The 88-passenger SS Legacy, a revamped replica steamer, propels travellers deep into Alaska, pairing the state’s history with its natural splendours.

It was August in Alaska, and we were aboard the 88-passenger SS Legacy, a revamped replica coastal steamer with Victorian overtones and lashings of individual style. While most of the state is infiltrated with cruise ships in the summer, the large vessels clogging up the handful of viable Alaskan ports, this boutique bateau follows her own trail into Alaska’s smaller towns, harbours and inlets.

Run by Un-Cruise Adventures, the Legacy keeps things small-scale, casual and above all, unhurried. There are no show lounges, casinos or rock climbing walls, and there is no rush to get from port to port. If you come all the way to this immense, open territory – you should actually see it.

Hence the impromptu whale-watching episode with our skipper – the amiable Daniel Quinn, or Captain Dano – who was able to spot the first signs of mammalian activity and idle the engines for several hours when something interesting hove into view.

On board, the Legacy’s decor whisks you back to the 1890s, when this was Gold Rush country and tens of thousands poured into the Yukon via Alaskan towns like Skagway, Haines and Wrangell. The era is carefully re-created in the Legacy’s public rooms – notably the delightful western-themed Pesky Barnacle Saloon – as well as the period garb of the crew and the four resident re-enactors who bring to life people like Scottish-born naturalist and national park advocate John Muir and successful Gold Rush couple CJ and Ethel Berry, engaging passengers with dramatic tales of the Yukon. This idea of living history extended to the shore excursions too, which offered encounters with Native American tribesmen, costumed interpreters and modern-day descendants of the frontier folk who arrived and thrived in this stunningly beautiful – but unforgiving – area.

Because here, if the mountains don’t take your breath away, the colossal glaciers will; if it isn’t the sheer scale of the vast forest vistas, it is the beauty of the ice-scoured valleys and fjords; and if not the serene emptiness of this largely uninhabited region, then it is the plentiful wildlife, from bald eagles and bears to seals, sea lions, otters, porpoises and whales, that totally beguiles you.

After the initial thrill of seeing the humpback breach, things became seriously eye-popping. One day it was a pod of orcas cutting across our bow, diving and surfacing regularly in chase of some unseen prey. The next it was the humpbacks again, as two detached themselves from the main pod to give us the once over, drifting first down one side of the ship, then the other, and finally surfacing right under the bow as we watched with increasing incredulity.

On another occasion, a school of Dall’s porpoises decided to have fun in our bow wake, zipping backwards and forwards like black-and-white arrows in the foaming waters, while indolent sea lions watched on from floating ice floes and otters played among the thick kelp that drifted by.

It all paled into insignificance, however, next to an epic encounter that brought on looks of amazement even from the crew. 

We had pulled into an isolated bay on Chichagof Island (one of the three large islands that shelter the inland coast of southeast Alaska), alerted by various whale spouts as four, then six, then eight humpbacks joined together in a circling, roiling mass. And then it began: bubble-net feeding; the Holy Grail of whale watchers, a rare phenomenon where whales corral and feed on a concentrated mass of fish. Locals see it once or twice a year, but never for very long.

In coordinated groups, the animals first cornered and then herded a massive school of herring, blowing bubbles around them to confuse the fish and make them swim tighter, until, surging through the middle of the school with mouths agape, the humpbacks boiled to the surface in a feeding frenzy.

Again and again this cetacean dining ritual repeated itself until, three hours later, we had to move on to our own evening meal, the ship’s small galley turning out plate after plate of freshly prepared local fish, king crab, soups, salads, vegetarian dishes and, for one of the four courses, bison steak. It was the perfect ending to a compelling historical narrative, set alongside the natural splendours of Alaska itself.

Practicalities
The SS Legacy will operate seven-night Alaska’s Golden History cruises between Ketchikan and Juneau between June and August 2014, with an 11-night Gold Rush Legacy voyage from/to Seattle at each end of the season. Prices start at $5,195 per person for the seven-day voyage, and include all meals, most shore excursions and all drinks (alcoholic and non-alcoholic).

The island of Aphrodite’s ancestors
With Ancient Greek, Venetian, Ottoman and British influences sitting alongside rocky cliffs and sweeping coastlines, the tiny Greek island of Cythera will not remain a secret for long.

In 2004, Albert Blok closed his eyes and randomly pointed to a spot on a map, determined to spend his next holiday wherever his finger landed. He’d never heard of Cythera, a tiny Greek island northwest of Crete, but after visiting, he was smitten.

“It keeps revealing new secrets to us,” said Blok, who ended up emigrating to Cythera from the Netherlands in 2008, and now runs the traditional guesthouse Xenónas Fos kè Chóros in the village of Aroniadika with his partner Anita Snippe. “Places we have never been before, people we have never met before – its beauty keeps on surprising us. On the one hand, we want to share this beauty with everyone, but on the other hand, we want to keep it a secret.”

Blok is not alone. Floating at the intersection of the Ionian and Mediterranean Seas, Cythera – with some 3,500 full-time residents – has thus far managed to remain one of Greece’s best-kept secrets. But with the country poised to see nearly 17 million visitors in 2013, the island’s 65 ancient villages and 30km of coastline will not remain blissfully unburdened by mass tourism for long.

Where history and legend meet
Mythologically speaking, Cythera has clout. Reputedly, it was in the waters off Cythera that Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of love, rose out of the aphrós – the Greek word for foam –after Uranus’s genitals were cast into the water. Other stories relate that Aphrodite, also known as Cytherea, then travelled to Cyprus, which also claims to be the goddess’s home – but tension is no stranger to these waters.

Since naval times, the island’s strategic location has made it somewhat of a cosmopolitan crossroads for sailors, merchants and, of course, pesky conquerors. Inhabited since the Neolithic Era, the island has changed hands many times: notable figures in Cythera’s history include Venetian Marchese Marco Venieri, who claimed to be a descendant of Aphrodite (and whose own descendants still live on the island); and the pirate Hayreddin Barbarossa, an Ottoman fleet admiral who ravaged the ancient Byzantine capital fortress of Paliochora in 1537, the ruins of which remain in the island’s northeast. As a result, Cythera displays hearty remnants of its cultural bouillabaisse, with Venetian, Ottoman, British and Ancient Greek influences coexisting on the island.

Perhaps the most intact example of prior rule is the Kastro, a castle on Spiridonos street in Chora, the island’s tiny modern-day capital. Built between the 12th and 13th Centuries during a period of Venetian occupation, the castle was once called “the eye of Crete”; views from the top allow visitors to see the Ionian, Aegean and Cretan seas simultaneously. Today, the castle –  the former residence of the Venetian governor – houses the historical archives of Cythera. Also in sight is the town of Kapsali, which served as the capital’s port during Venetian times. Located just 2km south of Chora, Kapsali is characterised by a curved waterfront and sandy twin bays where sea turtles are known to swim.

Kapsali is just one of many villages that dot Cythera’s shoreline, with one of the most well known among locals being picturesque Avlemonas, a charming and historic hamlet situated some 18km northeast of Chora that you can reach by crossing Katouni Bridge. A reminder of British rule, the stone bridge –the largest of its kind in Greece at 110m long and 6m wide – was completed in 1826 as part of a project to ensure ease of travel between the seaside village and Chora – or so official records say. Legend has it that the construction was driven by desire: after Cythera’s British governor fell in love with a girl from a nearby village, he decided to build this bridge near her house in order to see her daily.

Another large relic backed by lore is the Panagia Myrtidiotissa monastery, the largest in Cythera. Situated on the western side of the island near the village of Kalokerines, the monastery – which translates to “The Most Holy Virgin Mary of the Myrtle Trees” – was built next to a myrtle tree where a shepherd, according to legend, found a holy icon of the Virgin Mary in the 14th Century. Pilgrims travel here to venerate the icon on 15 August’s Feast of the Dormition and on 24 September, the day of its finding. The icon is the patron saint of all Kytherians and is on display in the monastery save for Easter, when there is a religious procession to transfer it to Chora.

An island for nature lovers
Whittled away by wind and sea, Cythera is generously composed of steep, rocky cliffs and deep bays – and all of these elements are on display in the lush village of Mylopotamos, situated approximately 13km northwest of Chora. Meaning “mill on the river” in Greek, the village was once home to 22 watermills used for grinding wheat. Today, only one renovated mill remains, situated near the island’s notorious 20m waterfall, Neraida, which is a fount of folklore. Also known as Fonissa (“female killer”), the waterfall was reputedly the site of a murder: legend has it that two women were fighting atop the waterfall when one pushed the other over the edge.

Many hiking paths originate by the Neraida waterfall and loop through the village, incorporating a variety of cultural and scenic elements that illustrate Cythera’s combination of natural beauty and historical significance. Hikers can follow one such monopati (a one-person path often used for donkeys) –  recently signposted with numbers and arrows – that loops 2.6km past ruins of old mills and back to the town, though the more intrepid can choose to break away from the path before it loops back up and descend 2.2km down steep rocks and through the gorge to Kalami Beach, which can only be reached on foot by climbing down the rocks or through the gorge. Another scenic hike starts in the cypress forests of Lourantianika, in the island’s southern region, and passes 4.6km through wild olive trees while affording spectacular views of Chora, the Kastro and the sea.

Such discoveries of isolated beauty remain standard on Cythera, said Fivos Tsaravopoulos, programme coordinator of the Kythera Hiking Project, an organization centred around the creation of trails and sustainable tourism on the island.

“Cythera is a small paradise for walking,” he said. “It combines incredible landscapes – forests, waterfalls, cliffs, gorges, beaches and a Mediterranean desert – and picturesque villages, beautiful churches on the top of mountains and an incredible amount of wildflowers.”

The island of Aphrodite’s ancestors

In 2004, Albert Blok closed his eyes and randomly pointed to a spot on a map, determined to spend his next holiday wherever his finger landed. He’d never heard of Cythera, a tiny Greek island northwest of Crete, but after visiting, he was smitten.

“It keeps revealing new secrets to us,” said Blok, who ended up emigrating to Cythera from the Netherlands in 2008, and now runs the traditional guesthouse Xenónas Fos kè Chóros in the village of Aroniadika with his partner Anita Snippe. “Places we have never been before, people we have never met before – its beauty keeps on surprising us. On the one hand, we want to share this beauty with everyone, but on the other hand, we want to keep it a secret.”

Blok is not alone. Floating at the intersection of the Ionian and Mediterranean Seas, Cythera – with some 3,500 full-time residents – has thus far managed to remain one of Greece’s best-kept secrets. But with the country poised to see nearly 17 million visitors in 2013, the island’s 65 ancient villages and 30km of coastline will not remain blissfully unburdened by mass tourism for long.

Where history and legend meet
Mythologically speaking, Cythera has clout. Reputedly, it was in the waters off Cythera that Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of love, rose out of the aphrós – the Greek word for foam –after Uranus’s genitals were cast into the water. Other stories relate that Aphrodite, also known as Cytherea, then travelled to Cyprus, which also claims to be the goddess’s home – but tension is no stranger to these waters.

Since naval times, the island’s strategic location has made it somewhat of a cosmopolitan crossroads for sailors, merchants and, of course, pesky conquerors. Inhabited since the Neolithic Era, the island has changed hands many times: notable figures in Cythera’s history include Venetian Marchese Marco Venieri, who claimed to be a descendant of Aphrodite (and whose own descendants still live on the island); and the pirate Hayreddin Barbarossa, an Ottoman fleet admiral who ravaged the ancient Byzantine capital fortress of Paliochora in 1537, the ruins of which remain in the island’s northeast. As a result, Cythera displays hearty remnants of its cultural bouillabaisse, with Venetian, Ottoman, British and Ancient Greek influences coexisting on the island.

Perhaps the most intact example of prior rule is the Kastro, a castle on Spiridonos street in Chora, the island’s tiny modern-day capital. Built between the 12th and 13th Centuries during a period of Venetian occupation, the castle was once called “the eye of Crete”; views from the top allow visitors to see the Ionian, Aegean and Cretan seas simultaneously. Today, the castle –  the former residence of the Venetian governor – houses the historical archives of Cythera. Also in sight is the town of Kapsali, which served as the capital’s port during Venetian times. Located just 2km south of Chora, Kapsali is characterised by a curved waterfront and sandy twin bays where sea turtles are known to swim.

Kapsali is just one of many villages that dot Cythera’s shoreline, with one of the most well known among locals being picturesque Avlemonas, a charming and historic hamlet situated some 18km northeast of Chora that you can reach by crossing Katouni Bridge. A reminder of British rule, the stone bridge –the largest of its kind in Greece at 110m long and 6m wide – was completed in 1826 as part of a project to ensure ease of travel between the seaside village and Chora – or so official records say. Legend has it that the construction was driven by desire: after Cythera’s British governor fell in love with a girl from a nearby village, he decided to build this bridge near her house in order to see her daily.

Another large relic backed by lore is the Panagia Myrtidiotissa monastery, the largest in Cythera. Situated on the western side of the island near the village of Kalokerines, the monastery – which translates to “The Most Holy Virgin Mary of the Myrtle Trees” – was built next to a myrtle tree where a shepherd, according to legend, found a holy icon of the Virgin Mary in the 14th Century. Pilgrims travel here to venerate the icon on 15 August’s Feast of the Dormition and on 24 September, the day of its finding. The icon is the patron saint of all Kytherians and is on display in the monastery save for Easter, when there is a religious procession to transfer it to Chora.

An island for nature lovers
Whittled away by wind and sea, Cythera is generously composed of steep, rocky cliffs and deep bays – and all of these elements are on display in the lush village of Mylopotamos, situated approximately 13km northwest of Chora. Meaning “mill on the river” in Greek, the village was once home to 22 watermills used for grinding wheat. Today, only one renovated mill remains, situated near the island’s notorious 20m waterfall, Neraida, which is a fount of folklore. Also known as Fonissa (“female killer”), the waterfall was reputedly the site of a murder: legend has it that two women were fighting atop the waterfall when one pushed the other over the edge.

Many hiking paths originate by the Neraida waterfall and loop through the village, incorporating a variety of cultural and scenic elements that illustrate Cythera’s combination of natural beauty and historical significance. Hikers can follow one such monopati (a one-person path often used for donkeys) –  recently signposted with numbers and arrows – that loops 2.6km past ruins of old mills and back to the town, though the more intrepid can choose to break away from the path before it loops back up and descend 2.2km down steep rocks and through the gorge to Kalami Beach, which can only be reached on foot by climbing down the rocks or through the gorge. Another scenic hike starts in the cypress forests of Lourantianika, in the island’s southern region, and passes 4.6km through wild olive trees while affording spectacular views of Chora, the Kastro and the sea.

Such discoveries of isolated beauty remain standard on Cythera, said Fivos Tsaravopoulos, programme coordinator of the Kythera Hiking Project, an organization centred around the creation of trails and sustainable tourism on the island.

“Cythera is a small paradise for walking,” he said. “It combines incredible landscapes – forests, waterfalls, cliffs, gorges, beaches and a Mediterranean desert – and picturesque villages, beautiful churches on the top of mountains and an incredible amount of wildflowers.”

The Serengeti in the off-season
From January to March, travellers can get an early glimpse of the great migration in Tanzania’s south before indulging in the crowd-free wildlife show of the country’s north.

You’ve seen the pictures. Dust exploding as thousands of wildebeest thunder across the plains. Crocodiles lurking in the rivers. Lions along the banks stalking a moveable feast. The great migration – the annual 2,800km circuit of millions of wildebeest and zebra traversing Tanzania’s Serengeti National Park and Kenya’s Masai Mara – is one of the world’s more spectacular shows, especially in autumn, when the herds make their dramatic crossing of the Mara River in the Serengeti’s north. But like all hot tickets, the autumn migration can come with its share of hassles, including sky-high prices and traffic jams as safari vehicles jostle for space near the best sightings.

But from January through March – the Serengeti’s green season – approximately 1.5 million wildebeest graze along the vast plains of Tanzania’s southern Serengeti, feeding on the grasses that spring from late autumn’s rains and giving birth to their young. This allows travellers a chance to get a sneak peek of the migration down south before indulging in the crowd-free wildlife show of the north. So I set off in early February to check out the Serengeti’s lesser known green season.

Our tiny plane touched down in the dirt of the Ndutu airstrip in the Serengeti’s south, a staging zone for the mobile safari outfitters that follow the great migration. These moveable camps spend the winter months in this area before following the herds up to the western Serengeti by spring and then onto the north during the late summer and early autumn (the most popular time to see the migration as it thunders across the dramatic river crossings.

As our Land Cruiser sped off down toward the nine-tent Olakira Camp, the sheer scale of the landscape unfolded, the spiny flat-tops of the acacia trees dotting undulating fields of grass and gentle hills rolling out to wide open vistas of scruffy brush. In the Maasai language, Serengeti means “extended place” or “endless plains”. You almost need a backdrop of such excess to wrap your head around the incredible amount of wildlife here. A pride of ostriches sped past a herd of wildebeest tending to their newborns. An aptly named dazzle of zebra massed its graphic stripes into a psychedelic backdrop for mongooses moving as one organism, scurrying and popping up, scurrying and popping up again.

As the sun set, Maasai guards lit a path from our tent to a campfire surrounded by flickering lanterns. Wisps of pink clouds obscured a pearlescent moon as guests lingered over dinner, swapping stories of the day’s adventures – a lion took down a pregnant wildebeest, a baby leopard was spotted in the fork of a tree. Then we were escorted back to the tents, hot water bottles already warming the soft, king-sized sheets (with hot showers, flush toilets and colonial-inspired furniture, you are far from roughing it here).

From my cosy cocoon, I heard the call and response of birds zipping electrically through the night air, the staccato rhythm of galloping hooves, the whoop of hyenas stalking fresh meat. A light rain pattered on the canvas roof, crescendoing to a dramatic downpour that eventually lulled me to sleep. It also left a present for the morning: a perfect rainbow arched over a saturated sunrise of peach and crimson.

Staying so close to nature (as opposed to being tucked away in a traditional lodge) lulls you into the rhythms of the bush, awakening with the sun, greeting the animals’ morning activity on a game drive, napping when the sun burns too bright. It also means expecting the unexpected, like, perhaps, a terrifying guttural roar directly outside your tent, a lion so close you can hear his soft feet padding the dust just beyond the canvas.

Though we didn’t see as many wildebeest herds as we would have liked (the migration is unpredictable and we missed much of the main movement), there was no lack of game. Cresting a hill, we saw six giraffe lope across an emerald basin. We stalked a cheetah hunting to feed its young. As the sun hung heavy in the sky, we descended into a valley to find four napping lionesses guarded by two fierce males, their wild manes glowing orange, then amber as the sun set.

After three days of game drives, we were ready to make our own migration north, boarding a prop plane to Lamai in the northern Serengeti. Since the migration will not make its way up here until autumn, it was blissfully empty of other travellers. There are just 54 permanent beds here compared with more than 9,000 in a similarly sized area of Kenya’s Maasai Mara. And though most of the wildebeest have yet to arrive, other animals crowd the plains.

Not five minutes after landing we were on the banks of the Mara River, flanked by 6m-long crocodiles and hundreds of hippos wallowing in the shallows. Then we crested a hill, plunging into a sea of oat grass as high as our 4×4. In the distance, a straggling herd of wildebeest arced up and back into the grass like dolphins leaping from the water. Another corner, another 10 minutes and it was zebra among buffalo among ostriches among giraffes, with lilac breasted rollers soaring overhead.

The 12-room Lamai Serengeti has a front-row seat to the show. Set atop Kogakuria Kopje, a boulder-strewn hill, the plains unfold dramatically below. From the whitewashed villas you can survey elephants crossing the plain. Swahili day beds piled with hand-woven pillows and draped with romantic netting front wooden balconies, all with similarly cinematic views.

In the south (and in most of Tanzania’s game reserves), water is scarce so predators lurk at the watering holes, ready to pick off thirsty antelope, zebra and wildebeest. The prevalence of water in the north, however, spreads out the game: you will often find big cats perched dramatically atop red rock outcrops, the better to spot prey. After days tracking herds of elephants across rivers, seeing two leopards hunt in the tall grasses and spotting two endangered white rhino – I felt sated, lucky, spoiled by this natural bounty. As the sky darkened and storm clouds gathered on the horizon, our jeep turned towards home. Suddenly a flash of fur, a low growl, and a leopard sprung across our path, leaping atop a hulking solitary boulder. It crouched there, a tightly wound spring scanning the horizon for prey, all lean muscle, tense sinews against the roiling clouds. I could barely breathe as its head jutted forward, teeth bared, eyes trained on some far off movement. Then as fast as it started, it was over; the antelope got away and the cat flopped down to rest. It was time to head home.

The Serengeti in the off-season

Sydney’s epic arts fest returns
The Sydney Festival is back with an even bigger bang, presenting a plethora of new Australian works that will have both Sydneysiders and visitors eager to get in on the action.

Always a summer highlight, the epic Sydney Festival is back with an even bigger bang in 2014, presenting a plethora of new Australian works that will have both Sydneysiders and visitors eager to get in on the action.

The festival bonanza, held from 9 to 26 January, consists of 106 electrifying events held across 33 indoor and outdoor venues. And with 375 dance, music, theatre and opera shows – performed by an astounding 724 artists – there’s something for everyone.

The world premiere theatre performance of Black Diggers presents the touching, never-before-told stories of 1,000 Indigenous soldiers who fought in WWI, while The Shadow King is a poignant and thought-provoking Indigenous re-working of King Lear, performed through a mix of live rock music using both English and Kriol (an Indigenous Australian dialect).

Other noteworthy performances include the visually astounding opera Dido & Aeneas, where Berlin choreographer Sasha Waltz takes the audience into a phenomenal underwater realm for a unforgettable portion of the performance. Above ground, the fabulously funky Q Brothers will perform their hip hop-rap act Othello: The Remix.

Another interesting addition to the festival is the usage of The Great Synagogue, a majestic space where the instrumental Apollo Ensemble will perform Baroque chamber music that was originally composed for Jewish liturgical services. The historic building, located on Sydney’s central Elizabeth Street, has never before been used as a performance venue.

Spreading the Sydney Festival throughout the city, Kaldor Public Arts Projects, an Australian arts organisation that transforms spaces with emotive art, has taken its most recent project to Parramatta Town Hall in the western suburbs. For Project 28, Slovakian artist Roman Ondák will showcase three interactive and participatory art pieces.

Even further west, the suburb of Mount Druitt will turn into a thriving family entertainment precinct with the implementation of FUNPARK. Developed together with the local community, the impressive theatre-installation project will have everything from interactive arcade cinemas to hula-hooping marathons and rock opera performances.

The Sydney Festival 2014 is made up of both ticketed and free events. A complete event guide and tickets are available online.

Sydney’s epic arts fest returns

Parisian cafes… now with cats?
Inspired by the enchanting Japanese concept, the first cat cafe has opened in the Marais – but with a distinctly Gallic flavour.

France’s very first cat cafe has opened, bringing the enchanting Japanese concept that combines food and felines to Paris’ Marais neighbourhood.

Le Café des Chats, which opened in September, is already a roaring success, with visitors having to reserve three days in advance for a weekday slot and up to three weeks in advance for a weekend. The cat-themed idea, where you can sit and stroke any of the cafe’s 12 resident felines while sipping a warming cup of organic tea, originated in Japan and aims to create a relaxing environment in which the stresses of the busy world can be alleviated by the soothing presence of docile, purring cats.

But whereas the Japanese model involves a cover charge and an hourly fee – essentially making it like a pet rental service – Le Café des Chats’ owner Margaux Gandelon has made his version a friendly tea room, where the focus is first on the quality of the food and the cats are an added extra. As you eat a weekend brunch of croissants and freshly squeezed orange juice, a classic lunch of quiche and salad, or a home-style French supper such as poulet à la Normande (chicken with Calvados), the friendly cats – all rescued via an animal protection society – weave between your legs or doze contentedly on chairs.

The bi-level space features mismatched furniture, an upright piano and a vaulted basement dating back to the 15th Century, all combining to create a cosy environment that recalls the atmosphere of an ordinary French sitting room. Visitors are briefed on how to behave with the four-legged furballs (don’t disturb sleeping cats; don’t feed them; wash your hands before stroking them) and children are to be closely monitored as the cats and kittens aren’t too fond of having their tails pulled.

The cafe has been such a hit that the Café des Chats team is already looking to open a second branch elsewhere in France.

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