On to Chiang Rai

This tip comes from my buddy Richard, a photographer whose work accompanied my first travel stories on New York for the Washington Post and Toronto Globe and Mail. He now loves in Buenos Aires. “In case you don’t know, we have two rates for exchanging dollars. The official/legal rate is around 8.5 pesos to the dollar, versus the "blue rate" which changes everyday but was around 14.20 pesos per dollar a few days ago. So to make the most of your money you want to bring a lot of US $100 bills and change them in the blue rate places. If you purchase restaurants and lodging on a credit card, you get the 8.5 rate plus fees and such.” Translation: Argentina is about a 40% discount if you use American dollars when you travel there. Flights are expensive, especially this time of year, but if you can somehow use miles, you’ll have an affordable vacation in one of the dreamiest destinations on the globe.
Mention the Allagash River to a canoeist and his eyes suddenly become moist and dreamy as he inevitably responds, “Yeah, I’d like to go there someday.” The river has somehow attained legendary stature. Perhaps it’s the way the blue streak of water slips off the map of America’s northern fringes, remote and isolated, hundreds of miles from the nearest metropolis. Or maybe it’s the legacy of writer, philosopher, and inveterate traveler Henry David Thoreau, who ventured down the waterway a mere 155 years ago, waxing lyrically about the last great frontier in the East in his book, The Maine Woods. Whatever the reason, the 92-mile Allagash Wilderness Waterway continues to lure 10,000-plus paddlers to its shores every summer, turning farfetched dreams into reality. Paddle the Allagash in September like I did and you’ll be treated to moose in heat, fall foliage colors, and no bugs. Go with a trusted guide like Mahoosuc Guide Service, who led me down the West Branch of the Penobscot River for this Sierra Magazine story. They still have openings on their September 24-29 trip, $1250 per person all-inclusive.
Seven years ago, the director of a small museum in the Netherlands set out on an impossible quest: he wanted to borrow every surviving work in the world by the wildest imagination in the history of art, Hieronymus Bosch, to celebrate his 500th anniversary in the city of his birth. In an exhibition opening in February (February 13-May 8), Charles de Mooij will unveil his haul at his Noordbrabants museum in Den Bosch, officially known as ‘s-Hertogenbosch. He has secured 20 of the 25 surviving panels, including several reunited triptychs, and 19 of the 25 drawings, a collection he believes will never be assembled again. Many of the paintings could only travel because money from the Getty Foundation paid for state-of-the-art conservation work to clean the surfaces of the oak panels. This small Dutch city is planning to go bonkers with Bosch fever. There will be moving projections of Bosch paintings in the marketplace, and 3D recreations of angels, demons, damned souls, mermaids riding on flying fish, drunken priests, lascivious women, and monsters with the legs of a giant chicken and the body of an egg. Sounds like one exhibition that should not be missed.
Staying at the classic Fairmont Jasper Park Lodge was like being placed in an advertisement for Canada. The rustic log cabins, adorned with the latest comforts and technology including an indoor kit to make s’mores in the fireplace, overlooked Lake Beauvert and the jagged snowtopped ridge of Mount Edith Covell, which reflected off the clear as gin water. For the two days that we spent here, all of our adventures took place on the grounds. My wife and daughter went horseback riding while Jake and I mountain biked through a forest of lodgepole pines, white spruce, trembling aspens, and Douglas firs, spotting osprey atop their sprawling nest, the lone loon gliding over a pristine lake, and more than our fair share of elk. We walked around the shoreline, staring in awe at the towering peaks, before paddling on the chilled water. Having had our full of adventure after a week of rock climbing, rafting, hiking, biking, canoeing, and horseback riding, we spent the last day simply lounging in the heated pool. A perfect way to end our week of active travels in the Canadian Rockies.
It took more than two years to design and build a 205-mile mountain biking trek that crosses Thailand’s Malay Peninsula. But now that it’s complete, fat wheelers are calling it some of the best riding in Southeast Asia. Starting in Surat Thani, you bike through jungle, rubber and palm plantations, and small villages from the Andaman Sea to the Gulf of Thailand. Leaving the masses behind, you’ll get a chance to see the real Thailand on a weeklong trek offered by Thai Cycle. There’s also a shorter 5-day ride that gets you halfway across, zipping up and down numerous singletracks along the way. Cost for the 7-day trip starts at $817 per person, including food, guides, lodging, camping, and bikes. Don’t forget your Camelbak.
"Towards you, towards you, pull it towards you," my father yells to my mom, referring to the tiller that sits on her lap. We’re aboard my dad’s 22-foot Catalina, sailing at a good 10-knot clip across the cobalt waters of Lake George on our way back to his dock. Mom’s steering, dad’s barking orders, and I’m on the bow of the boat, ready to jump onto terra firma, but first I have to listen to my parent’s banter, a routine I’ve witnessed far too many times.
“What the hell are you doing? Aim for the house,” my dad bellows, pointing to a small white house that stands on the hillside above our dock. My father’s voice always seems to rise a notch or two in volume every time he steps foot into his sailboat. That’s usually what happens to former Lieutenants in the Navy. They resign their commission in the military, buy a small boat of their own, and quickly ascend to the rank of Admiral. Nevertheless, my mom always remains as cool as the water in this lake, easily gliding the boat into the dock without a scratch. Once the lines are tied, she stands up, and ends with the tag line, “not bad for a Bronx girl.” “Yeah, not bad,” my father mutters back, forgetting that Mom also taught him how to drive.
Those two paragraphs are the first words I ever wrote on Lake George, for a magazine called Endless Vacation back in 1996. Both my parents are gone, but I have incredible memories of our family sailing, paddling, and boating this 32-mile gem in the Adirondacks. And I continue to create new memories. This week, I’m traveling with my brother Jim as we kayak around the Sagamore, boat with Ron Miller aboard his 1971 Lyman, and take a paddlewheeler cruise aboard The Mohican.
I’ve been sailing the waters of Lake George before I learned to walk, or so I’m told. Growing up in these sylvan surroundings, I took its beauty for granted; the verdant mountainside that slopes to the lake’s edge on either side, the pine-studded islands that provide perfect anchorages for boaters, the narrow width that’s easily mistaken for a long rambling river. Working as a travel writer, I’ve had the good fortune to visit many of the world’s most famous lakes—Tahoe, Como in Italy, Taupo in New Zealand, Lucerne in Switzerland, but given the choice, I’ll take Lake George on a weekday (on summer weekends, the influx of motorboats and jet skies makes the lake seem a lot smaller). It’s the reason why “Sailing Lake George” topped my list of “5 Family Adventures Not Soon Forgotten,” my most recent article on the lake in a March issue of The Boston Globe.