Just 11 Miles Off Coast

“Look at that,” came the voice of our boat’s captain over a crackly intercom. “A wildlife sighting and we haven’t even left the harbor!” Toward the bow of the ship on the starboard side, a sleek, dark gray figure was cresting out of the water about 25 yards in front of us. It was a bottlenose dolphin, the playful and charismatic mammal found in oceans all over the world. I pulled out my rented binoculars to get a closer look, and a couple of fellow passengers clapped their hands in delight. We got another glimpse of the dolphin’s dorsal side and blowhole before it vanished with a quick flick of the tail. Nearby, a group of sea lions lazed on a buoy.

I had been looking for an easy, casual day trip from Los Angeles, where I live, and I found it. Channel Islands National Park comprises five islands: an archipelago of four islands that hug the Santa Barbara Channel off the coast of Southern California, and the more remote Santa Barbara Island, further off toward Catalina to the southeast. The islands are remarkably close to the mainland — the closest is just 11 miles from shore — but seem like they’re a world away. During my visit to Santa Cruz Island, I felt connected to both land and sea. The breathtaking vistas, great hiking and dozens of flora and fauna unique to the islands made it clear why some refer to the Channel Islands as “the Galápagos Islands of North America.” And unlike a pricey trip to the Galápagos Islands, I was able to explore Santa Cruz on a modest budget.

Our 65-foot-long, 149-passenger boat was chartered by Island Packers Cruises, the official concessionaire of the Channel Islands. The price, $29.50 each way (I bought my ticket online), is reasonable considering there is no official entrance fee to the park. Tickets can be bought to all five islands in the park, depending on the season. Currently, tickets are only available to Anacapa and Santa Cruz, the largest of the islands. Buying ahead is recommended, and make sure to call the morning of to verify your boat is sailing; sometimes there are cancellations because of the weather.

You will need to bring supplies, as there is nothing available to buy on the island. (There is also no publicly usable electricity or transportation, and the cellphone service is spotty to nonexistent.) As I was only planning to be there for the day (camping overnight is also an option), I just needed food and water for a seven-hour trip. I would then follow the old scouting mantra of “pack it in, pack it out” — taking all my waste with me back to the mainland. After exiting the freeway in Ventura, I headed to the Royal Bakery and Cafe and bought a couple of items: a so-so scone ($2) and a much better croissant with turkey and cheese ($3.95). Things like water ($1.75 for one liter) and granola bars ($2.50) are available at the office where the boat departs, and there is a variety of snacks on the boat, including popcorn ($3) and domestic beer ($4).


You may also want to invest in some Dramamine (I didn’t see it for sale in the boat’s concession stand). Depending on the day, and how the winds are behaving, you could be in for a choppy ride. Ours was bad. “Sometimes it’s a mirror,” said Larry Driscoll, a volunteer with the Channel Islands Naturalist Corps, “and sometimes it’s even rougher than this.” A couple of passengers had begun to turn a shade of green and quickly made their way to back of the boat. After 30 minutes of joyfully surfing the big swells at front of our craft, I joined them. Advice for the seasick: Go outside, on as low a deck as possible, and toward the rear of ship. It won’t make the nausea go away, but it will minimize your movement and the fresh air will help.Continue reading the main story

Fortunately, rough seas aside, there was a lot to enjoy on the ride, which is very much a part of the entire experience, lasting over an hour each way. The highlight was when a pod of common dolphins began swimming next to our boat. Dozens of silvery fins, shimmering in the sun against a backdrop of deep blue water, cantered and crested as our captain slowed the boat. “Oh, they’re just playing now,” a woman next to me said as two of the creatures popped out of the water no more than 15 feet from us. Whales are also a common sight during voyages out to the islands — there are specific whale-watching tours — but unfortunately none appeared during our trip.

After something of a rough arrival — thanks to the choppy waters, we had to dock at Prisoners Harbor, near the middle of the island, rather than our planned berth on its eastern side — we made it to Santa Cruz Island. (The island was named in the early 17th century; it had been home to the Chumash tribe, before diseases from European settlers ravaged the population.) A few passengers set out on the 3.5-mile hike to the campground and a couple others went off to hike on their own. The rest of us were given a choice of taking an “easy” hike up the Del Norte trail or a more difficult one toward Pelican Bay. I opted for the latter, joining a group with two of the Island Packers guides. The moderately difficult hike, which consists of some steep, rocky sections, is doable even for beginners. You will get your hands dirty, though, as some of the more arduous parts are closer to climbing than hiking, and require three points of contact.

Leanne Kleinsmith, one of our guides and a native of Ventura County, was amazed by the effect the recent rain had had on the island. “It is so green right now,” she said. “It’s never this green.” She was right. As we hiked along the coastal bluffs, the pine, oak and ironwood trees were remarkably lush, nothing like the yellows, browns and ochres that typically characterize Southern California. The hike to Pelican Bay goes into territory owned by the Nature Conservancy, which is based in Arlington, Va. The environmental organization owns most of the Santa Cruz Island, which was once the largest privately-owned island in the country, and the National Park Service manages the rest.

An Aquatic Paradise in Mexico, Pushed to the Edge of Extinction

XOCHIMILCO, Mexico — With their gray-green waters and blue herons, the canals and island farms of Xochimilco in southern Mexico City are all that remain of the extensive network of shimmering waterways that so awed Spanish invaders when they arrived here 500 years ago.

But the fragility of this remnant of pre-Columbian life was revealed last month, when a 20-feet-deep hole opened in the canal bed, draining water and alarming hundreds of tour boat operators and farmers who depend on the waterways for a living.

The hole intensified a simmering conflict over nearby wells, which suck water from Xochimilco’s soil and pump it to other parts of Mexico City. It also revived worries about a process of decline, caused by pollution, urban encroachment and subsidence, that residents and experts fear may destroy the canals in a matter of years.

“This is a warning,” said Sergio Raúl Rodríguez Elizarrarás, a geologist at the National Autonomous University of Mexico. “We are driving the canals towards their extinction.”Continue reading the main story

Xochimilco (pronounced sochi-MILK-o), a municipality on the southeastern tip of Mexico City, is home to more than 6,000 acres of protected wetlands, hemmed in by dense streets. Here, farmers grow rosemary, corn and chard on chinampas, islands formed using a technique dating from the Aztecs from willow trees, lilies and mud.Continue reading the main story.

The Embarcadero Cuemanco with its trajineras — long, flat boats that ferry tourists on the canals of Xochimilco. The municipality at Mexico City’s edge holds more than 6,000 acres of protected wetlands.CreditAdriana Zehbrauskas for The New York Times

Residents ply the area’s 100 or so miles of canals in canoes, much as they have for centuries. On weekends, thousands of tourists picnic and party on brightly painted barges, or trajineras.

“This is the last thread that connects us to our pre-Hispanic past,” Ricardo Munguía, an artist and tour guide, said recently while chugging through the dawn mist in a motorboat. As he slid past a field of broken corn stalks, a pelican swooped by and skidded on the water, slowing itself with its wide wings.

“It would be heartbreaking to lose this,” Mr. Munguía said.

As bucolic as the canals appear, intense exploitation of the area’s aquifers over the last 50 years has depleted springs, prompting the authorities to replenish the waterways from a nearby sewage treatment plant.

As the earth dries out, it sinks, cracking buildings and forming sudden craters like the one that appeared on Jan. 24, 50 yards from a barge mooring.
:)

Well cool: yoga on ice in Swedish Lapland

Asmall part of me longs to be in a hot yoga class right now, sweating it out at 43C. Scorching heat, any kind of heat in fact, feels appealing when you’re hanging upside down on a frozen ocean in Swedish Lapland.

Welcome to Ice Yoga, the polar opposite, promising a “more immersive experience in nature”, according to its creator Rebecca Björk, yogi and founder of Active North. And I couldn’t get more immersive than lying on reindeer skin in -17C with only a sliver of fur between me and the icy depths of the Baltic. We are a small semicircle of figures with arms raised, surrounded by tea lights as the sunset turns the ice from grey to lilac. “It’s all about what’s around you,” says Björk. “This is not just about the yoga.”

She has been practising yoga outdoors for years and now includes it in her new wellness programme, along with snow walking, ice sculpting and mindful meditation. I’m less convinced by the health benefits of ice yoga that Björk lists, from boosting blood circulation to making you more alert and energetic. What’s more therapeutic for me is simply lying here in the darkness surrounded by ice, star gazing and listening to the gentle clink of sea ice against the rocks. Physical sensations are more intense out here. Even breathing deeply through each pose is exhilarating, like inhaling crushed ice. Entombed in thick layers, a snow suit and rubber boots, you can forget your fast flow vinyasas. Moving into the simplest pose takes time and effort. Glacial yoga is more like it.
After a half-hour session, we sit on the ice drinking steaming herbal tea and then it’s back to our cabins for a home-cooked supper. Over an organic buffet of cured salmon, prune, orange, rocket and beetroot salad followed by goat’s cheese lasagne, Björk explains that the focus of her programme is to spend as much time as possible outdoors. Initially, I’m perplexed. Surely there’ll be a bit of hygge and hibernating around a roasting fire? Apparently not.

Surely there’ll be a bit of hygge and hibernating around a roasting fire? Apparently not
Panic buying base layers in London, I couldn’t begin to imagine what -25C would feel like and the prospect seemed daunting. But I needn’t have worried. The Swedish view keeping warm as an art, offering endless advice on the subject: never stay still outside; fidgeting is good; shake your hands down to get the blood from your core to the extremities; if you’re sitting outside, keep your feet off the ground.

By day two I feel like a pro, strapped to my snowshoes and hiking through freshly fallen snow. We stop for lunch on the edge of an ancient birch forest and, over an open fire, our guide prepares a gourmet feast of reindeer stew, new potatoes, wild mushrooms in cream and lingonberry sauce. It dawns on me that after two days in the wilderness, I’ve yet to meet another hiker, or anyone, in fact. Not so surprising when our guide reminds us that Swedish Lapland is the size of England but with a population of just 250,000 – not forgetting 120,000 reindeer. The smaller population could explain the level of affluence and efficiency here. In the nearest town, Skellefteå, even the outdoor shopping area has underfloor heating. Everything from the coffee cups to the local burger chain looks enviably stylish.

City breaks with kids: London

I’m bored

Some of London’s most popular attractions are also its most expensive – looking at you Madame Tussauds (from £107 for a family of four), London Zoo (£84.60), London Sealife Aquarium (£136). On the plus side, most major museums are free – though a donation of around £5 per person is suggested – and offer dedicated trails, activities and sometimes apps for children. The Natural History Museum, Science Museum, British Museum, Museum of London, Imperial War Museum are all worth a visit.


The Horniman – with its eclectic natural history and musical instrument collections and a mini aquarium with poisonous frogs (£9 for a family of four) – is a firm favourite with south London families. My six-year old loves drawing and art but dismissed both Tates as “boring.” At his age it’s all about interactive exhibits and the Science Museum’s new gallery Wonderlab delivers on that front with all the buttons, pulleys and experiments a small child could wish for – plus live shows with explosions. It’s not free but costs less than many other London attractions (£20.20 for a family of four).

Beyond the museums, a sure-fire hit for us is the Southbank Centre, which hosts dedicated kids’ activities and events throughout the year, ramping up the offering during school holidays: coming up is the Imagine Children’s festival (9-19 February – make sure you book ahead). The Southbank has its own cafe and a bunch of chain restaurants, including Wagamama, Giraffe and Yo!Sushi, but we skip those in favour of the food market behind the Royal Festival Hall, which has dozens of street food stalls. Fuelled by a hotdog (proper sausages) and an ice-cream, in summer we then head to the Appearing Rooms fountains (bring spare clothes) overlooking the river. If we venture further, there’s a good hour or so worth of distractions including skateboarders, sand artists on the tiny tidal beach outside Gabriels’ Wharf and street entertainers – the bubble man outside Tate Modern always has a crowd of kids in thrall to him. On a similar note, there are nearly always good street entertainers in Covent Garden too.


West End shows are ludicrously expensive but outside central London there are fantastic theatres staging on innovative performances as well as activity sessions. Check out the programmes at the Polka children’s theatre in Wimbledon, Battersea Arts Centre, Unicorn Theatre near Tower Bridge, Little Angel Theatre in Islington and Hackney Empire (a vibrant production of Michael Morpurgo’s Running Wild from 22-25 March has rave reviews). Shows cost from as little as £8, – just make sure you book in advance.

Gap Year review – silly and puerile, but in a good way

Ugh, travellers. As in young people who go off round Asia or South America or wherever, with their Lonely bloody Planet guides, in search of mind-broadening new experiences. Like these people in Gap Year (E4).

I had one once, a gap year – actually about five years – and I hated myself, too, as well as all the other people doing it. But I have often thought that it’s been neglected as a source of comedy. Now Plebs (huge guilty pleasure!) writer Tom Basden is putting that right.

“You’re all into the same shit,” the older, drunker travel writer lady tells Dylan and Sean on the plane to Beijing. Exactly, though some things have changed since my travelling days. There are mobile phones and the internet, so everyone is basically in touch wherever they are.

Some things seem to be the same though, reassuringly – such as travellers are still obsessed with their own bowel movements, literally into the same shit, the consistency and frequency thereof. And ticking stuff off, attractions, experiences. And finding the real India, Vietnam or Bolivia; so it becomes a kind of competition about how far you can get away from other people just like you in search of authenticity. I once spent a night in a filthy hovel on a very untouristy (possibly because of the adjacent oil refinery) island off Venezuela while a burly, rummed-up fisherman attempted to have sex with me. All night. Very real, but also really horrible. And his boat was the only way off the island … Anyway, that’s a different story.

Basden has put together a nice cast of characters. Sean’s an amiable English lad, on a lad’s trip, with his old mate, escaping from the humdrum of his life at home. He’s actually a wheely suitcaser, as opposed to a backpacker, and would be better off in Thailand than China, as the travel writer on the plane said. But Dylan has brought him to Beijing, on false pretences as it happens: he’s stalking his ex (on her “track my run” app, ha, nice touch).

Then there are Americans Ashley, who’s a good-time girl, and May, who isn’t. She has been sent to China by her mother to explore her Asian roots. Tagging along with the girls, not entirely (really not, especially by May) welcome, is my favourite Greg (Tim Key), who is English, likes cricket, is a little bit creepy and a bit tragic and far too old to be doing this kind of thing. He’s a bit like Dan, the Joe Wilkinson character, in Him & Her. Oh, and then there are a couple of Irish backpacking honeymooners, who don’t play a massive part in this opener but whom I hope we will be seeing more of, mainly because Mrs is played by Aisling Bea and will nick any scene she’s in.

They all kind of hook up, and get on, and don’t get on, and try to unhook up, or hook up more. The comedy is about cultural difference, and cliches about traveller types – not massively surprising maybe, but very nicely observed. I think Basden might have been on the road himself. Greg has one of those probably practical but really annoying head torches, and wants to play football with the locals (“Hey guys, I’ll have a piece of this!”).

May thinks that the music festival they go to isn’t Chinese enough; and she wants to get up at 5.30 in the morning to see the wall – the great one – at sunrise. Do you think, in 2,000 years’ time or so, Asian tourists visiting ancient monuments in the once powerful world civilisation of the United States will get up early to see the great wall there at sunrise? The one Emperor Donald built to keep out marauding criminals, drug dealers and rapists from the south? Possibly.

The dialogue is good and believable, and funny: “I’m honestly not trying to be a dick,” Dylan tells his mate. “Well try a bit harder,” moans Sean.

Sean calls Dylan by his school nickname, Dildo (which is what it would have been), though Dylan doesn’t appreciate it any more – he thinks it might be offensive to women. The ex he’s stalking has a new love interest, a convivial sporty American, who calls himself Social Norm. Oh and at the music festival there’s a capsizing festival toilet. Toppled over, by Sean, while occupied, by Dylan. More of the same shit, all over the place.

Gap Year is very silly and very puerile, and I mean both in a good way. A Plebs way. Hey guys, I’ll have a piece of this: mind if I tag along, too?

CITY OF TOMORROW

Technology is constantly shaping the world we live in. It’s the key to developing a more sustainable future. heading out to Barcelona with Ford Europe for Mobile World Congress to learn more about what the ‘City of Tomorrow’ will look like!

BIG ANNOUNCEMENT

                                              A very New Fresh Start For MohamedsGap!