Roaming Tales

For mini-guides to various destinations from Kilimanjaro to Spitsbergen, please see the list under ’subpages’ to the right.

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By Caitlin Fitzsimmons

The columns and arches of the crumbling Roman city loomed above us, its winding passages hinting at secret spaces. Below us, stretched the countryside, the slopes patterned with olive trees and dotted with the occasional dwelling. Not Italy, but Tunisia; a country more renowned for beach holidays and desert safaris.

Modern Tunisia is unmistakably Arab, but two millennia ago it was the heart of the Romans’ North African empire. Just 140 kilometres from Sicily, the region grew rich selling grain and olive oil to Italy and the cities were large and lavish.

Dougga, a couple of hours south of the modern-day capital of Tunis, was one of the biggest. The Romans usually built on flat terrain but here they took a pre-existing Carthaginian township perched on a hilltop and made it their own. The citizens built their homes in the lower reaches, while at the peak is a cluster of public buildings made of golden stone. These include a theatre, a market, and several temples, the biggest dedicated to Jupiter, the king of the gods. The only hint of an earlier age is mausoleum tower dating from the ancient African Numidian civilisation.

On a bleak January day we had the place mostly to ourselves, part from the odd donkey. We took shelter from the stinging wind and rain in an ancient bathhouse, tip-toeing around the edges to avoid damaging the still vivid floor mosaic. We were surprised to discover a motif of Swastikas, evidence of ancient contact between Rome and India and pre-dating the more sinister association.

Everything is in remarkably good repair, considering that the local people lived among the ruins until the early twentieth century. They now live a few miles away in Nouvelle Dougga, but many remain connected to the site through work. As the rain cleared, we saw a dozen men in Berber cloaks emerge from the stones and resume repairing the wall of the amphitheatre.

Dougga might be a little out of the way but it’s worth the effort. Some Roman ruins are one part scattered stones to nine parts imagination; Dougga is not one of them.

Need to know
Dougga is just over 100 kilometres from Tunis and possible as a day trip. To get there by public transport, take the bus from Tunis to Taboursouk and then transfer to a louage (mini-bus). There is a small entry fee to the site.

This article was first published in the Rough Guides Make the Most of Your Time on Earth book in September 2007. All rights reserved - please contact Caitlin Fitzsimmons for reprint permissions.

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By Caitlin Fitzsimmons

The Arctic tern is the only bird that breeds in the Arctic and then migrates to Antarctica for the northern winter, flying roughly 35,000 kilometres per year. The journey begins in the tundra and rocky landscapes of the frozen north, the hunting ground of the mighty polar bear, and ends in the penguin-packed ice lands of the South Pole. Not only does the bird hold the world record for flying, it is also believed to experience the longest hours of daylight of any animal, since it lives in almost perpetual summer.

The crew of the Russian ship Polar Pioneer may not match the Arctic tern for endurance but they make a similar journey each year and spend anything up to 12 months at sea at one time. In the northern summer, the itinerary includes Scotland, Greenland, Iceland and the Svalbard Archipelago in the Norwegian Arctic, while in the southern summer the ship visits South Georgia and the Antarctic Peninsula. Between seasons the ship has even taken a trip up the Amazon River on its journey back to its home port of Saint Petersburg. For the 24 crew members – six women and 18 men – life at sea offers good career prospects and the chance to travel and meet people from all over the world but it can also be monotonous and hard.

Sanity demands that stints at sea need to be balanced by time at home and after 31 years of ship life, Captain Nikolay Pushkarev understands this as well as anyone. While he has previously led the voyage to Antarctica and South America, his current schedule is six months on board and the rest of the year at home in historic Novograd, near Saint Petersburg. When I visit his cabin, he is playing Russian classical music as he serves me tea – to be taken with spoonfuls of crystallised Russian honey – and shows photos of his children and grandchildren. “My father always said, if you want to be a rich man, you must communicate,” the captain says, with a smile. The language difference is only an occasional barrier as he tells me about his working life, first aboard a cargo vessel and for the last four years with passengers as captain of Polar Pioneer. “I like the work on the bridge and the work with the navigation chart and after the work is done, I like to listen to music. In winter, I see my family.” His crew includes the first mate, second mate and third mate, the ordinary seamen, the engineers, the cooks and the stewardesses.

The Polar Pioneer is an ice strengthener, which pushes ice apart and allows it to close behind, unlike an ice breaker, which smashes its way through the ice as the name implies. The ship was built in 1985 as a scientific research vessel to study meteors in the Arctic and Antarctica but in 2000 the ship was refurbished with room for 54 passengers and given an English name. The facilities on board are simple – outside the living quarters and the operational areas such as the bridge and the engine room, there is a bar with a small library for passengers, the dining rooms, a video room and a sauna. The small size is an advantage for passengers since it makes it easier to coordinate taking everyone ashore twice a day and there is greater opportunity to mingle with the staff and crew.

Like most passengers, I joined Aurora Expeditions’ Circumnavigation of Spitsbergen voyage for the spectacular scenery and the wildlife. We left from the frontier town of Longyearbyen on the main island of Spitsbergen and arrived back eleven days later after a tour that took in the entire Svalbard Archipelago. The landscape is dramatic and varied. There are the characteristic pointy mountains that give Spitsbergen its name, looming above huge cliffs of blue ice where the glaciers meet the sea. We saw glaciers calving almost constantly: first the crack of thunder sounds in warning, then a giant wall of ice tumbles into the ocean, sending fresh icebergs into the bay on an enormous wave. Seals – especially the bearded and ringed seals – love to hang out in these waters, often hauling themselves onto the floating chunks of ice for a spot of sunbathing.

The passengers explored the fjords in Zodiac boats – rubber dinghies with outboard motors – while a smaller group chose the more adventurous option of sea kayaks. The kayaks offer a unique perspective from just above water height and the ability to switch to silent mode. Even the slosh of the paddle through the water and ice could be stilled and the kayaks simply allowed to drift, allowing intimate encounters with the wildlife. Some curious seals were so persistent in their attention that the kayakers feared they might be set for a capsize.

We also saw walruses - like seals but with whiskers, tusks, bad breath and industrial grade leather hides – congregating on sandy beaches, often lying near to the skulls and bones of their ancestors. Svalbard is dotted with old whaling stations and huts from the days when whales and walruses were hunted for their blubber – and walruses for their leather and ivory tusks as well.

On the northern coast of Spitsbergen, we saw enormous bird cliffs of dolerite, rising hundred metres from the sea and streaked pink with snow and the guano of thousands, possibly millions, of Brunnich guillemot and kittiwakes. The eastern side of the island chain boasts meadows of moss and bog where tiny Arctic flowers bloom and reindeer and foxes make their home, small fresh water lakes filled with water birds and rocky outcrops providing shelter to nesting terns and gulls. The landscape was different again in Nordauslandet, in the far north-east of the archipelago, home to what is believed to be the fourth largest ice cap in the world. After a steep rise from sea level, the ice cap is rounded and relatively flat, with melt water gushing down in smooth rivulets of pristine blue, like water slides at a fun park. The valley floor was once the bottom of a tropical ocean and fossilised coral and sea worms are scattered among the pebbles.

Of course, for many of us the biggest reason to come to Svalbard was the chance to see polar bears in the wild. We were in suspense until half way through the voyage, when we saw a young bear walk up to a group – technically known as an “uglit” - of walruses, circle them once and then lie down next to them. A walrus would make a tasty feast for a polar bear but their tusks would inflict too much damage in return and the beasts were completely unbothered by the bear’s presence.

After this, our polar bear encounters came thick and fast. We saw a young bear rolling on his back in the snow, a big old bear with battlescars across his face walk to the water’s edge and take a swim, and a mother and two cubs assuaging their hunger pangs with seaweed. The expedition staff kept an eye out for bears at all times and we never landed where one was present, since this would endanger both ourselves and also the bears if the staff had to resort to using the rifle. Instead we stayed in the safety of the Zodiac boats so we could make a quick getaway if necessary - a policy that also allowed better viewing since we could move about more freely in the boats than we could on land.

While the trip certainly lived up to expectations in terms of adventure and natural beauty, the surprise was that it also provided an opportunity for cross-cultural exchange.While the crew was Russian, the 40-odd passengers and 10 tour company staff came from places as far flung as Australia, the United States, Britain, Denmark, Switzerland and the Netherlands. The bridge where the captain and navigators worked was open to the passengers at all times and with 24 hours of daylight was the perfect place to watch the changing view and spot birds and whales at any time of day.

The younger members of the crew were especially keen to practise their English and swap notes on life in Russia and abroad. Most of the ship engineers and navigators are career seamen, such as Mikhail Buldayev, the Polar Pioneer’s third mate. The 24-year-old Muscovite started working with river boats in his teens and has worked at sea for the past four years. “There is something romantic in my work, to visit different countries, different ports, to see the nature of the world, to speak to different people,” Mikhail says. “It is beautiful to work with passengers but it is also difficult because we are responsible for your safety.”

For others, working on the Polar Pioneer is a transitory job, something to do for a season or two before resuming ordinary life at home in Russia. This was particularly true for many of the stewardesses, who are responsible for cooking and cleaning on board the ship. Ludmilla Ivanova works as a lawyer in a small town near Saint Petersburg but took the job on the Polar Pioneer because she fancied a change and the opportunity to travel. “I wanted to see a new country and new people,” she says. “I have been to Scotland, the Arctic and Greenland but I don’t want to go to Antarctica – I must go back and work in my town as a lawyer.”

For other stewardesses, the job allows them the possibility to be with their husband. Nikolay Baykov and Anastasia Baykova are one of two married couples with both spouses working on board the ship. “I should be with my husband, that’s why I’m on this ship,” Anastasia says. “We are together and it’s much easier for us than the other Russian crew – I think it can be hard to work in the Arctic or Antarctica because you can’t go outside much but for us time together is relaxing.”

The Russians know how to party and when they’re young and stuck on a small ship in the middle of the Arctic Ocean, they do it better than most. Ludmilla’s 24th birthday party provided the perfect excuse for a party, complete with a cake, caviar and of course vodka. Most of the passengers were in bed but a few of us, in the right place at the right time, were invited to join crew and staff in the festivities.

If you ever find yourself at a Russian party, there are only two rules you need to remember. Number one: Every round of vodka or wine calls for a toast and once the cry of “prost!” is made, it is forbidden to put your glass back on the table until it is empty. Number two: You can get away with drinking apple juice if you must but you can’t refuse food.

Ludmilla and the Russian cook Yana Eretnova spent most of the afternoon cooking and the table groaned with Russian salads full of meat and mayonnaise, smoked salmon and boiled eggs stuffed with black caviar. The music was pumping and the dancing grew wilder as the night went on, with some of the stewardesses spicing up proceedings with dancing on the tabletops – although the ceiling of the ship cabin was so low they could only manage on their knees.

We went to bed a little worse for wear but fortunately, I soon learned there is no better cure for a hangover than an early morning paddle in the icy waters of the Arctic.

This article was first published in Anyway magazine in autumn 2006. Copyright held by Caitlin Fitzsimmons and all rights reserved.

Guide to Spitsbergen | What you need to know

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By Caitlin Fitzsimmons

The road into Senghenydd from the imposing Welsh castle town of Caerphilly snakes along the side of a steep slope that drops into a rocky valley. Lined with red-toned terrace houses in local stone, the village almost clings to the hillside, and though coal mining died out here long ago, the landscape still bears the scars. You may need to pause on the high street to allow stray sheep to cross the road – this is Britain at its most rural.

Senghenydd is home to the Aber Valley Male Voice Choir and though the choir gives concerts all over the world, it is here in the village’s ex-servicemen’s club that the sound is created and honed to perfection. The 61 men, many of them second or third-generation choristers, perform everything from sombre hymns to the Bohemian Rhapsody. Singing in both English and Welsh, their voices swell in four-part harmonies, as rich and complex as an orchestra.

Male voice choirs are a Welsh institution, part of the lives of thousands of working men from Snowdonia to the Rhondda. The choirs grew from the mateship and community spirit forged by the men who worked in the mines of the valleys of South Wales valleys and the quarries of North Wales, and though times have changed they are still going strong.

The choir in Senghenydd practices twice a week, and the men come as much for the camaraderie as they do for the music. You are welcome to visit, whether to attend a concert or for a more intimate experience to simply drop in on a rehearsal. The high proportion of silver hair in the choir ranks might raise concern about whether the younger generation will carry on the tradition. But with nearly 150 male voice choirs in a land of just 2.9 million people, this unique part of Welsh life is in no danger of disappearing.

Need to know
The Aber Valley Male Voice Choir can be found at www.aber-valleymvc.co.uk. The Homecoming Wales website lists 110 male voice choirs in Wales - click on ‘choirs’ on the home page. A train or coach from London to Cardiff or Caerphilly will cost between £16 to £50 return.

This article was first published in Rough Guides Make the Most of Your Time on Earth in September 2007. All rights reserved - please contact Caitlin Fitzsimmons for reprint permissions.

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By Caitlin Fitzsimmons

The ice cliffs gleamed platinum blue and towered above us as high as a 50-storey skyscraper. We floated in our kayaks, cold even in our drysuits but enthralled. Every few minutes, the glacier calved, sending newborn icebergs out into the fjord.

A loud crack and a deep rumble, then a huge sheet of ice dropped into the sea. A little close, we braced for the wave, inhaling the salt spray as we rose and fell with the swell.

Chastened, we paddled back into the fjord. I felt the sun warm my face as we emerged from the shadow of the glacier. Everything sparkled in the sunlight and our paddles scraped and crunched through the ice. We passed a giant iceberg, sailing like a swan in stately splendour, a flock of kittiwakes perched on its head.

I heard a plop and in the water before us was a round face, with huge eyes and whiskers. We lifted the paddles and glided in silence. “A ringed seal,” whispered our guide in the next boat. Curious, the seal swam alongside the kayaks for a few moments, before retiring to sunbathe on a floating chunk of ice.

Soon I would become blasé about seals, saving my excitement for an uglit of walruses, lying on the beach next to the bones of their ancestors. Or the enormous bird cliffs streaked pink with guano, home to about a million black-and-white guillemot. Or the minke whale, breaching by the stern of the ship.

The polar bears were the biggest thrill of all. We approached them only in motorised dinghies and kept a respectful distance. Once we attracted the attention of an old male, his fur yellowed and gouged with scars. He stood on the pebbled beach and sniffed us, then plunged into the water and started swimming towards us. Thankful we had an engine not just an oar, we beat a hasty retreat.

Need to Know
Spitsbergen is in in the High Arctic north of Norway. Flights depart from Oslo, from where you join a tour or hire a licensed guide. I travelled with Aurora Expeditions. More.

This article was first published in the Make the Most of Your Time on Earth book in September 2007. All rights reserved - please contact Caitlin Fitzsimmons for permission to reprint.

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