pure that additional cleansers, such as chlorine, aren’t needed.

2. The lagoon is heated to between 37 and 39°c by geothermal energy.

3. The water, which is mildly saline, travels 2000 metres before reaching the lagoon.

4. Visitors to the Blue Lagoon paste themselves in revitalising white silica mud.

5. Yes, the water really is that colour.

PHOTOS: The Blue Lagoon, Iceland

Although we tried our utmost to decide between a number of delectably deserving recipients this week, our minds were so saturated by all the g-astronomical food based photographs, we could barely put this post together before it was time for tea! So this week, the team were on dining duty to honour a top-notch travel blogger with this rather tasty looking #TAFTA (most appetizing wouldn’t you say?). Without further ado, the winner is…. MIGRATIONOLOGY!

On your Mark’s…

Mark Wiens of Migrationology demonstrates a passion for a local plateful like no other. Though he set out on his adventures in 2008, we’d hazard a guess that the travel bug sank its teeth into this guy a lot earlier in his life, given his cultural upbringings that range from Phoenix, to France, and even to getting schooled in the Congolese jungle.

Stopping short of showing off about his adventures (which we’d be awfully tempted to do in his position), Mark’s blog posts are altogether illuminating and expressive, and often punctuated with beautiful images that draw you right into the milieu of the amazing environments he visits.

You Wiens some, you lose some…

One of the things we really like about Mark’s food fables is his ability to magically conjure our taste buds into a slavering frenzy with only a few simple sentences. The accounts of his eats are short and sweet (like many of the meals he samples), but are more than enough to get our tongues tingling.

Of course, not every snack is a success, or even an appetising prospect (plate of live shrimp anyone?), but its full steam ahead for this champion of chow, no matter what the cost. There is no pandering to the likes of primped and posho nosh critics here – just the simple, honest words of a fervent foodie.

Mark takes care to list his breakfasts, lunches and dinners with their traditional labels, and gives a great deal of credit to the folks who construct these taste sensations. Getting to know the people, as well as the food, seems to add another layer to the experience overall, and we strongly suspect that his adventures are all the better for it.

Food for thought…

One thing we’ve noticed about Mark, and many other travellers who blog on the subject of sustenance, is that nothing goes down quite as well as a little reminder of home. Not necessarily their home in particular, but it seems any meal that is prepared with a little care, accompanied by a distinctly domestic flavour, always wins out over the more wacky ‘fusion’ feasts. Perhaps a pinch of the personal is all that’s needed. What we can safely surmise is that this is one (Tom) Yung Guy who’s seriously dedicated to supporting street food.   

For a rundown of honest to goodness global grub, served with lashings of gusto, we fully recommend Migrationology paired with the finest wines known to humanity.

AND FOR DESSERT…

GQ Trippin’ – Several great eats from worldwide streets and a heck of a travel blog to boot. See, Eat, Trip: this continent-hopping couple have got all the bases covered.

The Travelling Hungryboy – Punchy and pointed appraisals of everything from Michelin-starred to mid-flight meals. Additional tips on travelling inspired by Mr George Clooney.

The Food Explorer – the weird and wonderful world of local culinary creations, experienced through the taste buds of Catherine Quinn: The Iron (Stomached) Lady.

 NEXT WEEK’S CATEGORY: IT’S EASY BEING GREEN (Awesome Environmentally Aware Travel Bloggers)

Vote now on Twitter, Facebook or comment below!

#TAFTA Awards — Scrumptious Street Food Blogger

“When I say ‘tough’, you say ‘mudder’. Tough!”

“Mudder!”

“Tough!”

“Mudder!”

The MC bellowed into the mic like a drill sergeant as my brother and I plus five-hundred-and-ninety-eight other ‘Mudders’ fizzed like a stock of dynamite in readiness for  the start. We recited a pledge and the countdown to 9:40am started, Journey’s Eye of the Tiger cascading from the speakers. Seconds later we were off, and my preparation for Tough Mudder was being put into practice.

As far as England events go, this assault course was pure brutality, and the taste of things to come was immediately clear. Wading through waist-deep water and a swift kick in the teeth climbing up the riverbank said ‘welcome to the party’. An anonymous gloved hand hoisted me from under razor wire and chocolate-mousse-mud before a gentle jog – a pace that remained consistent – down rugged farm tracks took us round the outskirts of bright yellow rapeseed fields. We even passed a few old ramblers come for nice day out in the sun. I wonder what they made of the whole thing.

The obstacles made us battle on, weaving in and out of densely wooded areas. In Hold Your Wood, my brother and I shouldered a tree trunk while others carried heavy-looking stumps, puffing and panting as they went. Meanwhile, we were only relieved we could share the load.

Next we tripped and slogged through the Bog Jog: a stretch of narrow forest tracks riddled with tree branches, swamps and ankle-deep patches of suckling mud. This section especially felt like proper army-style training.

After nearly losing one of my shoes we reached the infamous cargo net: a straight up-and-over job made all the more difficult by its incessant swaying thanks to the number of bodies trying to scale it at once. About ninety seconds for both my brother and I to complete it and we were off again.

The Devil’s Beard, a net laid on a steep gradient under which we crawled, followed by Killa Gorilla, a section of track that took us over a watery ditch, up a hill and down again repeatedly were what came before our personal favourite: Mud Mile - a strip of sloppy muddy pits and solid piles of clay mixed with soaking soil, softened by all who had gone before. We were mud monsters emerging from liquid graves to the laughter and encouragement of the ensemble at the fringes.

What followed as we jogged back towards the amassed crowds was what I’m calling the ‘Big Three’: Walk the Plank, Funky Monkey, and Mount Everest. In other words: a balance beam suspended 10ft above water, monkey bars with an incline and a decline – again, water sloshing beneath – and a giant quarter pipe that I desperately scrabbled to the top of with the help of various outstretched limbs.

Finally, the 25th obstacle, Electroshock Therapy, and the finishing line were in sight. Hand in hand, my brother and I put our heads down, shut our eyes, and ran for it. One sharp zap to my calf nearly sent me sprawling, but we knew we’d nailed an adventure and fell into each other’s arms with a free beer, a free headband, and a free T-shirt to boot.

Were the freebies any consolation? They didn’t even matter; I’d run Tough Mudder again tomorrow. 

A Muddy Bog Jog Blog: Part II

That sign again. “Beware of the coatis”. This was the third time I’d seen it. Walking along the lower circuit in the Iguazu National Park, I was completely unaware of what a coati was. I began to imagine some huge jungle beast lurking in the undergrowth, scavenging for food and attacking people for their last crisp. Told to keep my bag closed and any food out of sight, I pushed these thoughts to the back of my mind and once again focused on what was around me.

My friend and I had caught a bus from Buenos Aires to catch a glimpse of Iguazu Falls, one of the Seven Natural Wonders of the World and one of the top attractions in Argentina. Sitting on the border between Argentina and Brazil, the falls are the result of a geological fault; the waters of Iguazu River crash down, spreading out over a distance of almost 3km.

The air was moist and the sound of trickling water followed us along the path. With every corner we turned on the walkway, high above the river, the volume increased; the gentle trickling turned to a splashing noise, until the air was filled with the sound of cascading water, plummeting to the depths below. Butterflies fluttered in every direction, becoming a somewhat constant feature of my peripheral vision. Every few metres we came across another waterfall, gradually growing in size, each one making the last seem insignificant.

The closer we got to the great waterfalls the mistier it became. The sheer force of the water as it crashes down produces a wet foggy haze and as a result there were rainbows everywhere I looked. Yet to see a coati, I still hadn’t put the mysterious creatures completely out of my mind, but I was now of the belief that a sighting was probably a rare occurrence and told myself not to worry.

And then, all thoughts of coatis flew out of my mind as the falls came into view. A wall of water framed by a verdant misty landscape and illuminated by sunlight and rainbows overtook my senses; the damp green smell, the tremendous roar of the water, the wet air and the incredible sight of Iguazu Falls. Standing beneath one of the smaller waterfalls we got completely soaked, immersing ourselves in the incredible beauty of the falls. But the best was yet to come.

We returned the next day to see to the Devil’s Throat, the gigantic U shaped waterfall which is the main attraction of the park. No coatis in sight, we set off on the pathway, winding across the river.

A cloud of water rose up from the middle of the river, as if something was bubbling up from down below. The air was thick with moisture and the sound resonated in my ears. At certain times of the year the volume of water is so high that you can’t see the waterfall for all the spray that comes off it. The mist hovered in the air, concealing the drop below us. The sight of the water crashing down over the rocks before vanishing in a puff of smoke was intense. Peering over the railing, all I could see beneath my feet was a steady stream of water running over the edge of the grassy rocks. From there it disappeared into the cloudy abyss, ceasing to exist. But even though what lay below was hidden, I could feel it with every ounce of my being, the power of the water an overwhelming force taking control of my senses.

On the way back we stopped at a picnic area to have a sandwich and rest our feet. I still hadn’t caught a glimpse of a coati and was feeling very pleased about it. No sooner had I breathed a sigh of relief than six fuzzy critters came running over to our table having caught a whiff of our food.

“Oh look, there’s a whole bunch of coatis!”

The exclamation from a nearby table alerted me to the species of our new companions. They were not quite the gigantic horrifying beasts I had imagined; in fact they are a type of raccoon, small in size and ginger in colour, with striped tails. Nevertheless I was up on my chair in a millisecond, screaming at my friend to get rid of them. They may look cute but I had been warned of their bite and I wasn’t going to be fooled. Eventually they scarpered, my sandwich still intact, my nerves shot to pieces. That’s when I spotted a snake out of the corner of my eye. It was time to move on. As we made our way back out of the park, eyes peeled for coatis, I walked straight past a sign saying: “Beware of the pumas“.

A coati. Credit Photo Flickr: Alex E. Proimos

Iguazu Falls: Water Water Everywhere