The falls’ indigenous name, Mosi-oa-Tunya, means “the smoke that thunders”. And indeed, it roars, it throws up spray, it crashes and it swirls – Victoria Falls is an overwhelming sight, twice the height of Niagara Falls. So spectacular, in fact, that it already was a popular tourist attraction in 1905, when the railway from then-Rhodesia to Cape Town was completed under British colonial rule. Now a World Heritage Site, Victoria Falls attracts hundreds of thousands of visitors every year, some content to simply take in the natural wonder, others, like me, daring (or brainless) enough to bungee jump over the gorges, too.

While in Zambia on a work assignment, I took the first opportunity to escape from the dreary capital, Lusaka, and visit Victoria Falls, which are a six-hour bus ride away through flat, dry savannah. In fact, African public transportation schedules being what they are (“when it is full o’clock” is as close as it gets to a departure time), it took me and my friend Leila most of our Saturday to reach the characterless town of Livingstone, then the park.

We first heard the low rumble. Then we came across the life-size statue of David Livingstone, the Scottish explorer of Doctor-Livingstone-I-presume fame. As the first European to have seen the falls in the mid-19th century, he named them in honor of his monarch, Queen Victoria. A little further down the path, we caught our first glimpse of the cataracts. Stretching as far as the eye could see, curtains of furious white water tumbled down, divided by the rocks jutting from the crest of the falls. A massive cloud of spray rose from the gorge, hiding the depths of the chasm.

As we walked down the path that paralleled the falls and led to a narrow footbridge spanning the gorge, we noticed that all the people coming in our direction were soaked. Continuing beneath the protection of the trees, we began to feel fine drops, which, once on the bridge, turned into a literal upside-down rain, so thick was the spray. “Hence the clever stand renting out raincoats back there!” shouted Leila, as she started to run towards the other end. But the sun playing on the drizzle had created a beautiful rainbow, a sharp circle leaping over the walkway and plunging into the gorge. Later, as the sun descended over the far side of the falls, the light turned the haze into a golden cloud.

The next day, we made our way to the bungee jumping center on Victoria Bridge, which spans the second gorge a few hundred meters downstream, linking Zambia with Zimbabwe. As we reached the entrance, 120 meters above the rocks and rapids of the Zambezi way below, my knees went weak. How could my so-called friend have talked me into hurling myself off that bridge?

Feeling hollow inside, I trudged to the jumping platform, amid the traffic of indifferent African women carrying bundles on their heads. As the instructors strapped my gear on, they directed a steady stream of chatter at their (idiotically consenting) “victim”, to distract me from what was coming. I had picked the gorge swing, so I was to step off the structure, not drop headfirst. “Look straight ahead, not down, and when we count to three, just walk,” they told me.

One-two-three, the solid ground underfoot gone, a startled cry of surprise, a few endless, terrifying seconds of free fall, then I was swinging silently in the peaceful morning air, suspended alone above boiling green waters, far from the crowds of onlookers way above. Once I had been hoisted back onto the bridge, I felt relieved to have gone first.

My friend was almost in tears as the instructors gently pushed her into the void. She screamed all the way down. Bounced up. Fell again, still screaming. Later, she swore that she would “never again” perform such a jump, but it was too late – we had both earned our bragging rights in one of the world’s most amazing natural sites.

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It’s not accidental that this small town feels like the Alps, and there is no more visible symbol of this than the Trapp Family Lodge. The Austrian inspired lodge and resort is operated by actual members of the Von Trapp family, whose story was told in the Sound of Music. The main lodge is right out of the Tyrol, with dark woods and balconies lined with bright red and white flower boxes. This theme is carried on by a number of other lodges (Northern Lights Lodge, Innsbruck Inn), and private residences around town.

While you will rarely encounter hikers in Lederhosen, there are outdoor activities of all kinds including miles of trails at the Trapp Lodge and Stowe Mountain Resort Touring Centers, Wiessner Woods and the Long Trail, all of which are free off season (and off-leash dog friendly). There is also a scenic greenway and paved bike path that winds lazily for five and a half miles from the village center, crisscrossing the road and river leading to Mount Mansfield past shops, restaurants and a pub or two. Make sure to stop at the Shed Brewery for a local brew on the patio overlooking the path…if you’re lucky they may have their Weizen beer on tap.

Alongside the pubs, Stowe is dotted with excellent chef-owned restaurants specializing in regional and seasonal fare, often using local ingredients. A few offer Austrian and German dishes, and the most authentic of these is an unassuming (and unadvertised) place called the Alpenhaus, where chatty owner André Noel will greet you, inquire as to whether you have a reservation, and regardless of your answer, lead you to an almost always empty dining room.

Despite the lack of crowds, the dinner menu is authentic and extensive, with everything made extremely well from the highest quality regional products. The dishes include a whole page of Schnitzels, potatoes in pancake, dumpling and soup forms, and quite a few vegetarian options, including one of my all time favorites, Kaesespaetzle, a decadent macaroni and cheese made with top notch New York Emmenthaler. Attached is the Vienna Tea Room serving lunch and decadent pastries that are seriously worthy of Stephensplatz.

The Trapp Lodge also offers an Austrian Tea Room with a variety of Wursts, baked goods and desserts, while their Dining Room provides a more formal setting with a few German inspired dishes including an excellent mushroom strudel in a fresh herb cream sauce with cranberries. In the center of the village, comprised of a couple blocks of storefronts and restaurants is a Swiss restaurant called the Swisspot offering all kinds of wonderful fondue and European dishes.

In all, Stowe offers beautiful alpine scenery, a plethora of outdoor activities no matter what time of year, and for those of us who are in love with Germania, an authentic experience like none other I have seen in the United States.

The Norwegian Automobile Federation offers 268 camp sites and additionally there are about one thousand other camp and cabin sites as well as parking lots for caravans and recreation vehicles throughout the country and its fifteen national parks. Due to the Norwegian allemannsretten (everybody’s right), you may also park your car somewhere beside the road for just one night, which makes it easy to follow Norway’s national roads and enjoy the quiet lakes, dense woods, gentle hills, steep mountains, roaring waterfalls, sparkling glaciers and narrow fjords alongside.

While the Vikings, who had discovered Newfoundland in the “new world” long before Columbus explored the Caribbean Sea, once conquered foreign lands with their longships and terrified their southern neighbors, the descendants have become quiet and unassuming, open and hospitable to foreign guests. Blessed with the Gulf Stream, North Sea oil, and plenty of energy produced by hydroelectric power stations, the 4.7 million inhabitants enjoy one of the highest living standards in the world.

Coming from Oslo, we headed southwest for the region of Telemark, the home of skiing. In the town of Skien, we followed the Telemark Canal, which was the “Eighth Wonder of the World” and the most spectacular waterway of Europe in the 1890s. It took five years to build it and was designed to raft wood from the north of Telemark down to the seaports of Skagerrak, where the Baltic Sea meets the North Sea. Eighteen still original, hand-operated locks in eight places level out a difference of 236 feet in altitude between Skien at the south-east end of Lake Norsjoe and the town of Dalen, 65 miles further west at the end of Lake Bandak. Today, you can sail or paddle up and down the canal in the summer months or go for a comfortable, nostalgic boat trip.

“The world’s highest waterfall, I have discovered at Rjukan in Telemark.” geology professor Jens Esmark reported back to his king in Copenhagen in 1810. Well, this was a slight exaggeration, as the waters plunge only 340 feet down into the valley of Vestfjorddalen. However, the sentence made Rjukan the cradle of tourism and the first vacation resort in Norway. Visitors from all over Europe came in the summer months and checked into the hotel of Vemork or booked Norway’s first tourist cabin on Krokan farm above the thundering waters of the fall. Artists came to paint the waterfall and scenery below the cone of Gaustatoppen that towers majestically over the town. With an altitude of 6,178 feet above sea level, it is one of the highest and most beautiful mountains of the region. About thirty thousand people make the trip up to the summit every year to enjoy the fantastic view down into the valley and over the foothills of Hardangervidda that offer plenty of opportunities for hiking and cycling.

At the entrance of Rjukan’s Tinn Museum, troll faces (queer-looking giants and dwarves from the Norwegian woods) greet the visitor, and old farm houses and barns show the history of house building from medieval times to the end of the 19th century. Textiles, old prints, paintings and wood carvings represent the art and traditions of the farmers who once settled in this valley before bold scientists and entrepreneurs discovered the place and started to produce energy from the power of its waters.

A winding road brings you up to the mountains in the south, and a narrow fjellveien (mountain road) leads up to 4,134 feet and over one of the highest passes of Norway. Via the places of Tuddal and Sauland, it isn’t far to Heddal, where you can visit the biggest and best preserved stave church of Norway. Built without any nails and steel parts, the wooden building is an architectural masterpiece of the early Middle Ages. Still being the parish church of Heddal, its doors are open to tourists during the summer season.

If we had known about the annual blues festival in Notodden that takes place in early August, we would have changed our itinerary. However, we went further west to see the fjords at the country’s North Sea coast and the pulpit rock of Preikestolen, which is one of the most visited natural sights in the south of Norway. The 2.5-mile-long foot path from the parking lot took us two hours and 1,100 feet up to the mountains and the famous cliff, which juts out over the Lysefjord that lies 1,980 feet under your feet. Meandering 25 miles into the interior of the country, it ends at Lysebotn, where the cliff of Kjerag rises 3,555 feet vertically into the sky.

Next time we are going to explore Sognefjord (with 126 miles the longest fjord of Norway) and I hope for better weather conditions when we go on hikes in the national park of Jostedalspreen, the biggest glacier in Europe.

A bus ride was in order before we would arrive at our final destination, but as the bus approached, I fel sense of dread boiling up within. It was getting late in the evening and I hadn’t booked accommodations, so we would have to search in the rain for a bed.

As the bus pulled off and meandered along the roadway, my spirits began to brighten a little as the scenery developed before me. The mountains gently descended down to meet the calm waters of an alpine lake. Outside my window, a rainbow appeared over the water, forming a scene so lovely, I went from a state of near exhaustion to an almost giddy exuberance. When the bus slowed to a halt, I stepped off with renewed energy and an eagerness to explore my new surroundings.

Interlaken was to be the home base for my Swiss adventure. This medium sized town is located in central Switzerland between the lakes Thun and Brienz. It offers plenty of shopping, nice architecture, and a variety of restaurants, but what really brings people to Interlaken is the wide variety of activities available due to its location in the Jungfrau region of the Swiss Alps.
The mountains around the city provide some of the finest skiing and snowboarding in the world during the cold months of the year when snow blankets the landscape. In the summer, extreme sports take center stage, with multiple companies offering an assortment of choices including bungee jumping, paragliding, river rafting, sky diving, hiking, ice climbing, mountain biking, glacier walks, canyoning, and for the particularly strong of stomach, zorbing.

Interlaken is surrounded by modestly sized mountains in the forefront, with bigger mountains in the distance. While the whole scene is impressive, the smaller mountains tend to shield the higher peaks from view, so I set out to get a better look from some of the neighboring towns. I had read in a guide book about a small village called Gimmelwald perched high in the mountains, and seeing that it wasn’t far away, I decided to make that my day trip destination.

The first stop was a town by the name of Lauterbrunnen. After stepping off the train and walking away from the station over a small hill, the panorama that unfolded before my eyes left me almost speechless. Snow-capped mountains formed a majestic stone wall around the narrow green valley.

Numerous waterfalls poured over the sides of the cliffs, adding to a scene unlike any I had ever observed. We ventured to the edge of town, where we found a small path that cut through a rolling green pasture. We followed the trail as it led to an outcrop carved into the stone mountain directly behind one of the waterfalls.

While trying not to slip on the wet rock floor, we reached out to try to touch the water cascading down just beyond the railing. After a few minutes, we slowly began our way out of the mist and back toward the station to hop on a bus toward Gimmelwald, not knowing if it could possibly top what we had already experienced, but eager to find out.

The easiest way to get to Gimmelwald is by gondola. Our gondola cabin was almost completely full, but almost everyone continued up the mountain when we stepped off. Walking outside, I was immediately overjoyed at what I found. Gimmelwald had no tourist office.

There were no streets lined with storefronts. The only sights to see were the mountains all around and the village itself. As we walked along the main street, or rather the main path, we passed quaint little houses and a fenced in lawn with a few chickens and a couple goats. I stopped in front of one particular spot that caught my eye; a house that seemingly sat on the edge of a cliff overlooking the snowy peaks that made up the backyard.

By this time, we were getting a little hungry, so I rang the doorbell on a shop that advertised for an assortment of homemade snacks. After a short delay, a young man of about high school age opened the door and invited us inside the store, which was actually the front room of his home’s basement. We stopped at another house that offered sandwiches and drinks. There were tables set up on the front porch, so we sat down and enjoyed our lunch in the warm sun and crisp alpine air.

That night, I thought about Interlaken with its architecture, friendly people, and amazing variety of exciting things to do, but what I will remember most was there in Gimmelwald. I couldn’t help but love the simplicity and the relaxed nature. Slowing down and appreciating the small things are a fact of life there. That it was also one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen seemed like icing on the cake.

“Transport?” queried a smiling young man on a sidewalk in Ubud, an artsy town in the south-eastern hills. It’s a frequent offer on the streets of nearly every town in Bali. Everyone with a car will offer you a ride for a small price. You may say “no thank you” seven times on Monkey Forest Road in Ubud. But what’s heart-warming is that you will always receive an enthusiastic “Welcome!” in response.

As one of Indonesia’s luxury destinations, Bali is a truly service-oriented society and economy. Away from the resorts on the coast, there is less commercial zeal and more genuine friendliness. Culturally, Bali differs from other Indonesian islands, and indeed is an exception in this predominantly Muslim country with its Hindu-Buddhist history. It is this history that shapes the Balinese approach to life and the Balinese landscape.

Exploring the surroundings of Ubud on bike is perhaps the best way to take in the beautiful landscape, with all its rice terraces, temples, villages and cackling roosters. I signed up for a daytrip with Arung from Bali Moon Group. We began with a morning stop at an eclectic orchard growing everything from mangosteen, papaya and peanuts to cacao, coffee beans and tea leaves. Arung also introduced us to salak, a fruit with a brown, snake-scaled skin that looks like a nut inside and tastes like mixture of apple and pear.

After an invigorating ginger tea we were driven up to the edge of Mount Batur. The mountain bikes were unloaded and we were ready to start off downhill back towards Ubud. Arung had assured us back in the office that it was “all downhill”, but some of us were taken aback by how steep downhill can be. And the road was just a rocky path. One of the English girls on the excursion already wanted to make use of the trailing van service that carried our backpacks, but was persuaded to stick with it since it would get easier.

Our reward, when it began to level out, was a school full of excited children running towards the road to greet us. Six and seven year old boys were exploding with excitement, seemingly overwhelmed by such an unexpected visit from strangers. “Hallo! Hallo!” they squealed, vying to make eye contact with any one of the cyclists and jumping for high-fives. Wide-eyed awe and giggles rippled through the crowd as our group responded to their eagerness. It felt like the Tour de France. A few boys ran with the bikes until they were out-paced or came to the end of the village.

We cycled along rice paddies, many of them flocked by ducks feeding on leftover grains. In the rolling countryside I could hear the lovely sound of bamboo music and wind chimes everywhere. We passed through several more villages, all laid out on a sloping north-south axis and flanked by walled enclosures that are the typical Balinese. Each had an elaborately carved gateway and immediately behind it a wall, the aling-aling, to keep floating evil spirits from sweeping in through the open gateway.

In one village an old man on a moped scooted up beside me to ride tandem and indulge in conversation. His smile was wide, his questions direct. “Where you from? Where you stay? Where you go?” He exudes a pride in managing dialogue with a foreigner and brushes off the cajoling of youngsters. As we neared the open countryside he veered off back into his village and signalled his final sentence with a wave,”The Balinese people welcome you. Good time.”

Everyone, just everyone, genuinely wants to have contact and wish you well. When we came to the end of our cycle we were invited into a family home. The residential compound had sleeping pavilions for extended family members, a fountain in the middle, a temple and a low table for us to share dinner. A typical Indonesian meal is a selection of hot and cold plates, with spicy meats, peanut sauces and sautéed vegetables. Everyone was exhausted from the combination of heat and pedalling, and completely ready to feast on the buffet.

When our host came to collect our finished plates, she asked simply “Happiness?”