Article written by C.Shaw (aged 15).I recently experienced my first Windstar Cruise on the Windsurf sailing yacht, travelling from Athens to Venice—and what a trip it was! Waking up in a new town every day and paddleboarding in the Adriatic Sea made it a trip of a lifetime for this teenager from Australia, and it wouldn’t have been the same without the Windstar experience. I’ve been on many cruises before, some with over 5,000 guests, so I was surprised to find only 270 passengers on board. The ship was smaller than I expected, but it had everything I needed, and I’ll never go back to the big cruise ships again. Highlights1. The Crew: The crew was absolutely amazing. Every staff member was friendly, helpful, and always smiling. They worked hard while having fun with us, which made the journey special. One highlight was the crew show towards the end of the journey. It was so funny, and it was unforgettable dancing in a conga line with the singers and performers.2. Dubrovnik, Croatia: I never dreamed of seeing water as blue and perfect as in Dubrovnik, which became my favourite stop. We walked the City Wall in the old town, found a secret door to an outdoor bar, and even went cliff-jumping off the rocks. We spent the evening on a cable car with views over the town, followed by a 5-course dinner. The next day, we joined a kayaking tour around the island—absolutely beautiful. I’ll definitely be going back to Dubrovnik.3. Korčula, Croatia: Our timing in Korčula was perfect, as the locals were celebrating “half New Year’s Eve” in town. The Windsurf Captain let us stay longer so we could join the fun. We spent the day at the beach, with music blasting like an outdoor nightclub. I enjoyed every minute.4. Meeting New People: My trip wouldn’t have been the same without the people I met. I made friends with an American family my age, and we spent evenings playing hide-and-seek, card games, swimming in the deck pool, and even challenging the adults to trivia. I loved meeting all the people onboard, especially a Polish lady who always joked with us.5. Food and Drinks: The food was spectacular. Each day had a new country theme for lunch, which was perfect for a picky eater like me. I especially loved dinners in the Amphora Restaurant with my waiter, Rudy, who showed us magic tricks. My favourite night was the outdoor barbeque in Dubrovnik, with incredible views, meats, salads, and desserts. How could life get any better? Windstar created an intimate and incredible journey that left me with beautiful memories.  If you would like to learn more about Windstar Cruises, please call Travel Focus Group on 4209 2044.  

In 2016, I travelled to South Africa and managed to fall down a hole. It wasn’t a spectacular hole, more like a ditch. And yes, I broke my ankle.To spice up the story, I could tell you that I was thrashing through dense African undergrowth, machete in hand, or maybe dancing in stilettos, Prosecco in hand, in a Cape Town nightspot—toppled or tippled over. But the actual event was, sadly, much more mundane.It happened on the last few days of our trip. We were waiting for our tour guide, who was running late, to pick us up from our hotel in downtown Cape Town for the standard day tour of the sights.Now, I’m a bit of an “Are we there yet?” adult. Sitting still is a challenge, a personal affliction I should probably work on, but the thought of losing travel time to waiting grates on me. So, off I trotted down a ramp leading to a shopping mall below, promising my long-suffering husband, “Just five minutes.”There was an extensive, in-ground trench running the length of the arcade—a former planter strip for rented mall plants. I saw it. But as I walked, I was looking up at the ceiling decorations instead of where I was going. My foot found the edge, I overbalanced, and down I went, landing hard on my ankle. The sickening crack told me all I needed to know.Five hours later, after a visit to Christian Barnard Hospital, I emerged with a moon boot, crutches, and a few nice little pills. But what to do now? Cut short our trip?No. The enterprising tour operator, Faisal, offered to turn our last few days into a custom driving tour. He generously suggested we adjust our itinerary, with him, his young protégé Ryan, and my husband sharing the load to get me around. Then Faisal asked if we’d like a deeper glimpse into Cape Town’s life. Would we be interested in seeing how African people live in Cape Town? Faisal and Ryan were both people of colour. Would we like to visit African homes and learn about their culture, their current way of life, and what it was like under apartheid?Of course, we would!Over the next few days, we were met with huge smiles, welcomed into the homes of strangers, and embraced as new Aussie friends. We learned and experienced so much more than we ever could have if I’d been fully mobile.Every so often, especially when travelling, something magical happens. A small setback can lead to a momentous memory.It did for me in Cape Town.-Carol Goddard

By Carol Goddard So there we were, our last night in Montmartre, before a very early start the next morning, the beginning of our trek home to Australia after a glorious European holiday.Hubby, knowing my penchant for making any situation into a celebration, gives me warning:“Carol, we’re having a quiet night tonight. Just a few bevies at the pub down the street, a meal and an early night- got a 5am start tomorrow.”Off we walk down Rue Lepic, in the heart of Montmartre, a stones throw from naughty Pigalle, teeming with cocktail hour activity, and only minutes away from the Moulin Rouge.Lux BarSo we take up our stools at the bar in the little pub called The Lux, to do all our “lasts”; last drinks, last food, last people watching.We have sampled the delights of the Lux on a few previous nights, and the very outgoing waiter Max found us Aussies quite delightful.So much so that he had talked about us to a group of his regulars, who happen at this moment to be sitting at a nearby table , ensconced in drinking aperitifs , and playing a card game.These regulars are students from the nearby Sorbonne, 5 young men and women aged in their late 20s. And they apparently find us Aussie oldies to be quite fascinating.From their table they strike up a conversation with us. They introduce themselves; they are extremely articulate, and friendly.We are polite in our responses, and Max assures us they are “good kids”.They ask us to join them at their table.We respectfully decline, telling them we were only there for The One.A few minutes later, 2 little blue shots are brought to us by Max.Our new friends have shouted us.And they are now going on a Parisian pub crawl , and would we like to join them?I sense that this is potentially going to be the start of one of those travel adventures we would long remember. And I so want to join these kids.But: we have that early start looming.And, more to the point, are we being reckless, going off with a bunch of kids we’d just met? In a bar?? In a foreign country?We throw caution to the wind.And so begins a surreal, memorable, crazy pub crawl through the streets of Montmartre, which I still remember to this day with a smile and a happy heart.We go from bar to bar. All of them are student haunts, none we as tourists would have found on our own, let alone frequented.Some are so packed with bodies it is almost impossible to move. Music pumps, lights flash, and conversation due to noise is impossible.And at each place we have a different drink, bought for us by our new friends.I recall one drink which has smoke emanating from it , intriguing!Fortunately, David, one of our new friends, summons up some cheese, meats and cornichons with bread to accompany the cocktails, and in the ensuing conversation he tells me his family owns a vineyard in Bordeaux, and wants him to join the family business, which he has no interest in doing.This was just one of many tales that night.Over the next hours , we learn so much about the lives of these kids we’ve only just met. One is a local radio DJ, one has recently been released from jail, crime unspecified.And at 1am, it is time to eat.This is Montmartre. You can find a meal at any time. And so we eat pizza, their choice, drink Amaretto , as you do at 1am, and finally say goodbye to our young French friends.And of course ,we pay for everyone’s meal, before staggering back to our hotel at 3am.Yes: that early start is in 2 hours time.Much the worse for wear, we are soon on our way back to Australia.And the memories of that “quiet night” still make me glow all these years later.

Every 11 years, the sun goes through a cycle of activity, which greatly influences the visibility and intensity of auroras. We are currently in Solar Cycle 25, and it is predicted to peak between now and 2025. This peak period, known as the solar maximum, brings with it heightened chances of witnessing stunning auroras like the Aurora Borealis. During these peaks, the sun experiences increased solar flares and coronal mass ejections, which cause the particles to interact more dramatically with Earth's magnetic field, producing more vibrant and frequent auroras. The good news for aurora enthusiasts is that this solar maximum is predicted to be a "moderate" one, meaning it will last longer than shorter, more intense cycles. Experts anticipate that prime aurora-watching conditions will extend for several years beyond the peak—likely into 2028. So, even if you miss the peak of the solar maximum, the next few years are still a perfect window to plan an aurora sighting trip. The next two northern winter seasons (2024-2025 and 2025-2026) will be ideal for the best chances of seeing the Northern Lights, as the long nights and high solar activity coincide. Top viewing locations include regions in the Arctic Circle like Norway, Sweden, Finland, Iceland, and parts of Canada and Alaska. Therefore, this is an optimal time to plan your aurora-chasing trip, as the next few years are set to deliver some of the best displays in decades. If you're keen to catch nature's most captivating light show, now is the time to start preparing your journey to the northern skies. The team at Travel Focus Group are experts in planning journeys to help maximise your chances of witnessing this extraordinary natural phenomenon.

In Andorra, roundabouts are adorned with striking sculptures that not only catch the eye but also celebrate the local culture. These artistic installations bring a sense of identity and pride to their towns and serve as landmarks for visitors. It got me thinking: could we do something similar in Kiama? At our main roundabout on Terralong street we do have our memorial arch to the side which is iconic and widely celebrated as a Kiama landmark and the fabulous seasonal garden plantings.While it’s not something I have seen in Australia, placing iconic statues on our roundabouts could be a wonderful way to showcase our unique heritage. Imagine a sculpture of a cow, paying homage to our rich dairy history. It would reflect the importance of agriculture to our community and stand as a proud symbol of our past and present.These installations could also offer a great point of interest for tourists, giving them an extra reason to stop and explore. Much like in Andorra, where the sculptures depict aspects of local life – from sport to wildlife – we could celebrate our own story through art.Roundabout sculptures could be designed in collaboration with local artists, ensuring the pieces are not only beautiful but also meaningful to the community. From historical figures to natural elements, these statues would enhance the visual appeal of our town while fostering a deeper sense of connection to our roots.The initiative could become a tourist attraction in itself, making our town more memorable to visitors and creating a talking point that could draw people from everywhere to experience what we have to offer. There’s also an environmental benefit. Instead of the usual advertising boards, roundabouts would become a space for creativity and reflection, showcasing art that both locals and tourists can appreciate.While the idea of roundabout statues may be new to Australia, it’s worth considering. It could celebrate our heritage, and create a welcoming landmark for all who pass through. What are your thoughts? Could we follow Andorra’s example and embrace the potential for art to reflect who we are?

Why use the services of a Travel Agent?In an age where DIY travel bookings are just a click away, many travellers ask, “Why use a travel agent?” It’s a great question, so here are the top reasons why working with a travel agent can transform your next adventure into a seamless, memorable experience.Expert support during uncertainty. The COVID-19 pandemic highlighted the value of having professional support when travel plans go awry. When borders closed and flights were cancelled, our team at Travel Focus Group was able to step in, recover funds, and rearrange complex itineraries. Without the assistance of a travel agent, many travellers faced overwhelming challenges trying to manage these disruptions independently. A travel agent provides peace of mind by handling unexpected changes and making sure you’re never left stranded.Insider knowledge and exclusive experiences. One of the biggest advantages of working with a travel agent is their wealth of expertise and insider knowledge. At Travel Focus Group, we have spent decades developing relationships with top ground operators around the world. This means we can provide unique experiences that are often unavailable through online booking platforms. Some examples include:Exclusive access to landmarks: Imagine touring the Sistine Chapel after hours, away from the tourist crowds.Private, customised tours: Experience Bhutan with a local guide who has personal connections with the royal family.Bespoke experiences: Whether it’s a secluded villa in the Maldives or a private wine-tasting tour in Tuscany, we ensure your trip is unforgettable.Time-saving convenience. Planning a complex itinerary can be a daunting task. A travel agent removes the stress by handling every aspect of your trip, from flights and accommodation to transfers and tours. You don’t have to spend hours comparing options, navigating logistics, or managing bookings. A travel agent's expertise ensures everything runs smoothly so that you can relax and focus on enjoying your holiday.Personalised service tailored to you. A key difference between booking online and using a travel agent is the level of personalised service. We take the time to understand your unique preferences, interests, and needs. Whether you prefer luxury, adventure, culture, or a mix of everything, we plan the perfect itinerary for you.Custom travel plans: Your holiday will reflect what’s important to you, whether that’s exploring local food markets or relaxing in a spa resort.Attention to detail: From dietary preferences to special occasions, we ensure your trip is tailored to your specific requirements.Additional benefits of using a travel agent.Access to deals and upgrades: We often secure special rates, room upgrades, or extra perks not available to the general public.Assistance with travel documents: We help with visas, travel insurance, and other essential paperwork to make sure you’re prepared.In short, using a travel agent enriches your travel experience by offering expertise, exclusive access, and peace of mind. Let us plan your next unforgettable journey, leaving you with nothing to worry about except enjoying the adventure.

After travelling by sea to the Antarctic Peninsula from Ushuaia, Argentina in 2022, we were hooked. Sailing to such a remote destination and witnessing the sheer breathtaking beauty and unique wildlife convinced my wife and I, and our Antarctic travelling companions, to travel to the opposite end of the globe and experience the Arctic in July/August of this year. An earlier portion of our two-month journey included a couple of weeks in Scandinavia, immersing ourselves in some of the rich maritime history of the Danish, Swedish and Norwegians. Svalbard polar bearMy interest in the polar regions was piqued after having read much literature about polar explorers, particularly regarding the period known as the ‘heroic age’, a time when the South Pole had yet to be reached by man. Stories of Robert Falcon Scott in the Terra Nova and Ernest Shackleton in the ill-fated Endurance and later Australians such as Mawson, capture the imagination of gritty tenacious and resilient men, with dogged determination, battling the harshest of environments. Having sailed to Antarctica in six-star luxury and preparing for the same hospitality within a few days, I found myself standing onboard the exploration ship, Fram, in the museum of the same name in Bygdoy, Oslo. I was completely in awe that such a relatively small wooden ship, with its respective exploration crews, had achieved so much. Owned by Norwegian scientist and explorer Fridtjof Nansen, Fram was the first ship to navigate the furthest north in Arctic pack ice under the command of Nansen (1893-96) and then the Arctic Archipelago, under the command of Otto Sverdrup (1898-1902) and finally the furthest South to Antarctica under the command of Roald Amundsen (1910-12). Amundsen had duped the King of Norway and the Ship’s owner into believing that he was headed North to achieve the North Pole, when in fact he was headed South. Amundsen subsequently beat Scott to the South Pole by 34 days, in what itself was an amazing feat of human endurance, well beyond the immense sea journey just to reach the Antarctic coast. IttoqqortortoormiitA few days later we flew from Oslo to Longyearbyen in Svalbard (previously known as Spitzbergen), a Norwegian archipelago on the 78th parallel in the Arctic Ocean. It was here that we joined our Arctic Islands cruise. After landing on what can only be described as a corrugated runway, we had a brief opportunity to tour Longyearbyen, witnessing their unique lifestyle, defunct coal mines, crystal clear skies fringed by mountains layered with huge avalanche barriers.  Longyearbyen Miners monumentMany signposts reminded us to constantly look over our shoulder for polar bears; Svalbard being home to a population of approximately 3000 of the apex predators.  Longyearbyen is also home to the world’s northern most university (UNIS), covering mainly Arctic biology, geology and geophysics research subjects up to PhD level. Almost on queue to becoming aware of this fact, we witnessed a group of studious young ladies with six packs of coolers leaving the local bottle shop giggling their way back to the dorm house. Longyearbyen main streetLongyearbyen is also home to a global seed vault, housing over a million seeds from plants worldwide. Once aboard our discovery yacht, we were quickly unpacked and I spent time setting up my camera and video equipment ready to capture our journey. Finally underway and with champagnes in hand, there was no hiding from the bitterly cold arctic winds whipping across the foredeck. Looking skyward, it was apparent that the sun was circumnavigating above the horizon and was not going to set; only our realisation that we had reached the land of the midnight sun. The Svalbard coastline provided some spectacularly rugged mountainous vistas and our first polar bear sighting. A lone bear stalked along a snowcapped ridgeline, momentarily glancing over its shoulder as if to acknowledge our distant presence, before sauntering into a valley.In total, we had six polar bear encounters on our cruise, but none too close, as tour operators have regulated a minimum closure of 500 metres, as to not disturb their habitat and existence. We enjoyed a sea kayaking expedition at Samarinbreen along a glacial front, the cool crisp air and tranquillity giving way momentarily only to the thunderous cracking and popping of nearby icebergs and glacial calving. Gashamna was home to a long abandoned whaling station with whalebone remnants and crumbling derelict buildings being the remaining hints of its existence. Gashamna WhalebonesA few days later we sailed toward eastern Greenland. One of our destinations was the picturesque town of Ittoqqortortoormiit, the remotest town in Greenland, nestled in Scoresbysund, the largest Fiord in the world. With a population of around 350, the colourful dwellings appeared like lego blocks in the distance as the ship slowly bumped its way through the ice floe towards the town and an eerie blanket of fog. Quiet yet friendly locals, with leathery weatherbeaten skin go about their business; sled dogs bark and howl from their restraints whilst their pups run amok, entertaining us and local children. GeysirStretched over a sled on a container top is the skin of a polar bear; reminding us of their harsh and primal existence, hunting only for survival. Two landmarks that catch our attention are the beautiful and quaint local church, where children dressed in cultural attire greet us with wide smiles, and the local soccer field with its very green astro turf, both very important aspects for the locals of an otherwise extremely isolated way of life. Some of the locals are later treated to a tour and lunch onboard our ship. It is a great initiative in which locals and their children, that openly welcome us into their town, are treated to some of the creature comforts and hospitality from the outside world. For much of the year the town is thrust into darkness and locked in by ice and summer tourism is an important boost for the local economy. We visited numerous parts of the Scorsbysund fiord system, each with rare and spectacular beauty and an abundance of wildlife and birds. One such morning we were on a zodiac trip amongst the bear islands when we spotted our first Musk ox for the trip. Whilst safely perched behind my 600mm lens on the zodiac, the steely gaze of the large adult male spoke volumes of his powerful desire to protect his patch from would be intruders. Before leaving Greenland, we found ourselves sliding past huge icebergs in the waters near Nordosbugt and the Captain gave the all clear, for those of us foolhardy enough, to take an arctic plunge from the stern marina deck. The icy waters were a balmy five degrees Celsius and our brief plunge was followed by a stiff beverage at the bar before melting into the upper deck spa to thaw out.Puffin - Vigur IslandAfter crossing the Denmark Strait, we reached our penultimate destination of Isafjordur in Iceland. Our ship nestled into a berth in the harbour and on the following morning we took a 30 minute a boat trip to nearby Vigur Island. The Island is privately owned and home to thousands of nesting and migratory birds, such as Puffins, Guillemots, Eider ducks and Arctic terns. We were fortunate and felt privileged to witness so many birds hunting for fish in the ever-bountiful local waters, and delivering their respective catches to their hungry chicks. It was my most rewarding day behind the lens and with so much activity, it was over all too quickly before our boat was ready to depart. On our final morning aboard we arrived in Reykjavik, where we disembarked the ship and stayed on for five days. We explored the city, as well as conducting a day trip of the ‘Golden Circle’, a popular route for tourists. The route took us to the Thingvellir National Park. The park is a UNESCO World Heritage listed site and home to the origins of the Althing, the Icelandic parliament system founded in 930AD, as well as a geological phenomenon, the divergence of the European and North American tectonic plates. We also visited the Gullfoss waterfall and Geysir geothermal park and the Kerid volcanic crater before heading back toward Reykjavik. Our final treat for the day was a visit to the Blue Lagoon geothermal pools near the town of Grindavik. Arriving on the bus, we could clearly see the steam still emanating from huge walls of lava deposited from the most recent eruptions. We had been briefed that another eruption from the nearby fault line was imminent and that a 30-minute evacuation plan would be activated if necessary. In the preceding 24 hours volcanologists had recorded some 60 local seismic events, a sure sign that things were about to heat up. We never felt unsafe though, as the locals were very well versed in the drill of evacuation, and we enjoyed our two hours soaking in 38 degrees Celsius geothermally heated waters adorned with our mineral face clay and a cool drink in hand. IttoqqortortoormiitThe rest of our visit was spent visiting many of the local features of Reykjavik, including the Perlan centre, learning more about glaciers, volcanos and their associated natural phenomena, as well as sampling many culinary delights, enjoying this wonderfully colourful and vibrant city, complete with its many decorated buildings and walls. There is only so much you can fit into such an overseas adventure but without doubt, having sampled the Arctic Islands, we are convinced of going back to see so much more that this remote, rugged and spectacularly beautiful region of the world has to offer.

Coleridge’s poem was ringing in my ears as we approached the ancient city of Xanadu, which now lies in ruins apart from its walls. It was deserted in 1430. Our destination lay two days away, north of the Gobi Desert.  The herding nomads were struggling to survive on the steppes because of climate change and the encroaching sands. We had volunteered to help a family set up a pony trek operation so tourists from the west could explore the world of the nomads. This would help subsidise the family. 2008 was way before the concept of glamping arrived so we were starting from scratch, using two Gers (portable, round tents covered and insulated with skins or felt) and our destination was a very small Russian built shelter that housed Grandparents, parents and four young children that were being home schooled.What struck us first was the scarcity of water that was fetched daily from a well by the children. On the journey from Ulaan Batar we noticed that vodka was way more plentiful than water. Drinking water only came in a bottle. In one stopover I resorted to cleaning my teeth in vodka!   We were each given a small (500ml) tin of water to wash in per day. Standing in a plastic laundry tub we poured the water over our heads and washed our clothes in the dirty water left in the tub. For a ‘clean freak’ like me it was a shock to the system. There was not a skerrick of comfort anywhere…hard beds, hard stools, hard dried yak meat to snack on. For people who survive in this region where it is above 40 degrees in summer and below 40 degrees in winter, the word comfort did not appear in their lexicon.The horses were a typical sturdy Mongolian pony breed, hardy steeds that could go all day regardless of the conditions. The saddles were the biggest obstacle in making this business successful. The original design, unchanged since the days of Genghis Khan, were made of wood with a small amount of padding and large metal ornamental medallions that chafed the rider. The sort of thing one would expect in the Spanish Inquisition. After the first days riding my legs were black and blue. Any delusions I had of being a tough outback woman vanished.So much travel today is focused on food…but not here! That is unless you like boiled meat (no seasoning or salt and pepper). Vegetables sometimes made an appearance as a green pea or fragment of carrot. The highlight of our trip was when this family decided to hold a special dinner in our honour and celebrated by killing one of their goats (a very precious commodity).  Neighbours were invited to join in and while the men did the slaughtering and skinning the women prepared the meal. There was not one skerrick of that animal that wasn’t used. The best cuts were roasted for the celebration and served with their best vodka and beer. The meat was eaten from one big central platter using only a knife. I must admit it was beautifully succulent.The group sang songs of past glories and mournful songs of loss. The vodka was drunk from a common bowl handed around to all. We were all made feel at one. The Mongolians are a gentle Buddhist people, nothing like their ancestors who marauded through Asia and Europe.  I was surprised to find that Genghis Kahn is still spoken of very often and his face and name appears on the labels of almost everything from soap, vodka, fuel, food stuff, cars and general business products. It is as if he only passed away last week. After two weeks we had to move on, however we kept in contact with Mendee even up until now. His pony treks were so successful that two of his three kids have graduated from universities in America and his family now do their own traveling overseas.  When we got home we would send him good comfortable saddles and other horsey items and gifts for the kids. It was a win-win for all despite the fact that we and others could only help a little. None of the volunteers belonged to big NGOs but were random travellers and backpackers, just lending a hand to very enterprising people.

‘Relax and float downstream’, sang John Lennon with The Beatles in ‘Tomorrow never knows’, and in Western Samoa, amongst the friendly people, aquamarine seas and clear blues skies, that’s what you do.Welcome or ‘Talofa’ as the Samoans say. A proud Polynesian people who sailed thousands of kilometres, navigating by stars, wind, birds and swell, without maps or compasses, to settle around 3000 years ago.We hired an excellent small car from Motu for about $80.00 (Aud) per day and took off on our 12-day adventure.Western Samoa is two islands. Upolu with its capital Apia, and the larger island Savaii, the third largest island in Polynesia after Hawaii and Tahiti.A car ferry connects Upolu and Savaii and it’s wise to book ahead.Like many pacific islanders, a belief in God, family and community binds these people in a spiritual union lost in the west. The sheer number of churches, some the size of cathedrals, is astounding.SAVAIIThe Va-i-Moana Seaside Lodge on the west coast of Savaii, is like the Garden of Eden before the Fall.The traditional fales and cottages front the ocean, where sea breezes lull one to sleep under large white mosquito nets.Savaii is abundant in tropical forests, brilliant bird life, sea turtles, waterfalls and more.Go to the Afu Aau waterfall and stand under the cascading, cold clear water on a hot day. Costs 10 tala per person (about $5.00)Stop and buy freshly cooked chook barbeque chook on the side of the road. It’s a mouth-watering Samoan speciality. The mangoes and paw paws are to die for.On the western end of Savaii, off the beach at Falealupo, snorkel amongst neon fish as they dart around coral outcrops.The night sky is plastered with stars, which on some nights, reflect on the pond-still sea, turning sea into stars and stars into sea.UPOLUFiafia - The Fire Dance. Source: Kate Roberts.At the Le Vasa resort on Upolu, the bungalows stretch along the coast, each with an ocean view. There’s a good outdoor restaurant (western prices), a pool and a games room for the kids.On the south coast, picture postcard beaches with white sand run from inlet to inlet. Lalomanu beach is one of the top ten beaches in the world, although it can get windy in high season.The To-Sua Ocean Trench or giant swimming hole, is not to be missed. The 30 metre ladder down to the swimming pool, is a small test of courage but adds to the thrill. Cost 20 tala per person.It’s worth catching traditional dancing at a Fiafia night (happy night) at one of the big resorts in Apia. The men’s fire dances brings out the warrior spirit while the women’s dances are more professional and enchanting. In the 1800s sailors jumped ship to be with them.Fiafia night woman. Source: Kate Roberts.Take a tour of Robert Louis Stevenson’s house in Apia. There is an exceptional display of photographs from the late 1800s and the young female guide sings Requiem, a Stevenson poem at the end of the tour. Cost 20 tala per person.Samoa is safe for unaccompanied women. One woman said she felt safer on the islands than in Sydney.English is not the Samoan’s first language but most people can speak it. Learning some basic local phrases will make you popular.Older western tourists complain the customer service is slow. That might be true but what’s the hurry when you are in paradise?With a favourable Australian dollar compared to the local currency, and low food and accommodation prices, Samoa is primed to be the next tourist hotspot.We flew from Sydney to Brisbane in late July. Then a five hour flight with Virgin International to Faleolo International Airport on Upolu for $750.00 per person return. The high season is July to October.

Winter 1973 finds me living in the Five Ways Paddington, scouring the Sydney Morning Herald for snow jobs - any job would do. I felt hemmed in by Sydney and that it was time to venture forth to the Snowy Mountains again. Chance dictated that the first vacancy that came up was a position at the Kosciuszko Chalet situated at Charlotte Pass, which boasts being the birthplace of skiing in Australia. It was the smallest, highest and most beautiful ski resort in Australia. A grand old stone building, totally snow bound. It looked like a French Chateau that had been plucked out of the European Alps and dropped into the Australian Alps. Akin to the Hydro Majestic in the Blue Mountains with classic old world charm, there was not a skerrick of cold modern minimalist furniture in sight - thankfully.Walking out of the cold, windy environment into the rustic high ceilinged room one feels transported back in time. Heavy velvet drapes, wood panelling, robust antique furnishings, sepia photos on the wall depicting skiers in the 20’s and 30’s. Open fires are used to keep the rooms warm, the gentle crackling inviting guests to take a seat and slowly sip some gluhwein to ‘warm the cockles of their hearts’.I was a staff member of the hotel doing the most menial job with the greatest amount of free time on snow. Snow that didn’t come! For most of that winter the only skiable snow was near the summit or over the Snowy River to the main range. It was accessible only on foot. The guests would be driven along the road to the summit to ski the drifts at Rawsons Pass. The ‘hard core’ members of the staff would climb up to Carruthers peak. After crossing the Snowy River (in our bare feet) we would then have to climb for at least two hours in our heavy alpine boots to the peak, then strap on our skis and schuss back home. The experience was arduous, freezing and thrilling. This behaviour demonstrates how deeply the lust for snow ran in our souls. There was no job too hard, no accommodation too wretched, and no conditions too miserable to prevent us from attempting to get the tips of our skis pointing downhill. A form of divine madness, I feel.The lack of snow however did not dampen the ‘fun factor’ for both staff and guests. The jazz band Galapagos Duck were our residential band for most of the winter. They were a wonderful source of entertainment. What more could we ask for?  Maybe a good supply of hash for some and brandy for others?The night life was fabulous and quiet often lasted till the first rose glow of sunrise appeared over the horizon turning the landscape into fields of sparkling crystals. We were all escapees from the city enjoying the freedom of the mountains and the companionship of our newfound friends.I recognise that Charlotte Pass does not have the long and challenging runs of the larger ski resorts however it more than makes up for that with its ambience. It may be flawed bliss, but I draw comfort from the existence of a place that has bravely shunned the vagaries of fashion. It celebrates the grandeur of small things.  

In the coming weeks, the world's gaze will turn to Paris as it hosts the 2024 Summer Olympics. So much of the ‘City of Lights’ will be on display. Speaking personally, the most stunning of these places has to be Notre Dame Cathedral. Who can forget the collective horror of April 2019 when fire threatened to engulf her? The whole world watched in dismay. Frantic crowds in the street, paralysed and filled with trepidation. However, she was saved and donations from all over the world, $895 million to date, funded the rebuild. How she is cherished. When the flames were licking at the feet of those spires, the only way I could deal with the sickness and despair I felt was to pen off a letter, thinking that the end was nigh.Farewell, my beauty                                                                              Who amongst us, heathen or Christian, does not mourn the loss of a very potent symbol of Paris, Notre Dame.The stories she had to tell, that we were too busy to listen to.The treasures she guarded, that we were too busy to look at. The ancient mysteries written in her stone, that we never bothered to examine.Her eyes, a witness to almost a thousand years of the growth of the Western Civilisation.The Masons who gave her birth.The proud oaks of France that formed her mantle.The Kings crowned and anointed in her nave.The Martyrs burnt in her square.Zealous knights marching off into doomed enterprises.Sacred choirs transforming her congregation.Novitiates taking vows in moments of religious reverie.Treachery and transgressions abounding down the ages.Revolutions, destruction, betrayals and malice.It is with a joyous heart that I can announce she will be completely rebuilt back to her former grandeur by the end of August 2024. The rooster ever vigilant on her spire.Thank you, the people of Paris and France.

Taking time off isn't just for adults; it's just as crucial for children, especially in today's tech-heavy world. Here's why you should consider taking your kids on a journey to discover the wonders of our planet:Nature Nurtures the Mind - Engaging with nature has profound effects on mental well-being. Research shows that outdoor activities can calm the mind, elevate moods, improve focus, and stimulate cognitive functions. There's something magical about watching children play outside, trading their screens for the joy of a hike or a beach day.Cultural Connections - Travel introduces children to a variety of cultures and people, fostering gratitude and empathy. Experiencing how children in different parts of the world live, often with fewer material possessions, can teach our youngsters valuable lessons in appreciation and compassion. These encounters can profoundly shape their worldview and understanding.Strengthening Family Bonds - In our busy lives, quality family time often gets sidelined. Travel provides a unique opportunity to eliminate distractions and bring families closer together. Many parents notice how siblings bond better and create lasting memories during holidays, reinforcing family ties.The World as a Classroom - Travel is an exceptional educational tool, offering lessons in geography, languages, history, and more that far surpass what a textbook can provide. It's a learning experience that sparks curiosity, broadens horizons, and enhances understanding.Three Great Places to Travel with KidsAt Travel Focus Group, we have first-hand experience of taking our kids to the following incredible destinations, and we highly recommend them:Morocco - Morocco offers an exciting blend of cultural experiences, vibrant markets, and stunning landscapes. Families can explore the bustling souks of Marrakech, ride camels in the Sahara Desert, and visit the historic city of Fes. The diverse scenery, rich history, and unique cultural experiences make Morocco an unforgettable destination for children.Dubai, UAE - Dubai is a city of contrasts, combining ultramodern architecture with traditional Arabian culture. Kids will be thrilled by the futuristic skyline, enjoy the world's largest indoor theme park, and experience a desert safari. Visiting places like the Global Village, Palm Jumeirah, and the Burj Khalifa offers a mix of fun and educational experiences.Malaysia - Malaysia is a family-friendly destination with diverse attractions. Explore the vibrant city of Kuala Lumpur, visit the iconic Petronas Twin Towers, take a trip to the beautiful islands of Langkawi or even take the kids to Legoland. Malaysia's rich cultural heritage, delicious cuisine, and stunning natural scenery provide a well-rounded travel experience for kids.Travel not only enriches the minds of children but also strengthens family bonds and creates lifelong memories. If any of the reasons or destinations resonate with you, it's time to plan your next family adventure. Contact Travel Focus on 4209 2044 for personalised ideas that will educate, entertain, and connect your family in unforgettable ways.

A popular remark during the 1960s and 70s was, “Apart from that, Mrs Kennedy, how was your trip to Dallas?” – a cruel reference to the assassination of John F Kennedy on 22 November 1963. In 1996, my father and brother joined me on a trip to Scotland to do genealogical research on the Orkneys, the home of our forebears. Because it was Dad’s first and only trip overseas, we allowed him to choose the stopover. To our surprise (and dismay), he chose Dallas.This was because he was an old cattleman from North Queensland who was raised on the black and white movies of the 30’s 40’s and 50’s, featuring the wild west of America with lots of cowboys wrangling longhorn cattle.Little did he know that Dallas is now an IT centre and the cattle were chased from the streets a long time ago. We set out to see ‘the sights’. When we asked at reception where we could catch the bus, the African American concierge looked condescendingly down his nose and said, ‘white folk don’t take the bus!’On finding out the fare of a cab to the CBD we informed him that ‘these white folk do take the bus’.When we clambered onto the bus it was clear that we were the only white folk. The locals were astonished and delighted at the same time. All on board were singing and rocking so of course we joined in, even Dad in his North Queensland Stetson. It was such a delightful trip.When we got to the Tourist Information Centre, it was smaller than a doctor’s surgery and manned by two very weary women. We were told that Dallas doesn’t actually need tourists.Begrudgingly, they gave us the option of seeing either the Book Depository from where JFK was assassinated, or the film site of the TV show Dallas. Dad chose the latter as he wanted to see a REAL Texas ranch.We arrived at the ranch, which was deserted, only to find that all the horses, cattle and ranch buildings were fake! They were made of plastic. Dad was appalled.At the plastic bar he asked for a genuine Texas steak. All they could deliver was Mexican bean soup. By this stage I was looking for a green space to run in, something like Hyde Park or Central Park with trees and grass. I could only see a patch of green from the top of the hotel around 10 km away; I set out for it. I eventually found the ‘park’ and commenced a jog on the grass when I saw a cavalry of golf buggies charging toward me, somewhat reminiscent of the Charge of the Light Brigade.When they reached me, they very politely but firmly pointed out that this was a private golf club. They also told me that there was ‘no such thing’ as public open spaces in Texas.When it came time to leave, I felt we hadn’t connected with the iconic cowboy culture… but I could certainly feel the ‘Live large. Think big’ way of life. The people we met were generous and amicable, and they actually loved the Australian accent, the last thing I expected anywhere.

Barcelona was a fitting location for the start of my Camino. For the uninitiated the Camino de Santiago, or in English the Way of St. James, is a network of pilgrims' ways or pilgrimages leading to the shrine of the apostle James in the cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in Galicia in northwestern Spain, where tradition holds that the remains of the apostle are buried.Barcelona lived up to and exceeded my expectations, assaulting my senses with a constant cacophony of colour, sounds, smells, tastes and sights. Especially the exuberant and juicy architecture.  Unfettered by a tyrannical bureaucracy, which Australians are well used to, the city let rip on every level, yet managed to remain, gentle and civilized. This was one full- blooded, vibrant city with so much to see and absorb. I found it, in a very sweet way…overwhelming. The locals, who became exasperated when we couldn’t understand their language, just shouted louder and louder, apparently believing that an increase in volume equated to an increase in comprehension. In reverse, Americans do much the same. Walking through the old city taking in the ambience, one could conjure up all that had transpired in that small space: Roman domination, Catholic domination, domination of the Americas. It all reeked of domination. Not in the usual detrimental way but with a flamboyance that rendered it forgivable. The works of Gaudi were everywhere. He was best known for his transcendence of the modernism of his day, combining architecture, religion and nature to produce creations that reflect those passions. The Sagrada Familia Basilica is the most highly recognised of Gaudi’s work, unfinished as it is. I had seen it in books and decided that it was sloppy, cluttered with all sorts of aberrations dangling from every nook and cranny. Only when I entered that sacred space did I start to understand the profundity of what he had built. A vast, cool and extravagant interior that amplified the eternal mysteries. The droves of visitors who talked in hushed tones are supplied with earphones that deliver a commentary which ingeniously takes them through the deeper levels and meanings of the design. I found myself riveted, going deeper and deeper into this amazing space. I was astonished by his intellect and spirituality.The markets were another unforgettable experience. Rack upon rack groaned under the weight of fresh vegetables, seafood, cheeses and breads. I wondered how the locals found enough time to consume so much on offer.  I soon found out that available time is not a problem for the Spanish. One of the cornerstones of their culture is the daily ritual of siesta. Business closes at 2pm and opens at 4pm. In the rural areas however the 4pm opening is often quietly forgotten. I felt so at home in this boisterous yet unhurried city.

Some years ago now my friends and I had quite an adventure in Laos. We survived our first misadventure in Luang Prabang, and decided to stay put for a while and just soak in the atmosphere. However, our plans changed when we noticed the cruise boats drifting up and down the river. They appeared to have dining decks where tourists were attended to by waiters. Eager for some comfort and luxury, we decided to give it a try.The following morning, John went to the ticket 'offices' on the shoreline and managed to purchase some tickets despite the language barrier. I was surprised at how cheap they were, but it wouldn’t be long before I found out why. We arrived at a longtail boat, about 10 metres long with a tiny cabin, assuming it would take us to a larger cruise boat. Instead, they advised us to get some lunch and enough water for the day. This was confusing, as the entire purpose was to dine in splendour. Four other travellers shared our assumption and were equally shocked when they realised that this small boat was our cruise.Six passengers and two crew had this small boat loaded with the water up to the gunnels. The seating consisted of the boat’s ribs, not even a plank of wood to form the actual seat. I felt a sinking feeling as we set off upstream. When we encountered grade three to four rapids, the driver would full-throttle the ancient engine to propel us across the rough sections, everyone sighing with relief as we made it into calmer waters.On one occasion, the engine failed, and we floundered onto a nearby beach. While the crew worked on the engine, I found a clump of bushes to relieve myself and, more importantly, grabbed a three-foot piece of giant bamboo to use as a makeshift life buoy if needed.Once we had passed the rapids and felt relaxed enough to look around, the sights were stunning: steep cliffs with caves enclosing ancient Buddha statues, dwellings on stilts over the river, villages with wooden buildings, and hordes of naked kids running and splashing.Our destination was a very primitive village in the upper reaches of the tributary. Exhausted, stiff, and sore, we didn't complain about the dilapidated overnight accommodations, but I lost my appetite when I saw the kebabs: rats, bats, giant spiders on sticks. We settled for the ubiquitous noodles.The next morning, we were told to board the boat for the return trip. I flatly refused and opted for the 'bus,' an antiquated utility vehicle with a canvas cover on the back. It was to be a three-hour journey with local women going to market. Among the usual array of wares and animals, I noticed under my legs a large section of bamboo with breath holes, from which emerged the longest, hairiest black legs I had ever seen - a giant bird-eating spider. Stifling a scream, I climbed out the back and spent the rest of the journey standing on the rear bumper bar. So much for our luxury cruise!Rest assured; this was in 2005. The destination has since changed dramatically - the five-star hotels have arrived. However, I loved Laos in its raw, innocent, and authentic state. I left in awe of the resilience of their ancient culture, religion, and traditions that remain indestructible despite occupying forces that failed to make a dent. Their spirit runs strong and eternal, like the river Mekong.

I was lost for words looking for an expression that would describe the ambience of Luang Prabang, so I drew on a phrase used by the French Colonialists when they occupied Indochina in the 19th century: ‘The Vietnamese planted the rice, the Cambodians tended to the rice but the Lao listened to it grow.”Some feel that this is a somewhat disparaging remark, implying that the Lao are lazy. But as someone who shared their lives, I feel that the French got it right. Their serenity and composure could be seen as laziness by those from the frenzied pace of the European industrial revolution.They merely displayed the effects of a deeply entrenched Buddhist culture. Here was the spiritual centre and base for the royal household. The tranquillity was palpable. The royal family was abolished in 1975, and Laos became a communist state. We took the bus from the capital Vientiane to Luang Prabang complete with all the chickens, pigs and a man with an AK-47 standing over us. He was to protect us from the serious separatists operating out of the mountains. This caused some concern but not as much as realising that the dirt road, which we were travelling on, was held in place by bamboo poles suspended over a bottomless gorge. This tested all my pretensions of having to ‘trust in the universe’! Our arrival was marked by a total lack of mayhem, which is found in most Asian towns. Everyone went around their usual daily chores against the backdrop of the magnificent architecture and the languid Mekong River. I noticed the stately bearing of the younger people, the women dressed in long sarongs and white blouses, their hair tied up on the top of their head amplifying their elegance.After booking into an old French Colonial guest house, we went searching for a guided trekking outfit. Being experienced global trekkers, we couldn’t wait to see what lay in those alluring limestone mountains. When checking in for this two-day walk, there was a lot of commotion made about my age (60). I could not understand this until I saw the physical shape of older women, who had spent their lives in the rice fields. They shuffled along with a pronounced sideway bend at their waists and seemed to be perennially tired.Our walk started out pleasantly enough, soft trails through the forest. But when we hit the steep climbs, the delight quickly turned to dismay. The trail, if you could see it over the long razor grass, was set at 30 degrees and in some places 45 degrees. In Europe or New Zealand, there would be set ropes for this gradient but all we had was bamboo trees and thick vines to hang onto. The surface was muddy and slippery. It was seriously challenging climbing in the hot steamy jungle, carrying a day’s water supply. At one point, I looked down to see myself covered with mud, blood and sweat. The tears were awaiting their turn. Descending was even worse, slipping and sliding on the edge of the trail exposing an abyss. At one stage, I lost it and let out a blood curdling scream and the worst obscenities one could imagine. (The sort of words that I learnt in the shearing shed and cattle camps of outback Queensland). That sent the hidden wild animals scattering as I tried to forget that tigers lurked in this location. Eventually, I found a piece of bark that I could sit on to slither down on my bum.Finally, we arrived at the Hmong village where we were to stay overnight. That night I slept the deepest sleep ever. The next day was a relaxed walk back, stopping at the famous Kuang Si falls with its clear turquoise waters.And, to think it was only the start of three amazing weeks.

Love Letter to Budapest.I state without hesitation that Budapest is one of the most romantic cities in the world. Maybe I say that because my trip there in 1972 was driven by a romance I was having with a Hungarian in Australia. He and his family escaped Budapest in 1956. When I decided to go to Europe, he suggested that I visit his old hometown and report on its status. In hindsight, that was quite a reckless suggestion, because at that stage in history we were in the middle of a cold war with Russia and the very words Communism or Soviet sent shivers down the spine.Val and I were hitchhiking all over Europe. When we got to Vienna, we decided to hitch to Budapest, three hours away. The border crossings were not at all like the punitive experiences we were expecting. Hungary had ‘soft communism’ and the customs officers were very friendly. In that era, Hungary was reported as ‘the merriest barracks in the block’. To get a visa, one had to check in to the police every day, hand over our cameras and stay where they dictated. They put us in the Fisherman’s Bastion that was (in 1972) a forlorn antiquated building on the banks of the Danube. At night we heard the hollow notes of a tinny piano and looked across at the other building to see a young ballerina practising in the warm orange light that contrasted to the darkness surrounding us. Like everything in the city, it looked as though WW2 and the ’56 revolution had only just happened. The buildings were a sooty black and covered with shelling craters. Statues stood faceless or headless. There were no privately owned cars, except a few that had been hand built from scrap metal. At night there was a complete absence of street lighting. There was but one very heroic little dress shop that had its windows lit up. The restaurants operated out of basements and were wonderful meeting places with gypsy music, the local ‘Bulls Blood’ wine and the hottest goulash I had ever had. This was where the locals went to escape the misery and sadness of the empty streets.Budapest was built in the last days of an exhausted and eroding empire. The grandeur of her architecture reflected one last gasp of defiance. The sort of defiance that made it not only survive but thrive under repressive regimes. Despite the generally depressed atmosphere, the city and its people exuded a pride and energy of unique ambience. Their resilience shone through. It was a heady brew of heroism and capitulation, sophistication and abrasiveness, demure and wild. Its resolute and sardonic spirit was constantly reinforced by the ever present Danube River, bisecting the city. Imagine my delight when almost 50 years later I flew into Budapest and saw her in all her former glory …  almost harking back to the splendour of the Hapsburg years. My abode of 1972, the Fisherman’s Bastion, was gleaming, as were all the other ancient buildings near The Chain Bridge. The night lights never seemed to go out. When it comes to Baroque architecture, the endless stunning buildings sometimes overwhelm the senses. It is often compared to Vienna, but there is a flighty tension, excitement and passion in the air that is missing in the more sedate European city. Plodding and staid, she is not.Budapest! I lived here! Among spirits! All soul! All Flesh! Coffee houses! Ecstasy! Wondrous night gone down in flames.Poem by D.Kosztolanyi

The Kiama Coast Holiday Parks team has had a whirlwind performance at the Sydney Caravan and Camping Supershow, spruiking our special slice of the South Coast.The team members were literally on their feet all day, every day of the six-day Supershow, selling the attractions of our beaches, mountains, towns and villages to the estimated 45,000 people who flooded through the gates at Rosehill Racecourse.The Supershow is a must-visit hotspot for anyone with a passion for camping and caravanning, with more than 250 exhibitors selling the latest motorhomes, campervans, caravans, camper-trailers and an amazing array of the newest and best camping gear.The show also provided daily seminars with invaluable insights and information across various aspects of camping and caravanning. With five parks across Kiama, Gerroa and Gerringong, Kiama Coast Holiday Parks team was able to sell potential guests on their great range of locations and accommodation types.However, these shows are as much about selling the whole destination, including local businesses, as the Holiday Parks themselves. This includes offering specials such as a ‘Winter Warmer Package’ to those visiting the Kiama Coast stall at the Supershow, in partnership with the Kiama Farmers’ Market.Industry expos remain an important part in competing for the holiday maker dollar, even in the modern world of social media influencers and online marketing.After nearly 50 hours of ‘putting their best foot forward’, the team has had little time to rest their legs, with bookings already rolling in.That’s shoe leather well spent.Kiama Coast Holiday Parks operates five holiday parks in the area, including Harbour Cabins, Seven Mile Beach, Werri Beach, Kendall’s Beach and Surf Beach and are currently offering winter 2024 specials: https://www.kiamacoast.com.au/specials/

The mist was the highlight at The Robertson Show this year, just SO Robertson! After a 40-minute trip from Kiama through picturesque Jamberoo, one was immediately enveloped in fog with very limited visibility.  The mist rolled in and out, clearing sporadically between events. The cattle judging, the stalls, the cowboy hats, and the rides all added to the iconic Southern Highlands atmosphere. From the classic sausage sandwiches to Devonshire teas, and of course, the spud creations – there was something for everyone. The outdoor fire pits created some fantastic combinations to savour.Rodeo, dodgems, fairy floss, and the show hosts put on a fantastic event, and people were not deterred by the episodes of mist or rain.  The main pavilion was getting muddier after each activity leading up to the famous potato races. It was hilarious to watch from the sidelines. The entrants grabbed their potato bags (in varying weights up to 50kg for the men), took off and disappeared into the mist – reappearing out of the mist near the finish line! Announcers ad-libbed the progress of the racers no one could see. The final of the men and women’s races were torn with tension on the finish line with surprises right in the last second. The $1000 prize money up for grabs meant competition was fierce. The men's winner had just run a 50km marathon that morning in Sydney! A whip-cracking performance for the rodeo and music and fireworks led to an epic weekend.   All in all, a great little trip away without having to hassle with airports and all the associated travel involved.