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Charlie Hebdo Cartoonists Also Remembered for Wine Labels

The three Charlie Hebdo cartoonists killed in Paris were not only known for their biting satire. According to Robert Camuto in his latest blog for Wine Spectator, those same cartoonists were also beloved in France for their imaginative wine labels. “Their spirit was to laugh at everything and expose the biggest bullshit in the world. And they were killed by the biggest act of bullshit,” Bordeaux winemaker Gérard Descrambe tells Camuto in the column. As we celbrate Martin Luther King this weekend, let’s all buy a bottle of Bordeaux and raise a toast to civility and tolerance. Then go out and watch Selma. I’ll be back on Tuesday. 

 

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Ski Lake Louise, Alberta

It was 1892 when a young employee for the Canadian Pacific Railroad came upon a gem of a lake in the Canadian Rockies that sat beneath a towering glacier. He would write in his journal: “As God is my judge, I never in all my explorations saw such a matchless scene.” Taking his recommendation, Canadian Pacific would build a one-story log cabin that would serve as a hotel for guests who savored the outdoors. By 1912, word spread about this majestic spot in the mountains, enticing more than 50,000 people to reach the shores of Lake Louise. It was time for Canadian Pacific to build a grand chateau with blue roofs and turrets, and furnished with the finest craftsmanship of the Edwardian era.  A place that royalty, heads of state, and celebrities could hobnob in comfort. Today, the 513-room Chateau Lake Louise is run by Fairmont Hotels and is still considered the premiere address in the Canadian Rockies. In winter, the chateau stays open so you can take a horse-drawn sleigh ride over the lake, cross-country ski in shaded forest below the peaks, or downhill ski at one of Canada’s largest ski areas at Lake Louise. Then return to the grand lobby where the fireplace is always roaring to warm you up.
 

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Ogunquit’s Genuine Lazy River

Last week, I spent a couple nights on the southern Maine coastal town of Ogunquit, only a 90-minute drive from Boston. The town is known for its Cliff Walk and long expanse of beach, but one of the highlights of our trip was floating on the Ogunquit River. Several hours before low tide, crowds start to make their way down to the river, boogie boards, tubes, and rafts in tow. The strong current of the river carries people into the Atlantic on the town’s natural version of a lazy river. We didn’t have any beach toys, so my wife and I simply floated on our backs. The water was cool, yet warmer than the Maine ocean waters. We held hands and laughed as we floated swiftly around the bend of the beach, watching the clouds float above us. It was over far too quickly and I heartily concurred with 6 year-old boy next to me who shouted “Again!” when his ride was over.

This week, I’m going to focus on some of my favorite ways to get wild and wet in North America.
 

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When to Go on Safari in East Africa

June through September has always been prime time for going on safari in Tanzania, especially if you want to catch the wildebeest migration across the Mara River. I’ve caught the migration from the Kenya side of the river one September as the wildebeests were making their way back south to the Serengeti. Yes, it was exciting seeing hundreds of wildebeests trampling across the river, but it wasn’t as nearly as exciting as seeing that one leopard bringing his kill up a tree. You have to realize that June, July, and August are by far the most crowded months to be on safari in Tanzania and Kenya. Crowds and land rovers lessen once September hits. Indeed, September and October are a special time of year to be on safari in the Mara, Serengeti, or Grumeti. Though I have to admit that I enjoyed being in Tanzania these past two weeks of March. The big rains of March and April were nowhere to be seen and we had the often congested roads of Ngorongoro Crater practically to ourselves. Travel to the Kusini Camp in the southern Serengeti in December, January, and February, and not only will you see an incredible amount of game, but North Americans and Europeans can escape the cold of winter and hit Zanzibar and the other coastal islands for a beach vacation. That sounds like the right move for this Boston boy. 

 
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Headed to French Polynesia? Skip the Island of Tahiti

I’ve been thinking a lot about the South Pacific this week. Perhaps it’s the frost on the windshield of the car this morning forcing me to deal with Father Winter or flee to the tropics. Similar to Africa, the South Pacific is one of those places that get under your skin, coaxing you to return as often as possible. Unlike the majority of the Caribbean isles, which can only boast a white strip of sand, the South Pacific isles are jaw-dropping jagged peaks that rise straight up from the ocean, carpeted in emerald green overripe foliage. For me, this is paradise. 

 
After my inaugural trip to the region in 1990, I would make the South Pacific my area of expertise, returning as often as possible. This is especially true of the French Polynesia isles, a mere two hour flight past Hawaii. Perhaps, I was fed too much Fletcher Christian as a boy and wanted to follow in the footsteps of Captain Bligh. Or maybe it was the languorous women Gauguin painted after entertaining them in his supposed House of Debauchery. 
 
All I know is that when I first arrived on the island of Tahiti and its bustling city of Papeete, I would have been happy to be back in Boston scraping the ice off my sidewalk. There were traffic jams, pollution-spewing cars, far too many uptight Frenchmen, and tuna sandwiches at $20 a pop. If Fletcher Christian saw present-day Tahiti, he might have continued his voyage with Bligh. Their major site, The Gauguin Museum, had no original works by the artist (another ironic twist is that Gauguin’s masterpiece, Where Do We Come From?  What Are We?  Where Are We Going? (1897-98), is right down the road from me in Boston). Across the way, the Harrison Smith Botanical Gardens, a collection of tropical plants from around the world founded by a former MIT physics professor, was not in the least bit memorable. I wanted to get lost in the lushness of nature, not take a walk through some manicured garden. 
 
Then my wife and I made the wise move to head to Raitea. For me, authenticity in travel often goes hand-in-hand with a solid connection to the people of that community. Within 15 minutes of paddling on a winding river that snaked through the island, we came upon a group of kids diving off a tree swing into the water. They were so excited to see us that they insisted on showing us the small thatched huts they lived in, sat us down on a mat, and served us fresh papaya from the fields behind them. 
 
On another trip, a 16-day cruise aboard the freighter ship Aranui brought us the Marquesas. 750 miles north of Tahiti, the Marquesas are the most remote islands in the world, farthest from any continent. Immense green mountains pierce the clouds overhead on many of the twelve islands, retaining the savage beauty that inspired Gauguin to live and be buried on Hiva Oa. A young 22-year-old sailor named Herman Melville was so enraptured with the island of Nuka Hiva that he chose to jump ship and live with cannibals rather than continue his voyage. You can read about it in his first book, Typee. One of the most stunning natural sites I’ve ever seen was the Bay of Virgins on the island of Fatu Hiva. Towering, storm-worn basalt rises from the ocean’s depth forming a v-shaped buttress that’s illuminated by the sun. In the distance, serrated ridges and impassable gorges stand as a monument to the centuries of volcanic fires that formed this fantastic landscape. 
 
When I returned from my trip to the Marquesas, I met a couple who spent their entire honeymoon solely on the island of Tahiti. It made me want to cry. It reminds me of a backpacking trip I took to Newfoundland, where we went off the trail less than 100 yards to look straight down at a magnificent fjord. Our guide knew it was there, but unfortunately none of the other hikers did and kept on walking. My hope for creating our travel agency, ActiveTravels.com, is to steer travelers in the right direction so they don’t spend their entire time in French Polynesia on the island of Tahiti. 
 
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Spotting Puffins at Machias Seal Island, Maine

Near the mouth of the Bay of Fundy, Machias Seal Island is a tiny unspoiled sanctuary for a number of Maine’s most noted marine bird species. You can visit the island via a charter boat operating out of Cutler or Jonesport, Maine. An hour later you disembark onto a small low-lying island. Hundreds of plump birds whiz over your heads searching the waters for breakfast. Some have hooded black heads that look like Batman’s disguise. These are the razorbill auks. Others have eyes the size of a parrot with beaks dotted red, black, and yellow. This is the bird everyone is excited to see, the Atlantic puffin. 

Weather permitting, you can climb atop the seaweed-slick rocks and see puffins two to three feet away. The eastern part of the island is covered with Arctic terns. The razorbill auks might look like superheroes, but it is the aggressive tern that keeps predators like seagulls away from the eggs of all the island’s birds. Paths lead to four blinds where you can set up shop and watch the puffins return to feed their young. 
 

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Acadia National Park Week: Biking Schoodic Peninsula

If they call the western half of Mount Desert Island the Quiet Side, they should call Schoodic Peninsula the Secret Side. Still part of Acadia National Park, Schoodic is a good hour drive from Bar Harbor, so few people outside of Mainers in the know head here. Do yourself a favor and follow their cue. You’ll thank me. On a day when two large cruise ships dropped off over 4,000 people into Bar Harbor, we took a ferry smaller than a tugboat, The Quoddy Bay, and took off to Winter Harbor, the gateway to the Schoodic Peninsula. There’s no longer any need to drive to Schoodic, especially if you want to bike the 10 to 12-mile loop. You can get here on a scenic hour-long boat ride ($39 round-trip, including bicycle), mesmerized by the views of pine-studded islands, the mountainous shoreline, and the granite cliffs. 

Acadia National Park has made it easy for bikers to access the Schoodic Peninsula. The paved road Park Loop is one way with two lanes, so cars can easily pass you. Secondly, this summer they just created 8 miles of carriage path trails, hard-packed gravel routes only available to bikers and hikers. After taking the Park Loop, we would return via the carriage path trails, crossing the entirety of the peninsula past the new national park campground that opened last Wednesday. Most importantly, there’s very little traffic here. This is a very serene part of the national park that few venture to. 
 
We biked along the rocky shoreline, stopping to walk atop a breakwater and watch the tide rush out to sea. All around you is the Atlantic with another memorable seascape to savor, be it a lone sailboat gliding through the open water, an unchartered island just offshore, or pink granite ledges that form one of the highlights, Schoodic Point. People pull over anywhere along the loop to picnic, swim, or take short walks like the East Trail, which climbs a half-mile to 440-foot high Schoodic Head. 
 
Near Schoodic Point is another worthwhile stopover, the Schoodic Education and Research Center, housed in a stone and brick building John D. Rockefeller, Jr., created for the US Navy in 1935. Recently renovated, the building is now home to the nonprofit Schoodic Institute, an educational and research group dedicated to conservation and ecology. Head inside to see exhibitions on the local wildlife and the Navy’s history of monitoring encrypted messages inside this building. There are many surprises on Schoodic Peninsula, so don’t hesitate to make the extra effort to get here. 
 

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