A new UK deep-space telescope operating out of the European Southern Observatory’s (ESO) Paranal Observatory in Chile only just became operational, and is already feeding back incredible images of parts of space the human-technology-eye has never before penetrated. The Vista telescope is engaged, essentially, in mapmaking. Only instead of applying survey tools to the geography of earth, it’s applying a “super-sensitive infrared camera” to the depths of the galaxy.

This report from BBC News details how the Vista will work, and what it will be looking for. Because it is more powerful and sensitive than previous telescopes, it will be able to find previously unseen objects, and will, reportedly, be able to detect the place of “dark matter” and “dark energy” in the working of the Universe.

The news story has a link to a slideshow of Vista’s first images. While there are only a few yet up, they are mouth-watering glimpses of places like the Horsehead Nebula and the Fornax Galaxy Cluster.

These images remind me not of my childhood astronomy dreams, but more strongly of later actions: tracing maps of unseen lands, places I longed to see, the first teasing reality that awakens the hungry wanderlust in all travelers.

Take a peek at Vista’s bounty and ask yourself — wouldn’t you give anything to go and see it for yourself?

A recent day trip to Wellington, New Zealand’s capital city, resulted in a visit to The Beehive. It wasn’t a planned stop, but on the way to the airport, I had heard the radio newcaster report that this oddly named parliamentary building, where the politicians decide on the country’s policies,  had just made  the annual ‘World Ugliest Building’s’ list compiled by VirtualTourist.com.

Ranking it the world’s third ugliest building, VirtualTourist.com wrote…

“A slide projector that fell on a wedding cake that fell on a waterwheel is one description of this building known as “The Beehive.” Built primarily during the ‘70s, its proximity to the neighboring Edwardian neo-classical Parliament House only accentuates its unattractiveness.”

That sounded a little extreme, so I decided to check it out for myself.

Opposite the railway station and on the airport bus route, The Beehive is easy to find.  And it was a hive of activity, with tour groups wandering around the gardens and sitting on the steps of the Parlimentary Buildings. Locals and tourists alike were sitting on the grass, shaded by huge trees, and enjoying coffee or a bite of lunch.

All in all, it was a pretty pleasing place to be.

Despite the VirtualTourist.com description, I didn’t find The Beehive all that ugly.

Of course, if you took away…

…all the grass and trees

 …the connecting buildings,

…and the blue sky and sunshine,

this is all you would see…

Then , I suppose, The Beehive might be considered somewhat cold and ugly.

But, I guess in the end, it really is a case of ‘beauty is in the eye of the beholder.’

This is a photo of my favorite sight in St. Petersburg. It’s a map on the wall of the Muskovsky Train Station (where you catch trains that go to Moscow — you disembark at the Leningradsky Train Station in that city, very logical) that shows all the railway lines and major cities you can reach simply by ambling onto a train leaving one of the platforms in Russia’s imperial city.

I can spend hours staring at this map, which baffles my relatives. It brings to life everything I — and probably you — love about travel, especially train travel: the lure of a different place, the flavor of an unpronounceable name, the excitement and expectation, the clickety-clack that could bring us, just by buying a ticket and stepping aboard, somewhere so different we could spend the rest of our lives trying to fathom it. It also brings to life, as almost nothing else can, the dizzying size of Mother Russia.

Look at a map of the world. Now look at it again. Look at how much of this planet Russia takes up. It’s huge. It’s unwieldy, monstrously large. You’ve probably read books about this hugeness, the sprawling red space out beyond Moscow and St. Petersburg and the Ural Mountains. Maybe you’ve been riveted by Jeffrey Taylor’s adventures in Siberian Dawn, or even sunk deep into Colin Thubron’s In Siberia. But admit it: you know nothing about this vast country. You can’t even get a fix on Singapore, or Portugal, or your hometown. I know I can’t.

These train lines, snaking silver from St. Petersburg, reach out across what used to be an empire, across a whole country that has probably never, in reality, existed except by political consensus. What is an empire? Power, money, force, oppression, weapons, knowledge, order, control, superiority. An empire is not a place. It’s a time, or a stretch of history, or the common belief of those who control it.

A few years ago I was researching the Old Believers of the Russian Orthodox Church, out of sheer curiosity. This is the branch that split with the rest of the church in the mid-1600s over obscure dogma that I, being completely non-religious, never fully understood, such as how to pronounce “Jesus.” I see its effects mostly in old paintings of Old Believers being arrested and carted away, their fingers frozen in the two-fingered blessing that was replaced by crossing oneself with three fingers, one of the niggly disagreements the caused the great Schism.

I remember reading that in the 1990s someone stumbled across a village of Old Believers somewhere out in Siberia. They’d secluded themselves away from arrest and persecution, hidden so thoroughly that they had lived the 20th century completely unaware of Lenin, Stalin, communism, the KGB, the Cold War, the Space Race, and the Gulag. The Soviet Union had come and gone, and they hadn’t known.

This planet is still so big, with depth we can’t imagine. Dig into any city or country and there’s always further to go, like a fractal or a Socratic dialogue. This train map — on the wall of one single station in one single city of one single country — is only a speck, even of this country alone. There is so much more out there.

Anyone driving through California’s gold country later this month to enjoy spectacular autumn foliage could be in for a big surprise if they drive south on Highway 41 and end up in the small town of Coarsegold just outside of Mariposa county.

Sure, on the outside it looks like a quiet old gold town where nothing much is happening. But look closer and the place is alive…with tarantulas.

Seriously. Mid-October to mid-November is tarantula mating season in this part of the county and instead of letting it creep them out, the residents of Coarsegold have turned it into a party with the creepy-crawly tarantulas being the guests of honor.

Over the past twelve years, the town has held the Coarsegold Tarantula Festival which includes tarantula racing, a competition for the hairiest legs of both men and women, and a pumpkin dessert contest.

It’s BYOT  (bring your own tarantula) for the tarantula races. I’m not sure how they are trained but the races consist of heats of ten hairy spiders making their way through a dryer tuber, with a handler at each end. At stake – a gift certificate and the coveted Tarantula trophy.

None of the tarantulas, by the way, are harmed in the races and most are released back into the wild once the festival is over.

And for anyone who feels the urge to scream at the sight of all these hairy eight legged creatures (and who wouldn’t), there’s an a ‘scream off event’ scheduled where everyone is encouraged to let loose with blood-curdling screams.

If this sounds like your type of fun, this year’s Tarantula Festival is being held on October 24th in the town’s Historic Village. You can’t miss it. Just look for the giant tarantula sculpture sitting in the tree!

This slideshow from the 2007 Coarsegold Tarantula Festival highlights Coarsegold’s love affair with tarantulas.

For the record, I haven’t attended any of the Tarantula Festivals. And I can’t say I have any plans to in the future.  It’s just a little too hairy and creepy for me!

(image source)

Trying local food is a major part of any travel experience. But what happens when the local food falls under the  ‘extreme cuisine’ category? Do you look upon the experience with relish and fascination? Or do you, like me, make up all the excuses under the sun not to try it?

To be honest, I’m simply not all that adventurous when it comes to food. But just because I don’t want to eat it doesn’t mean I’m not fascinated by what other people are willing to eat. I’m always more than happy to be an observer. I’m always keen to go to the Wild Foods Festival held in Hokitika, New Zealand every March. But not to chow down. I go just to wander around, take in the atmosphere and watch others enjoy the experience of eating grasshoppers and grubs and drink bulls semen and other outlandish concoctions.

I’ve even been known to watch Fear Factor and other televisions shows that encourage the eating of what many would call ‘extreme cuisine’. 

More recently, I’ve been reading a new book by Lonely Planet called Extreme Cuisine.  Written by Eddie Lin, it invites the reader to challenge their idea on what is good eating. The small, pocket sized book features 50 of the world’s most interesting and bizarre foods from around the world.

Some might argue that not all of the 50 items are that extreme. After all, marmite is a staple diet for New Zealanders and Australians and Haggis is fairly common place for the Scottish.

But most of the foods listed really are pretty extreme. Take for example Casu Marzu from Sardinia. Literally translated, it means ‘rotten cheese’. More accurately, it is maggot-infested cheese.  Thanks but no thanks!

There’s also tarantulas, stingrays, bull penis, and cow’s udder. Plus raw chicken, pure pork fat, and fugu for those with a death wish.

But what’s even more extreme, at least to me, is that author Eddie Lin, obviously an intrepid and fearless eater, has sampled each and every one of these foods in the course of his search for extreme cuisine. And, I might add, he has lived to tell the tale.

Each food is given two pages. One page features a huge, technicolour picture of the specific food and the opposite page provides a colourful description, explaining what it is, where you can find it, and how it tastes (and smells and looks). It makes for very interesting reading. But, be warned, the vivid pictures and text are not for the weak of stomach.

On the other hand, Extreme Cuisine would make the perfect Christmas stocking stuffer and conversation piece for the adventure traveller and food lover in your life. If I didn’t already have a copy, I’d sure be adding it to my Christmas wish list.

(Disclosure: Lonely Planet Extreme Cuisine was provided free for review)