ABCDE Travel sunday, september 26, 2010
BEDCHECK Blue is your
world But not the mood at this Brooklyn hotel. F2
Navigator The tarmac-delay rule pays off for passengers. F3 Click it Bet Alvin would like this new airfare Web site. F2
Coming and going Tune in to the Internet on JetBlue—soon. F2 CHAT Monday at noon at
washingtonpost.com/travel
IMPULSIVETRAVELER
Cleveland rocks! Who knew that the Rust Belt city is home to some truly hip neighborhoods? F6
AWALK F EZ
Afreshly caught abalone, soon to become a buttery appetizer; at right, hiking the ridgeline of the Freycinet Peninsula.
AUSTRALIA Tasmania
rugged adventure and cubic poo: It doesn’t get more beautiful — or stranger — than Tasmania’s Freycinet Peninsula
Breathtaking views,
IN THE PARK BY NATHAN BORCHELT “I first came here carried around in my mum’s belly,” said Jess Fuller-Smith.
“Then carried in a backpack. It’s the first place I took a bush walk withmyfriends, withoutmyparents. And we used to come on family holidays.” Jess and I were sitting on the deck of Friendly Beaches Lodge in Freycinet
National Park on a cool November morning. A gentle drizzle was falling, barely penetrating thecanopyof native pines,banksiaandwattle.Behindus, the kitchen was alive with the sounds of food prep: a heady brunch of roasted veggie tarts, fresh bread and tomatoes with locally crafted goat cheese and olive oil, various pizzas, teaandcoffee,andfreshlymadewalnutbrownies.Inthe distance, scarcely audible, the Tasman Sea crashed against the coast of the Freycinet Peninsula, which curves off the eastern edge of Tasmania, Australia, like a question mark, dotted by Schouten Island, the park’s southernmost point.
tasmania continued on F4 The economic engine
nowbrings trade and tourism BY CHRISTOPHER VOURLIAS
At half past 3 an ancient sigh filled the
station. It was a hot, humid, sun-flushed afternoon in Dar es Salaam, the sprawl- ing Tanzanian port city, and there was an atmosphere of near crisis as the train pulled in. Husky women trundled by with cool-
ers and baskets and pots and wooden spoons, as if they were on their way to a church picnic; an endless procession of duffel bags and suitcases andnylon sacks passed by. All afternoon, there was a dire rush of porters heaving things onto their shoulders, of parting families in hysteri- cal states of farewell. Heads and hands
Built by Europeans to extract Tanzania’s bounty, a railway
poked from the windows, gulping the air, grabbing at loaves of bread being sold from the platform. The scene inside was like a tenement, bodies on top of bodies, music and laughter and radio broad- casts, the ripe, pungent smell of body odor in the tropics. Infirst class,wewedged ourselves into
small, stuffy cabins, opened the win- dows, checked the locks on the doors. The police arrived, swinging their clubs to clear the plat- form. With a loud groan we lurched from the sta- tion, loaves of bread still being flung toward the windows. Soon we were chugging through the city's ragged out- skirts, pillars of diesel smoke barreling from the engine, the sun blotted out by our industrial-age progress into the raw
Sleepy Saranda stirs to life as villagers prepare lunch for passengers.
tanzania continued on F5 CHRISTOPHER VOURLIAS FOR THE WASHINGTON POST
PHOTOS BY NATHAN BORCHELT FOR THE WASHINGTON POST
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