Under 30? A member of Globetrotters Club? Interested in a £1,000 travel award?
Know someone who is? We have £1,000 to award each year for five years for the best submitted independent travel plan. Interested?
Then see our legacy page on our Website, where you can apply with your plans for a totally independent travel trip and we'll take a look at it. Get those plans in!!!
The whole story started when I wanted to go diving with the manta rays in Tobago. Unfortunately, at that time, the trip for a family of five like mine proved out to be a little bit too pricey for my shallow purse. It is then that the owner of Aquadreams, the very professional Gene Dold (Aquadreams which has its web site onwww.aquadreams.com, is a travel agency based in Miami and specialised in diving packages, with a focus on Caribbean islands; its prices are very much lower than comparable England based travel agencies and the service offered is first class [e.g., a specific email is sent to you to give you the UPS reference of a parcel that has been sent to you; the tickets for the trip came with a lot of documentation on the island and on the diving there; all questions are answered at once]), came with a suggestion which sounded more or less like “Why not try Curacao, one of the best kept secrets of the Caribbean islands?”
After some investigations (among other things, best thanks to Nigel Turner and Iona Hill who gave some very comprehensive answers to some of the questions which I had put on a divers' forum), I decided to give it a go and I must say that I have not had any single regret about it at any time.
If I were to describe the diving in Curacao at the Sunset Beach Waters Resort in a few words, it probably would be: “Easy relaxed diving on a magnificent resident reef, best dived at nights when all other divers are asleep, leaving you free to focus on what you want”.
But to give some inner feeling about diving in Curacao, let me try to make you share the sensations during one of these night dives:
“It is 9:00 o'clock p.m. and the beach is completely empty and pitch dark, except for the projector light and for the spare bulbs that are kept running at all times around the diving club, just to help the divers get ready. My buddy and myself are strangely silent, probably due to some primal nocturnal fears. When we arrive at the diving club, as agreed upon with Harry, the Dutch owner of the diving club, two tanks are waiting for us, bright yellow against the surrounding darkness, our own little lighthouses. We retrieve our equipment from the club locker and we gear up without exchanging a word, focusing on the “task” ahead.
After the usual checks (strange how at nights, such routine checks are even more important than during daytime to keep your mind from wandering onto more sinister thoughts), we walk the few meters of white sand that separate us from the sea and easily enter the refreshing waters within the boundaries of an artificially made lagoon. After taking our compass bearings, we hover over the ripples of the sand to the open sea, encountering in our way some ghostly grey snappers (Lutjanus griseus), which quickly swim out of sight.
Soon after, we come across the remains of a small plane sunk on purpose for try-dives. In the light of our torches, it comes out brightly lit in orange by all the orange cup corals (Tubastraea coccinea) that festoon it and only open at night to reveal their striking colour. This is a truly magnificent sight!
But, it is time for bigger things and we swim away to deeper grounds. A couple of fin strokes take us to the edge of the shallow waters and we peep into what we know to be almost infinite depths (during daytime, we have been able to get a glimpse of what lies down there and it seemingly goes down forever and ever, up to…150 meters, according to the local divers). We glide effortlessly down until we reached the agreed upon depth of 20 meters where we adopt a more horizontal course.
The first thing that strikes me is the variety of corals: although I am not an expert, I can easily make out more than ten different varieties in terms of forms, colours or shapes. Everywhere around them, hundreds of marine creatures are busy finding their way and food, from small, transparent larvae that hover in the open and which you can only notice at night when your torch lights them, up to some very large specimen of Caribbean spiny lobsters (Panulirus argus) and hairy clinging crabs (Mithrax pilosus), very similar to spider crabs. In between these two extremes, when looking carefully in all nooks and crannies and waiting long enough to detect movements, I can see little banded coral shrimps (Stenopus hispidus) which are commonly seen at cleaning stations, some Pederson cleaner shrimps (Periclimenes pedersoni) with their transparent bodies and their purple legs, several blue-eye hermits (Paguristes sericeus) as well as a delicate banded clinging crab (Mithrax cinctimanus) in the middle of a giant anemone (Condylactis gigantea).
Then, all of a sudden, a startling spot of bright turquoise colour catches my eye and I see a specimen of a juvenile Caribbean Reef octopus (Octopus briareus). For some unknown reason, he likes my torch and decides to spend some time playing like a young pup with me, swimming back and fro between the reef and me. Eventually, it disappears in the darkness below, changing colour at the very last moment from its original turquoise to a dark orange.
Then, something more sinister then slowly edges its way in the area lit by my torch and a hunting purplemouth moray (Gymnothorax vicinus) comes to investigate all interstices to find its “catch of the day”. The way this moray thoroughly and methodically investigates all potential hides, one after the other, leaving no ground unexplored, gives me the creeps and leaves me sorry for the fish that have hidden there. All of sudden, it does not seem a good idea anymore for a fish to hide in the reef during the night, especially if you consider the number of morays that hunt there and their methodical hunting process.
Other morays like the spotted morays (Gymnothorax moringa) which I observed during the same night dive, also seem to hunt in a similar pattern, gliding stealthily and deathly from one hole to the next, up and down. Later, I even get the chance to watch one when it catches a prey: in a split second, it is over. The frenetic moves stop, the water calms down and the moray resumes its quest for some more food.
By the time we have seen all these things, we have to get back to shore: using the shallow wreck of the airplane as an indicator to the way out, we are soon back to the club where it is difficult to acknowledge that already an hour and a half has gone by in what had seemed to be a ten-minute dive at the most.
Next time for sure, I will bring an underwater camera!
Why risk the uncertain weather of the British climate? With airfares low and hotels reasonable, why not go to Boston to watch the match?? There is a big Irish community there, we'll find a pub to watch the game and do some sightseeing and shopping. What a brilliantly extravagant idea! I couldn't resist.
Shops are all over, although the Prudential Centre was close by the hotel and the tower definitely gave the best all round view of the city. Eating at Bonmarche was great, although be warned, the American sweet tooth and French toast combine to give truly disgusting results!
Across town in the North-West region was Quincy market, more shops and a fine food hall. The New England Aquarium is also located here with a brilliant tower fish tank. Also worth a visit was the science museum and Newbury Street on a Sunday afternoon.
It was a brilliant break. A combination of sightseeing, shopping and sore feet. The people were friendly and helpful, even when Wales won.
A survey conducted by the English Tourist Board has revealed what the English public considers the “Seven Wonders of Britain”. Participants in the survey were asked to select their choices from a short list of 17 possibilities within England. Here are the results of the survey:
1 . . . Houses of Parliament and Big Ben
2 . . . Stonehenge, Wiltshire
3 . . . Windsor Castle, outer London
4 . . . Eden Project, Cornwall
5 . . . York Minster, Yorkshire
6 . . . Hadrian's Wall, up North!
7 . . . London Eye, London
Source: http://www.britainexpress.com
PRÓXIMA VIAGEM want to hear from you! Próxima Viagem is a Brazilian travel magazine that sells around 70 000 copies a month. For the special birthday issue of their magazine they want to publish a poll of the top travellers in the world, people who have been to more than 100 countries and are members of some travellers club. The poll is to ask travellers about their favourite small-charming cities in the world. It is a “travel is peace” kind of article.
Please send Denise your top 10 small cities that are very special for you and a brief biography of yourself, focused on travelling and the number of places you visited.
contact Denise by e-mail
Readers may recall that for the last couple of months, we have had an appeal by Mike who was looking for his friend Bob, who was sailing around the South Pacific. Well, the good news is that Bob, Mike's friend did get in touch, so all is well. But here is a quick but fascinating piece on how Mike got to know Bob, and Bob's sailing adventures.
I, as a young engineer fresh from university, first met Bob in 1962. He had done an apprenticeship as a watchmaker and was therefore a “real” engineer in my eyes. After some initial arguments we became good friends and have kept in contact, even when I changed to medicine. About fifteen years ago he decided to sail, and bought an aluminium 40 ft sloop from a Count in Brittany, who had gone bankrupt. It was a bare hull with sails and engine, and Bob moved it to the garden of his bungalow near Chichester, and spent the next twelve years fitting it out.
He did a beautiful job, but did not have the funds to buy electronic navigational equipment; he uses a sextant. He was going to call his yacht Rabia, after my wife, but we thought that would be unwise because Rabia means rabies in Spanish. Two or three years ago, I lose track of time, he set off for Australia with his son. Their main problem was finding experienced crew because neither of them knew much about sailing. Bob's son soon gave up and returned home, and Bob has continued with anyone that he can pick up on the way. Recently he spent five months in the Marquesas looking for crew, and eventually found a treasure hunter searching for fifteen tons of gold in Tuamotu. They found lots of sharks instead. He has reached Pago Pago in Samoa and is wondering what to do after he has landed at Australia, sell the boat and retire, or carry on sailing.
As noted by our eagle-eyed Webmaster, Paul Roberts, this is a facility whereby you can send faxes via the web or email – rather handy! Take a look at The Phone Company website.
You can also receive replies with a free efax.com number.
If there's only one trip you do in Seoul, it should be this one. The iron curtain has gone from Germany but is alive and well here. You have to take a tour. ON this occasion, the tour bus was 98% Japanese, just me and an American guy who spoke English, so we got the front seats and a guide to ourselves, and as we listened, we had the Japanese snoring champion behind us!
Panmunjon is the site of the UN base Camp Boniface, named after a UN Soldier murdered by the North Koreans. You are taken to Ballinger Hall, where you get a slide show showing the history and what you are going to be seeing. It's at this point you have to sign a disclaimer form saying you won't blame them if the North Koreans take a pot shot at you while you are on the tour!
The Observation post is next, where you look across to “Propoganda Village” an uninhabited North Korean village that has a 160 metre high flagpole, this dwarfs the 100 metre high one at Freedom village on the South Korean side. You look down also on the 4 huts, 3 blue and one silver where occasional peace talks take place. Then you cross the road and enter blue hut number 2, inside is a table with microphones down the middle.
Outside North Korean guards peer in at you, you are allowed to take photos surprisingly. But the two sets of guards glower at each other through their sunglasses, so they cannot make eye contact. The Southern guards have only half their body showing, so they are less of a target!
Back at Camp Boniface you have an all you can eat “All American” buffet lunch, chicken, sweet corn, potatoes, etc etc. You are then free to buy a T-shirt or other souvenir. By the gate is “The worlds most dangerous golf hole”! If you slice from here you won't get your ball back!
Dr Livingstone is walking through the jungle and comes across a clearing with a huge hippopotamus lying stone dead in the middle of it. On top of the hippo is a pygmy. Dr Livingstone approaches him and asks: “Did you kill that?” The pygmy replies: “Howrya. Yes, I did.” Dr Livingstone is surprised by this and continues by asking: “How did you kill it?” “With my club,” replies the pygmy. Dr Livingstone asks: “How big is your club?” “Oh, there's about twenty of us at the moment,” says the pygmy.
Kompong Chhnang isn't a provincial town that has obvious attractions for the tourist hordes visiting Cambodia these days. For most, they catch a glimpse of it as they whiz by on the speedboat between Phnom Penh and Siem Reap or for a handful, it's a brief stop on Highway 5 as they take the bumpy route between the capital and Battambang. For me, it was an opportunity to while away some time in a sleepy riverside town and to seek out some ancient temples I'd heard about in the area.
It was standing room only for late arrivals as the Ho Wah Genting air-con bus left the southwest side of Phnom Penh's central market on the dot at 8am. Earlier, I'd eaten breakfast at the Dara Reang Sey hotel and got a moto to the bus stop, paid 4,500 riel for my ticket and luckily grabbed the last empty seat. Highway 5, running alongside the Tonle Sap river, was badly rutted and in poor condition and it took ninety minutes to reach the Prek Kdam ferry where a long line of trucks waited their turn to cross.
Once we'd passed the border marker into Kompong Chhnang province the flooded lowlands disappeared and were replaced by bright green rice fields. An hour away from our destination and we came to a grinding halt. The Khmer woman next to me, on holiday from her home in New York, translated the driver's instruction for everyone to get off the bus as the bridge ahead was broken. A short walk through the throng milling around the scene and across the rickety bridge and we were soon on our way aboard the replacement bus, reaching the centre of Kompong Chhnang, half an hour before mid-day.
I'd been warned that accommodation in town was fairly limited, so I established my bearings and headed for the Victory Monument where I knew that Sokha's guesthouse was close by. Located in a quiet, leafy lane, Sokha was on hand to welcome me, his first tourist for a week and in broken English recalled that he'd heard of some old 'prasats' over the river. My second floor room was a comfortable double with fan, TV and bathroom for $8. I headed back out for a look around and was immediately swamped by children from two nearby schools, who enthusiastically shouted their hello's, a feature which became commonplace throughout my short stay in town.
The heat was already unbearable and dust clouds had left a thick coat of brownish-red on everything in sight. Near the central market I collared a group of card-playing moto drivers but none spoke English, although undeterred, I hired the friendliest to drive me around town. Very quickly I realised Kompong Chhnang was well spread out from one end to the other. A two kilometre causeway joins the larger part of town that straddles the Highway with the bustling waterfront area. In between is shanty stilt housing, a distinctive water-tower and a colourful wat, while the boat dock area was a mess, smelly and busy with food traders and rows upon rows of those clay pots that you see everywhere in town. A few run-down French colonial buildings, including a tired-looking hotel, face out onto the Tonle Sap river.
Exploring both halves of town, we stopped at a couple of wats, one by the river and another, Wat Talmiat, both of which had the usual indoor paintings lining the walls, although a couple of friendly monks at the latter pagoda were determined not to let me go until I'd answered every conceivable question they could make up. I saw the gates of the dormant runway, the largest in the country, which has been earmarked for development but the heat was overwhelming so I took a drinks break at the Mekong restaurant, with its English menu, and watched a kick-boxing match on tv with a small posse of policeman. They told me that a bar run by an expat called the Halfway Pub had closed a few months earlier, but only after I returned to the cafe after a fruitless search!
As I walked back to Sokha's through the tree-lined side streets and past numerous colonial buildings in the administrative quarter of town, I got into a conversation with an off-duty policeman outside the local prison. Chhoun Chom-Roune spoke a smattering of English and jumped at the chance to help me find the Angkorean-era temples over the river the next day, as they were located in his home district and it would enable him to visit his family at the same time. After my initial concerns that finding the temples may prove tricky, a plan was forming and we agreed to meet at 6am the following morning.
After a shower and a snooze, I walked into the pitch-black streets to find a place to eat but the lively Samaki restaurant was housing a private party and everywhere else appeared closed. Traffic was light, shadowy figures passed close by and I struck up a conversation with a male student after he opened up with the popular icebreaker, 'hello, what is your name'. He explained that nothing much happened on Friday nights or any night for that matter and I resigned myself to returning to the Mekong restaurant for supper. The tv was switched on as I arrived and the service was lightning quick for their only customer. Unfortunately, the fried chicken and fries were awful.
I searched for a tikalok stand but without success, although a full moon brightened up the walk back to Sokha's and I was back in my room by 8.30pm. In the morning, Chhoun was half an hour late but it didn't matter as we took a moto to the dock and negotiated with the young boatwomen for one of their craft to ferry us across to the other side of the wide river. At $4 it was an expensive ride but turned out to be a pleasant and enjoyable twenty-five minute voyage across a placid and windless Tonle Sap river and past a handful of floating houses and the regular passenger ferry. Waiting for us at the small dock at Kompong Leaeng was one of Chhoun's brothers, Ne, and before we began our exploration, we stopped for a beef and noodle breakfast at a market stall. Around the corner we paused at Chhoun's family home to meet his parents and get another moto, with Nat, another brother, as driver.
Ne, my driver and the youngest of seven brothers, held up three fingers when I asked him how many ancient temples he knew of in the vicinity. His moto was well-padded with good suspension and despite the sandy track, waterlogged in places, was the most comfortable moto I'd ever ridden. We stopped at the hamlet of Phnom Dar where most of the villagers gathered round to see the foreigner playing football with the youngsters and ninety minutes after arriving on the far bank, we saw our first temple, an eighth century structure.
Prasat Srei is a substantial single brick tower with flying palaces (or representations of the temple in miniature) on the sides, three false doors and damaged lintels. It was located in the grounds of a small school and we shared tea with two young monks and two older laymen before moving on. An hour later, we left our moto in Chunok village and walked along the tops of a series of dykes and open fields, past bemused workers, to another brick temple, in the shade of a large tree. This was Prasat Koh Kralor and whilst less imposing than the first temple, it too had flying palaces, denoting the same period of construction, a broken linga inside and part of a lintel on the ground.
The walk back to the village took about ten minutes, so we rested in the shade of one of the houses where girls were pounding and cooking the poorly graded rice. It tasted pretty foul as did their rice wine but they seemed to find my attempt at pounding the rice amusing enough. A few kilometres along the track, Chhoun acknowledged a shout from a police hut at the entrance to a small village and we pulled over to say hello to one of his police colleagues. Word quickly spread and more of his chums arrived, so we took seats inside the hut and enjoyed a half-hour break from the sun, while Chhoun, his brothers and friends enjoyed more rice wine and a plate of dried fish. If this is an example of the life of a village policeman then where do I apply!
An hour later we searched for our final temple after turning back towards our starting point. We were still fifteen kilometres away from Chhoun's family home when we were directed to a temple a little way across the dry fields. It turned out to be a ten minute walk, along a single sandy path, where we saw some local women and children washing in a muddy pool. They showed us how they dug a hole and waited for it to fill with clear water despite the ground being bone dry on the surface. The two brick towers themselves were in a ruined state and devoid of decoration, with the bricks of a middle third tower scattered at our feet. Two young girls who'd followed us across the fields called the temple Prasat Leaq Pdey. Back on the road, we dissected a wedding party which was taking place under an awning stretched across the sandy track before reaching Chhoun's family home just before 1pm.
Our temple-hunting adventures had lasted more than five hours so I was more than happy to accept Chhoun's invitation to eat lunch with his family and to rest before returning across the river. Their large home on stilts had a wide open veranda where all of us sat in shade, Chhoun and myself, his father Sarun and his mother, seven brothers, two sisters and their children, as well as two friends of his father who were a little disappointed that I spoke no French. A tasty meal of chicken and fish, washed down with rice wine and bottled water and followed by a siesta was just what I needed after the morning's exertions. I was keen to return to Phnom Penh for a birthday party later that evening, so at 3pm Chhoun and I said our goodbyes, I paid his two brothers for their services and we chartered a larger boat to return us to the opposite boat dock, across the river which was as still as a millpond.
As we passed the bus stop near the Victory Monument, I asked the bus driver to wait for five minutes while I collected my bag from Sokha's, which he did. I thanked Chhoun for his help and friendship and gave him a small gift before ending my brief stay in Kompong Chhnang. With the bridge still down, we changed buses again and finally rolled into Phnom Penh's central market at 7pm. The ride was terribly bumpy and that induced one youngster near me to suffer acute travel sickness for the whole trip.
After a quick shower at my hotel, I joined the party at the Wang Dome restaurant in 240 Street celebrating the birthday of a friend, Kulikar, the partner of Nick, Lonely Planet's Cambodia author. The buffet was delicious and far removed from my meal at the Mekong restaurant in Kompong Chhnang the night before and amongst the guests I met a VSO worker from my hometown – a small world indeed. Srun and Reangsey picked me up and delivered me back to my hotel a little before midnight to round off a contrasting but thoroughly enjoyable two days.
For more information on Andy's travels, visit his website which has lots of travelogue stories with pictures. http://www.btinternet.com/~andy.brouwer/index.htm
St Helena is a British Dependent Territory; a tiny island in the Atlantic, midway between Africa and South America. Around 5,000 people live there, bolstered by 36 births last year. Some 40% of the population work in the UK, the Falklands or Ascension Island. About 800 tourists visit the island each year, and the occupancy of the hotels and B&Bs averages around 15%. At present, the only way to reach St Helena is by the Royal Mail Ship St Helena, and this only arrives six to eight times a year.
Does all this give you the idea that not a lot happens on St Helena? Well, you could be right, that is, until recently. Plans are afoot for a £102 million ($163m) 10 year construction project to build an airport, runway, a five star hotel, golf course, and luxury villas. St Helena Chief Secretary John Styles is reported to have said: “Access is crucial……St Helena will be an absolutely niche market. We will attract the wealthy tourist who wants to stay in a superb gold estate on a far flung island, or tourists interested in the environment and history, including the legacy of Napoleon, who spent his last years here.”
I wanted to spend a week away with my younger daughter – age 18 at the time (June 2001) having had to leave her behind on a previous trip with my other daughter. Instead of me making all the arrangements as I always had done in the past, I ended up leaving a lot to her – a valuable exercise in itself for both of us!
Liz chose Venice and I intervened here to suggest we explore some other places nearby too. Liz impressed me with her competence in booking a flight through the internet on Ryan Air at one of those ridiculously low prices – a month before due to fly. Although I then immediately started making enquiries re accommodation, everything appeared to be booked up – or we could not book as it was on a first arrival first served basis – although used to travel, I was intimidated by this and going to such a touristy place as Venice, and therefore glad we decided to go directly from the airport to Verona.
With 24 hours to go I discovered the policy of booking hostels was to ring about 7am on the morning due to arrive. In the event it worked out – but I think that area of Italy would be best visited before the tourist rush – which seems to be from end May through to September.
I found Ryan Air comforting – the pilot chatted to us and everything was very efficient. The planes do not land at the main airport Venice but at small Treviso airport – 20 – 30 miles away. Told we could not get a bus or train directly to Verona we bought return tickets for the airport bus. Got off at the train station at Metre – the area of Venice on the mainland. Train to Verona – I didn't realise I had to validate my ticket in a little box on the platform but the inspector looked at our luggage, then at us – we looked a bit jaded by then – shrugged and punched our tickets without complaint.
Caught a local bus that took us halfway to the hostel Casa Giovanni – a catholic, women's only hostel – cool and pleasant (so hot out). Then we had a bit of a problem finding food – 9pm and only expensive looking restaurants – eventually found a snack bar. By the time we arrived back at the hostel the other beds had now been occupied and we turned the lights out at 11pm. A street market nearby – not cheap by English standards but we used this for our breakfast. Spent the day exploring on foot – a beautiful city.
Cheapest and best value meal we found was a Chinese take-away – not the usual stuff – things like battered frogs legs. Sat by the river watching the sun set – tired and content – and finally feeling relaxed. Earlier we'd walked to the YH (further out of the centre than where we were staying) hoping the warden would make the booking for us for our next night's accommodation.
They couldn't but did give us the correct number – in the book it was the fax number! The warden of Montagagna YH didn't speak a word of English – somehow I mustered enough Italian and we understood each other (it is French I speak, not Italian – despite my Italian name!) Next morning it was lucky we got to the station early – queues to buy tickets and then another to obtain information so we could find the right train! Discovered we had to change trains at Nagara – and the leaving time for Montagnana was the same as the arrival of our train. However, everyone very relaxed – it seems the trains wait for each other. Montagnana – a sleepy town – and a good place to relax. The YH (in a watch tower in the ancient town walls) had only 4 of us staying there. Friendly warden, despite the language barrier.
Next day to Venice – up very early to go to the unmanned little station. At Mestre I bought a 3 day pass to use on the canal boats and local buses – well worth it, but not quite the deal I thought – it did not cover the boat from the camping site at Fusima, where we were staying, to Venice. So we mostly used the bus via Mestre each time – only 1 an hour. Fusima is not somewhere I would recommend – it is a campsite for 18-30 type clubs – very noisy for much of the night and the cabin we were in was not any more sound-proofed than a tent… apart from the difficulty in transport.
Venice was crowded in the tourist areas – such as St Marks Square – but not so bad a bit more off the beaten track. I did find the locals unfriendly and not many appeared to speak English – they must be fed up with being besieged by foreigners, even though that is how they make their money – and everything is expensive. We found a supermarket at long last and I stopped feeling so anxious about how we were going to afford to eat.
Some highlights for me were Santa Maria della Salute and the orchestra (including piano!) outside, Peggy Guggenheim exhibition, street music in the Jewish quarter, and the island of Burano (brightly painted little houses, 'granny' underwear on the washing line in a little park, wine and fresh fish in a little restaurant), and discovering an Italian 'fast food' restaurant in Mestre – Bis (does not resemble an English fast food establishment!).
BAA's expert Personal Shoppers are there to help you find exactly what you're looking for, every step of the way. For complimentary and impartial advice on special offers and gift ideas, why not ask for guidance from one of the team.
They're available on request in each terminal, but you can also book their assistance in advance by calling 0780 000 1 000
India: the Canadian Department of Foreign Affairs and International Trade lifted its travel advisory for India on July 23, 2002, but maintains that Canadians should still not travel to Jammu and Kashmir and those areas of Gujarat, Rajasthan, and Punjab close to the border, and areas of Ladakh close to the Line of Control. Some progress has been made in reducing tensions between India and Pakistan. However, the security situation remains unpredictable and could deteriorate at short notice. This can be expected to continue for the foreseeable future. Should there be an escalation of hostilities, commercial travel could be disrupted, limiting travellers' ability to depart on short notice. All Canadian citizens are encouraged to monitor developments and to register with the Canadian High Commission in New Delhi. See the Department's Travel Reports for destination-specific information.
Following a fire that killed at least 24 and injured 13 others in one of Beijing's internet parlours, the mayor of Beijing has ordered the immediate closure of all cyber cafes in the Chinese capital.
Mayor Liu Qi also suspended new licences that are still waiting for safety inspections. An official hi-tech police – nicknamed “the great firewall of China” – keeps watch over the internet 24 hours a day. A few weeks ago, a senior figure in China's Communist government expressed concern about the amount of time young people are spending surfing the internet and called for tighter regulation of cyber cafes.
Tens of thousands of internet cafes have sprung up in China in recent years, with many people – especially the young – seizing the chance to explore life in other countries through the internet. Journalists say China's tight controls on the internet have driven many operators underground.
The British Museum, one of the greatest museums in the world, tops the visitor charts. Founded in 1753, it is also the oldest museum in the world and its contents catalogue over two million years of world history and culture. With over 94 galleries and thousands of artefacts, the British Museum will have something for everyone! The most famous exhibits include the Elgin Marbles – sculptures from the Parthenon in Athens, Egyptian mummies and the Rosetta Stone. The Reading Room was recently incorporated into the Great Court (a huge covered courtyard) has witnessed the likes of Karl Marx, Mahatma Ghandi and George Bernard Shaw working there. Admission is free and there are lots of events and special exhibitions taking place throughout the year.
The British Museum opens daily 10:00-17:30 Sat-Wed, 10:00-20:30 Thurs-Fri (selected galleries). The Great Court opens 09:00-18:00 Mon-Wed, 09:00-23:00 Thurs, Fri and 09:00-18:00 Sat and Sun, closed 24-26 Dec and 1 Jan. Tube: Tottenham Court Road, Holborn or Russell Square. Enquiries: 020 7323 8299
Millionaire adventurer Steve Fossett has reached Australia and finally succeeded on his 6th attempt in becoming the first solo balloonist to circumnavigate the globe, completed after covering nearly 20,000 miles (32,000 kilometres) around the southern hemisphere. It took 13 days in the air and his silvery balloon, often travelled along at speeds up to 200 mph (322 km/h), at an altitude more familiar to jetliners.
Under 30? A member of Globetrotters Club? Interested in a £1,000 travel award?
Know someone who is? We have £1,000 to award each year for five years for the best submitted independent travel plan. Interested?
Then see our legacy page on our Website, where you can apply with your plans for a totally independent travel trip and we'll take a look at it. Get those plans in!!
A disease which has devastated one type of Caribbean coral, Elkhorn coral, has been traced back to bacteria found in human faeces. On some reefs, 95% of Elkhorn corals, which used to be the commonest coral in the Caribbean, have been wiped out by the condition, called white pox that shows itself as white spots on the coral, which spread and kill the coral, destroying the living tissue. On average, the disease spreads at a rate of 2.5 square centimetres of coral a day.
The problem is particularly bad in the Florida Keys, where human waste is treated in septic fields rather than extensively treated to kill bacteria. It is thought to be the first time that a human gut bacterium has been linked to coral disease.
Meeting news from our branches around the world.