We arrived in Juneau on the second day of the cruise. Standing on deck as we pulled into port, we spotted a large American eagle perched on the ship’s gangplank. We weren’t in the “lower 48” anymore. We had arrived in a part of the country where even the best superlatives are inadequate.
A pride of lions feasts on the body of a rhinoceros as dozens of zebra, antelope and other animals look on. Dwellers in simple mud-plastered shelters live much as their ancestors did centuries ago.
Impaling a bright red strawberry on the end of a wooden shish kebab skewer, I held the fruit under a gushing fountain of milk chocolate, then popped it into my eager mouth.
Hear the words “national park,” and you’re likely to picture soaring landscapes and vast vistas.
It took scant minutes after arriving on Martha’s Vineyard to get a fix on what the island is all about.
This is a story about a road less traveled because progress, in the form of major interstate highways, passed it by.
There’s much to be said for traveling to Key West, Florida, in winter. It’s fun and funky, and the sun casts its warming glow on lotion-slathered bodies. However, my recent visit to the Sunshine State had a different goal. I wished to check the claim that other islands in the chain boast hidden corners and enticing attractions that many visitors miss.
On a slow ascent to the surface of the water from 60 feet down, the dive master spots something thrilling along the reef and extends her hand with all five fingers wiggling excitedly. It is a signal that can mean only one thing: Octopus!