A big thanks to Rachel Tavel of  Travel with Tavel for contributing the following post as the April 15th Travel Instigator. Stay tuned for a feature post and Q and A from a new adventurous female traveler the 15th and 30th of every month.

It started when the flight attendants sprayed the overhead compartments on the airplane. I knew we were going somewhere different, somewhere delicate, somewhere barely touched… They sprayed our luggage to make sure we wouldn’t bring any foreign species onto the islands, which began to seem more like a fragile sick person than a beaming cluster of endemic life. I could tell this wasn’t going to be like other trips I had been on. Spending five days and four nights on a luxury catamaran in the Galapagos Islands was going to be special. That, I knew.

The Galapagos Islands

In the months leading up to this trip, it seemed like everyone who traveled to the Galapagos Islands had taken some sort of vow of secrecy. Friends who had gone would give me short responses when asked to describe the experience. They’d say, in one quick shot, “It was AMAZING,” or “You have to try and go before you leave.” My six-month stint working as a travel writer in Quito, Ecuador was coming to an end, and I was beginning to realize that this might be my only chance to ever visit the Galapagos. Despite hearing from several coworkers who had visited, and the author of the Galapagos guidebook, which I was copyediting, I couldn’t get a grasp of what visiting the islands was really like.

Photo taken by Rachel Tavel

I had seen photos here and there, but nobody wanted to give anything away. My French friend Clemence refused to show me any photographs before I left. She told me, “I don’t want to ruin it; you have to go and find out what it’s like for yourself.” I was running out of time in Ecuador and my strategy to wait for a last-minute deal wasn’t working, so I began to make moves to ensure a trip would happen. Even if I ended up paying over a thousand dollars (standard) for only three days on a shitty boat, and puking my brains out from seasickness, I wanted to know what the secret was; I wanted to be a part of the less than 160,000 people who are permitted on the island annually, and I wanted to understand what it was about the Galapagos Islands that nobody seemed to be able to describe. But the deal I was waiting for never seemed to come.

I began trying to accept that maybe this final adventure in Ecuador wouldn’t pan out. Yet, a part of me was unconvinced. I had to go. During my lunch break on the last day at my job, I headed to a travel agency as a last resort. I walked in, credit card in hand, ready to reserve my place on a four day, three night cruise. The ship was given two out of five stars and looked like a red tug-boat just waiting to retire. It didn’t feel right, but the islands were calling me… I had to get to the Galapagos anyway that I could.

Photo by Rachel Tavel: The Nina on the Galapagos Islands

As I sat at the travel agent’s desk, holding the cruise pamphlet, clinging to my credit card, something in my gut told me not to pull the trigger. It was 1pm, and the cruise was leaving the next day, so the agent told me I had to make a decision by 6 pm to get onto the 10am flight. I told him I would wait out the afternoon and see if the deal I was desperately waiting for cropped up. If it didn’t, I’d come back after work and book the trip.

At 4:30 pm, thirty minutes before I was to purchase tickets for the crappy cruise, I got the email I had been waiting an entire month for: there was a spot on The Nina — the #1, nicest, most luxurious boat in the Galapagos Islands — and I was going to be able to get on the 5 day, 4 night cruise, which usually costs $2,700, for less pennies in exchange for writing/translating sales brochure’s for the company upon my return. It was unbelievable, unreal… This was the best of the best. I was going!

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The end.

We interpret prophecy; we predict raptures and Armageddon; we plaster our doomsday forecast on T.V. and in papers across the globe–and wait.  Some laugh and carry-on, while others stock food in their brand-new bomb shelters. We anticipate, with an almost warped fascination, our demise.

It passes. And so it goes.

Recently, I traveled to the Yucatan Peninsula to visit the Mundo Maya. The year 2012 is a special time to visit the sacred ruins, and more specifically, December 21st. According to the Maya Long-Count Calendar, this is the end of the 13^th Bak’tun—the end of the current era.

El Castillo in Chichén Itzá

As I packed my suitcase for the adventure, I received phone call after phone call from friends going into great detail about body mutilations, severed heads, and ongoing drug wars. “Are you crazy? Body parts are washing up on beaches there!” friends warned.

Eager to learn more about the Maya people and with enough sense to know I was traveling to one of the many incredibly safe places in Mexico, I politely fielded their disconcerting questions.  And to be on the safe side, I threw some Imodium into my suitcase and called myself prepared. (We all know our biggest threat in Mexico is Montezuma’s revenge.)

Do the Maya people, in fact, think that December 21^st, 2012 will be the end of the world? Will I be walking down the beach and discover a severed body part wash ashore, tangled in seaweed?

The eight-ball says, “Most likely,  no.”

Upon arriving to the Yucatan Peninsula, I had the opportunity to walk the grounds of the Maya ruins to witness them myself, and I was fortunate enough to do so while chatting with resident archeologists, Dr. Julia Miller and Alfonso Morales of Catherwood Travels.  We visited Chichen-Itza, Cobá, and Tulum of the Riviera Maya.

(Guide and resident archeologist, Alfonso Morales, of Catherwood Travels)

I couldn’t even begin to expect to absorb all of the knowledge they possess regarding the Maya people, but I was happy to get the bottom of this whole “end of the world” thing.  And what exactly is a Bak’tun, anyway?

A Bak’tun is a cyclic event occurring every 5,125 years: 13 periods of 144,000 days. The last Bak’tun ended August 11, 3114 BC. Today, one artifact remains known as the Tortuguero inscription that actually mentions the year 2012. This fact alone, I find astonishing. They knew we would be here. Were they optimistic? Would they like what we’ve become?

Walking among the ruins with a guide enhanced the experience all-together.  They pyramids became more than what met the eye. Behind every temple, hieroglyph, numerical symbol is a story—a piece to a puzzle that helps us understand and relate to a truly fascinating culture.

(Serpent at Chichén Itzá)

The Maya were farmers–hence, their need for accurate measurements of time. They had political councils, and large communities with city centers and rural areas.  They were immensely knowledgeable about how to use, and properly manage, natural resources.

They practiced sustainability before it was even cool.

Most likely, this explains how they survived on such unforgiving land—areas that even now are less populated than they were during the Classic Maya periods. The Yucatan Peninsula housed and fed approximately 2 million Maya: nearly the same as today, but without modern technology and convenience.

I watched as sunburnt, bathing-suit clad tourists posed in front of sacred ruins. The occasional showoff would slip behind the rope and flash a rebellious grin to the camera. I even joined the herd of tourists climbing the crumbling temple, Nohuch Mul, of Cobá—still feeling a tinge of guilt despite visitors’ permission to do so.

(Climbing Nohuch Mul of the Coba ruins with travel partner in crime, Blane Bachelor)

To the Maya, one Bak’tun merely echoes the next, like a season, and like their crops. They come, they go. They live, they die, they come again. And so it goes. In theory, what a pleasant way to live: not in fear of an inconsequential end, but to lead an existence of ownership, responsibility, and understanding of the need to care for the Earth and its inhabitants for which we’re connected. It’s an empowering notion.

Maybe we shouldn’t be so concerned about the end, but rather be more concerned about other things—like no end.  We can learn a lot from the Maya. We marvel at what they’ve left behind and with good reason.

Maybe the world doesn’t slowly progress down the linear timeline of human existence. Maybe with the end of something, is the beginning of something—an opportunity to right our wrongs.

Maybe we should live like there isn’t an end too. And maybe the new beginning couldn’t have come at a better time.

Thanks to Traveldudes and the Mexican Board of Tourism for making this trip possible.

I admit it: navigating a foreign city by bus and train intimidates me at times, especially when I’m tired, traveling solo, and just want to give my brain a recess from the typical day-to-day concerns of travel.  Sometimes it’s just nice to have someone to do it for you.

(Oslo Harbor)

I flew into Oslo, Norway after an extraordinary week in Iceland navigating the countryside and bouncing around the villages in my little rental car. It was both exhilarating and exhausting and I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way—but I was tired.

I exited the train station to a surprisingly large and buzzing city, pulled out my map in the rain, and tediously traversed my way though the streets with my oversized backpack and tired feet. Hostel, need to find hostel.

Despite my lethargy, I was excited to be in Oslo and knew just what I wanted to see—the same things everyone wants to see in Oslo: Viking ships, the angry boy, and the ski jump. I just needed to figure out where everything was, what bus goes where and what time, how much, when it’s open, and where can I get some lunch. I’m starving.

Or, I could just take a bus tour.  The idea had never really appealed to me—until now.

Did you know that most major cities offer free hop-on, hop-off bus tours or organized bus tours for a variety of budgets? Don’t make your life harder, especially when you’ve got limited time.

I bit the bullet. I took a bus tour. And I liked it. The Oslo Highlights bus tour provided the opportunity to see all of these wonders of Oslo without the worry of self-navigating through a new city.  That’s right, you can put your map in your purse—or man bag. All you have to do is find City Hall, and then sit back, relax, and enjoy a knowledgeable and friendly guide while stopping for just enough time to explore and experience each must-see destination on your own.  Ahhh, simplicity amongst hectic travel. It’s almost better than recess.

I took a tour called the Grand Highlights tour. It lasted approximately 4 hours and runs year round with a live, energetic, multilingual guide; there’s no pre-recorded, monotone soundtrack during off-season.  The buses always meet on the side of City Hall where a tour schedule is posted.

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Iceland is approximately the size of West Virginia. For the non-Americans, West Virginia is that eastern state you hear all the nasty rumors about; yes, worse than Texas. My point, which I’ve already distracted myself from, is that it’s very small.

Route 1, or Ring Road, is the main road in Iceland that circles the island. When I decided I was going to rent a car for the ultimate Icelandic road trip alone, I naturally thought, “I’ll just drive around the whole country and see everything in one week!”

This is a bad idea. You probably didn’t need some woman at the tourist office to tell you that. But for me, it took a sideways glance that said something like, “You’re an idiot” before I decided I should consider my other options.

The Snæfellsnes Peninsula was one of my other options. It has earned its reputation as “Iceland in Miniature” by providing a glimpse of all the country has to offer in one 90 km (55 mile) Peninsula.  It can also be done without a 4×4. I did it in my rental car, a 1995 Toyota Yaris in October. I also took a day to drive The Golden Circle in Iceland’s interior and also drove Hvalfjörð, which is a small detour that can be done on the way to or from the Snæfellsnes Peninsula.

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If you are driving this route, raise your right hand and say, “I swear on my love for nutella, that I will not speed. I do not care how many cars pass me, how quickly I’m losing daylight, or how much I need to go to the bathroom. I understand that one speeding ticket in Iceland could cover the flights and accommodation for a deserving family of four to Disneyworld for a week.” It’s true, Google it.

Ok, great! Now that the severity of speeding has been addressed, let’s explore the Golden Circle.

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