Displaying items by tag: win trips

Looming large in the distance at 2829m, I stand tall over a small village. About 1,000 people live in the fertile plane that surrounds my peak, though the vineyards and fields that grow corn, beans and fruits are tattooed with smaller peaks and lava flows of varying age. I may appear quiet at the moment, but I most recently erupted in 1995 destroying much of the arable land and sending villagers fleeing for shelter elsewhere. The remote village is surrounded by sheer faces of what was believed to be a larger peak of 3,500m that crumbled into the ocean thousands of years ago. Far below the crater, there are villages and small cities around the island with a population totaling almost 40,000 inhabitants.

The 40,000 of my island, named for a particularly violent eruption in 1680, make up only about one fifth of the nation’s population. I am the fourth largest of the nine inhabited islands at 476km², the largest island at 991km² and the smallest, my closest neighbor, at 64km². The entire nation totals a hair over 4,000km². An old folktale says that the small chain of islands were the leftover flecks brushed off of god’s hands after creation, but my presence and persistent eruptions are clear evidence of volcanic hot spots. Unlike many other island nations, I was discovered and colonized before being populated. Until the early 1450’s, I was only known to migrating birds and nesting sea turtles.

Upon being discovered and colonized, the location of my country was found more lucrative than the few natural resources, largely salt and a few tropical crops- sugar cane, bananas and maize. A neighboring island is home to the first European outpost established in the tropics, recently named a UNESCO World Heritage site. Until the outlaw of slavery, my country saw many Africans brought to plantations and sold to ships to travel the rest of the way across the Atlantic. Do you know where I am?

This contest ended Feb 29, 2011

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For this month's contest click here: http://intravelmag.com/incognito/

Answer:

Island of Fogo, Cape Verde

I’ve taken the funicular to a hilltop overlooking this picturesque colonial city; capital of a central state that bears the same name. With its winding maze of cobblestone streets and narrow alleys, traveling by foot is by far the most convenient method of transportation here.

Every autumn this city is host to an international arts festival honoring a famous Spanish novelist. The festival features recitals, concerts, plays and exhibits from both international and local artists.

At night visitors can follow groups of performing university students, known as estudiantinas or callejoneadas, on a walking tour of the city’s most famous sites. The students tell jokes and stories in between songs, keeping the crowd entertained well into the night. One of the most memorable stops on the walk is a pathway so narrow that two people can lean from balconies on either side to exchange a kiss. Legend has it that two young lovers, living across from each other, were murdered by the girl’s disapproving father when he caught them sneaking out to meet. In order to avoid bad luck in love, couples are urged to kiss on every third step as they make their way through the alley.

Do you know where I am?

This contest ended December 31, 2010

For the answer click the next page...

For this month's contest click here: http://intravelmag.com/incognito/

Answer: Guanajuato, Mexico

I’m at the southern tip of a country that’s been in existence since the early 1500s. I’m in a sprawling Memorial Park dedicated to the 550,000 soldiers and 100,000 civilians who died fighting in a violent battle for control of the land I am now standing on. 

The waterfalls I am standing at are the focal point of a 1,800 acre historical nature park. This park is known for offering visitors a first-hand experience of the ancient lifestyle and traditions of this tropical paradise.

I meandered alone peacefully through an unfamiliar public park. I was making my way to a museum someone had recommended, but the day was so beautiful I wasn’t in a rush to get there. I knew the museum was located in the northern section of the park near a bridge; and sure enough, there it was.

I am located in the western part of my county’s capital; nestled
in a cosmopolitan district with a reputation for being contemporary
and fashionable.

I’m also known for the large number of oversized Victorian townhouses
and the private gardens that accompany them (only residents are given
keys).

I am riding in a safari vehicle which stops in front of a water hole. Less than 30 feet away is a group of 40 Kalahari elephants. It's spring, and there are baby elephants following behind their mothers, trotting on uncertain little legs to keep up.

I’m in one of those weird dreams that you won’t be able to help obsessing about the following day. Surreal characters of all shapes and sizes are frozen in time, but I am moving. What ever could it mean? And, how will I avoid completely over-analyzing my subconscious thoughts?

Finally, I realize that I - like many others - have been entirely swept away by one of America’s most fantastical treasures.

This small church is the oldest in its city and the most historic. It has been named three times: once after the infant Jesus; the second in 1690 after a victory in battle with an arch enemy trying to capture the city; and a third revision after being saved from another attack due to the shipwreck of the intruders in 1711. The church is seen as the protector of the city for those victories. A miniature replica of a vessel that brought the defending army in hangs from the ceiling close to the fort shaped alter.

For all of my aesthetic beauty, my technology was “green” long before the term was coined. Driven by the flowing river in days past, my job was to scoop up water in small receptacles attached to each of the many spokes of my giant wheel and empty the contents into an advanced aqueduct system. I still turn today in this ancient city, although not as much as I did when the land I irrigate was still in agricultural use. When I rotate, my wheel creaks and squeaks – it is often referred to as “singing”.