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Cross-Country Ski Hut-to-Hut in Carrabassett Valley, Maine

Even as New England ski areas make it more and more enticing to venture their way, adding an array of exciting activities like tubing and ziplining, many of us want to avoid the crowds. We savor the opportunity to get lost in the wilderness, breathing in the scent of pines in relative quietude. Add a sport that will wipe away the worries of the world and you’ll quickly remember why we treasure New England. This week, I’m going to discuss 5 ways to get lost in the New England wilderness this winter. 

 
Maine Huts & Trails is a nonprofit organization determined to build 12 backcountry huts over 180 miles of trails in the remote western mountains of the state. A year ago, they unveiled their fourth property, Stratton Brook, overlooking the 4,000-foot peaks of Carrabassett Valley. When the 180-mile route is complete, it will be the longest groomed ski trail in the country. But there’s no need to wait. This winter, you can choose to stay at one of their four comfortable lodgings and go out on daily excursions, or opt for self-guided or guided cross-country ski trips that lead from one hut to the next. Each of the four huts is spaced about 11 miles apart, so people can reach it within one day of cross-country skiing or snowshoeing. The ultimate adventure is a four-night, five-day package that includes 50 miles of skiing and spending each night at a different property. All meals, shuttle for gear, and lodging are included in the price ($414 for members, $474 for nonmembers). Nightly rates at the huts start at $79 for members, $94 for nonmembers, including lodging and meals.
 
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Say No Mas to Cancun

n 1974, a team of Mexican government computer analysts picked a long sliver of land on the Atlantic shoreline as the country’s next Acapulco. The powdery white sands and turquoise waters, separated from the mainland by a lagoon were ripe for development.  Sheraton, Hilton, and Marriott swiftly built their hotels, soon joined by upscale Ritz-Carlton and the flashy Le Meridien, and Americans took the bait wholeheartedly. Today, Cancun is the number one tourist destination in Mexico. Sadly, however, the Mexicans catered far too much to their northern neighbors. With a Hard Rock Café, Planet Hollywood, Rainforest Café, Outback Steak House, and a McDonald’s or shopping mall on every other block, the 14-mile-long Zona Hotelera (Hotel Zone) looks much more like Miami Beach than any Mexican village. In fact, the Cancun version of the Miami Herald arrives at your hotel doorstep each morning. Roads are often flooded and prices for dinner are exorbitant in a country known for its affordability. 

 
But what really upsets me about Cancun is that a mere hour’s drive is the authentic Yucatan. The mega-resort sprawl on the coast leads to Playa del Carmen, once a sleepy outpost favored by European backpackers and scuba divers. You’ll have to hit the ruins and village of Akumal before you can snag a bungalow on the beach that feels genuine. If you really want to savor a slice of the Yucatan rich with history and culture, head inland to Merida. Here, you’ll find the oldest cathedrals on the North American continent, even a mangrove swamp that is home to a colony of pink flamingoes. South of Merida is some of Mexico’s finest Mayan ruins on the Puuc Route. The rounded pyramid at your first stop, Uxmal, stands majestically on high ground. Kabah is known for its almost maniacal façade of 250 Chaac sculptures that line one wall. Walk past the wild turkeys and brilliant red birds in the forest of Sayil to reach its grand palace. Whatever you do, don’t waste your time in that Disneyesque version of Mexico, Cancun.
 
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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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When a Friendship Becomes a Hardship

In 1990, I left my job as an insurance broker in Manhattan and booked a four-month trip to the South Pacific, New Zealand, and Australia. The day before I left on that fateful journey, I was strolling through the Fifth Avenue Book Fair when I found a book titled “Travel Writing, For Profit and Pleasure” by Perry Garfinkel. I did exactly what the author advised, kept a journal when I was away, and when I returned home I sold my first story, “Learning to Scuba Dive in the Cook Islands” to The Miami Herald. It was the start of a prolific travel writing career, where I would write more than 1500 articles and close to a dozen books. Another one of the stories sold from that inaugural journey was this disastrous hike I took in Fiji. It originally appeared in the San Diego Union Tribune, before other publications like The Boston Globe purchased the story.

 
If you want to know more about my early years as a travel writer, check out this Q&A with Highbrow Magazine. 
 
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The Far From Perfect Honeymoon

“Goreme? You stop in Goreme?” I asked the bus driver as I pointed to our ticket. 

“Yes, Goreme. Coming,” he replied as he continued to drive like a maniac. Something was wrong. We had passed Nevsehir about an hour before, and, according to my guidebook, Nevsehir is only five miles from Goreme, the heart of Turkey’s intriguing Cappadocia region.
 
“Goreme, we’re going to Goreme!” my wife repeated, nearing hysteria. The driver nodded and grinned.
 
There was nothing wrong with the guidebook. The driver had indeed sped past Goreme to the next city. Frustrated, we arrived at the bus station there, only to learn that the bus to Goreme didn’t leave for five hours. We got there eventually – seven hours later in the middle of the night.
 
So much for the perfect honeymoon, the one advertised in glossy bridal magazines with couples strolling hand-in-hand in some European capital, locals having been conveniently blotted out.
 
All we wanted now was a bed on which to lay our weary heads. Surrounded by barking dogs, we walked up a hill and miraculously found our hotel. Rooms were carved out of the soft tufa rock Cappadocia is known for. But, of course, there was nobody at the front desk. Thoroughly exhausted and borderline delirious, we saw that a door to one of the rooms was ajar. We peeked in . . . the bed was empty. Good night!
 
Originally published in The Boston Globe, “Writers’ tales of 12 trips gone wrong.”
 
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Honesty Leads to the Best Travel Writing

Pressured by travel editors to write flowery prose about a destination so that publications can secure those necessary advertising dollars, most travel writing is a bore. Even worse are travel writers who pen stories in return for a free press trip. Their writing is often indistinguishable from a publicist’s press release. Take it from a travel expert. Rarely have I ever encountered a perfect trip, where the travel, accommodations, and destinations are all stellar during the same jaunt. There is always some adventure you’re thrust into willingly or not, some bizarre local you meet that helps define the place, and a slew of mishaps. Place those anecdotes into the article and you have a great read, not unlike the writings of Bruce Chatwin or Paul Theroux. 
 
Rarely do I see a scathing review of a destination, so when I came across this little gem from a writer at the Sydney Morning Herald, I was thrilled. I was researching a trip to northern Sumatra for a client who wants to see the orangutans at Gunung Leuser National Park. Unfortunately, they have to fly in and out of Medan, the third largest city in Indonesia and the focus of this story. 
 
All week, I’ll be sharing with you some of my least favorite misadventures in print. Enjoy. 
 
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November Newsletter Now Available at ActiveTravels.com

The increasingly popular getaway of Belize, our favorite outfitters for family safaris in Africa, a river cruise on the Danube with Uniworld, and a romantic retreat at Rabbit Hill Inn in Vermont are some of the topics we discuss in our latest issue. Have a look! Also note that if you join ActiveTravels during the Holiday Season, we are donating $10 of your $60 annual membership to Heifer International. You could help give the gift of a water buffalo to a deserving community. 

 
I’ll be off next week, back the week of December 2nd with my favorite après-ski bars in North America. Have a Happy Thanksgiving! 
 
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Thoreau’s Maine Woods, A New Exhibition at the Harvard Museum of Natural History

To commemorate the 150th anniversary of the publication of Henry David Thoreau’s “The Maine Woods,” the Harvard Museum of Natural History is showcasing the works of photographer Scot Miller. Miller has traversed the state of Maine for seven years retracing Thoreau’s epic exploration. The exhibition, on view through September 1, 2014, will also feature a snowshoe made for Thoreau by the Penobscot Indians and a beautiful new illustrated edition of Thoreau’s book. As an outdoors writer based in New England, I’ve also spent a good deal of time following in Thoreau’s footsteps. You can see my story in Sierra Magazine on paddling a similar route Thoreau used while writing “The Maine Woods.”

(Photograph by Scot Miller, courtesy of the Harvard Museum of Natural History) 

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Seastreak Ferry Announces New Bus/Ferry Service from Boston in 2014

I just received word that Seastreak, the company that offers ferry service from New Bedford to Martha’s Vineyard, will bus clientele from Boston’s South Station to the ferry in New Bedford starting next April. This is wonderful news for people traveling into the Boston area who don’t want to rent a car, only to leave it at the ferry terminal parking lot. It’s also much cheaper than flying into the Vineyard. You’re shuttled one hour by bus from Boston’s South Station to the ferry terminal in New Bedford, where you board the high-speed ferry for the short crossing on Buzzards Bay to the Vineyard. Cost is $68 round-trip for adults including both bus and ferry. 
 
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The Debut of The Boxer in Boston

Several ski writers who came into Boston last week for the Boston Ski Show mentioned that they loved their hotel, The Boxer. Formerly the Bulfinch Hotel, the Boxer is a nine-story, 80- room boutique hotel housed in a triangular 1904 building that’s Boston’s version of the Flatiron Building. Located on Merrimac Street, not far from the Boston Garden and the North End, The Boxer has a vintage feel, with an old-time room key rack behind the front desk and a circa 1860 map of Boston on the lobby ceiling. Their restaurant, Finch, serves regional fare like New England clam chowder and lobster mac n’ cheese. Rates start at $161 a night.