Through the Heart of Copper Canyon: A Journey on the El Chepe Express

We were excited about boarding El Chepe Express. We had heard and read plenty about it. But getting our ticket and then getting on the train was work. It can be this way in Mexico. When we attempted to buy our tickets online while still in Baja, the Chepe website was a disaster even though we followed every rule (in Spanish) to the letter (perhaps this was the problem?).  Finally I called FerroMex, El Chepe’s rail company, and after many entanglements with our misaligned languages managed to get an email that proved we had paid for our tickets. But did we actually HAVE a ticket?  I wasn’t sure.

Nevertheless, here we were now in the city of Los Mochis, determined to board the train that the marketing brochures wrote would take us through “350 km (220 miles) [passing] Sinaloa up to Creel, into the heart of the Sierra Tarahumara, passing through the majestic Copper Canyon.” The trip would take 9 hours. We would rise 8,000 feet to the land of the Tarahumara people, famous for their ability to run extraordinary distances up and down the mountains. While researching my book Thumbs, Toes and Tears, I had learned that when hunting these native people could run deer down until the animals collapsed.

Arrival at the Train Station in Los Mochis (Photo - Chip Walter)

That morning, a glum taxi driver had juddered us through the dawn light grossly overcharging us before we and our bags were deposited outside the Los Mochis train depot. It was cool and humid. Brooding clouds slowly crept across the sky. At 7:15 the FerroMex-operated Estacion opened. A man dressed smartly in a FerroMex uniform herded passengers with boletos (tickets) into one line, and everyone else in another.  But which line did we belong in? We didn’t exactly have a ticket, but we had payment confirmation. The uniformed agent waved away our concerns. We would be fine; just board when we got the word.

But a few minutes later the train’s conductor, in Spanglish, clarified that we did need tickets. Dutifully, I lined up while Cyn held the fort with our bags. Six people stood in front of us. Departure in 45 minutes. 

We waited. The line was moving at a glacial pace. Evil thoughts began to arise in my mind. We had come several hundred miles out of our way to board this train and didn’t want to miss it, and if we did we were pretty sure that getting our money back would be a nightmare. I fervently wished I was fluent in Spanish. Why couldn’t I make the sounds I needed to make to solve the problems I wanted to solve? The voice in my head spoke: Control what you can. Let the rest go.

A father with two boys and his wife was in the same boat as we were.  He was Mexican, but had worked several years in Texas and spoke excellent English. He had paid for the ride and like us had the proof right there on his cell phone, but he too was told he needed tickets. Now it was 7:30 and a mere two people had moved down the line. The glacial pace, it turns out, was thanks to a FerroMex employee at the ticket counter who was regaling each buyer, in minute detail, about the train’s many amenities.

Our friend was thinking the same thoughts I was. He snagged another railway agent who looked to be in charge and urgently explained our situation. Yes, we still need tickets, she answered in Spanish. Our friend tilted his head in the direction of the ticket agent making the point that we can’t get tickets unless we get through the line before the train departs. She seemed unconcerned, but walked to the ticketmistress and told her to move things along. Six people have now joined the line behind us and four are still in front.

At 7:50 the family in front of us finally makes it to the counter. A pantomime unfolds. The father speaks to the ticket agent. Rapid Spanish ensues.  He holds up his phone. More head waggling on both sides of the plexiglass.  Tick-tock. I can feel things are getting heated. Now the man’s wife enters the picture. She offers the agent encouragement.  Heads begin to nod. Finally the ticketmistress picks up the phone and a minute later she is printing their tickets. Done! I take solace in this. Now that this nice man and his wife have plowed the bureaucratic road for us surely Cyn and I will breeze through.

I step to the counter and show her the email on my phone.

“You must forward your email to to FerroMex,” she says in Spanglish, “and then they will issue her permission to print us a ticket. I jab a finger at my watch.

"No tiempo!” I say, voice rising.

Again, I thrust my phone up to the plexiglass and point at the 8400 pesos (about $500) noted in the email when the mother of the family in front of us re-enters the conversation, earnestly speaking through the plexiglass to the ticketmistress. I love her. In my mind I think of her as “The Virgin Mother of Los Mochis.”  It's now 7:53. Seven minutes and the great Chepe will be gone.

Cyndy sits stoically 50 feet away beside our bags in the now empty train station. By now nearly everyone has boarded. The Mother of Los Mochis implores the agent in Spanish so rapid I cannot possibly comprehend it. Then suddenly, the wife turns, smiling and gives me a thumbs up.

"It's good!"  She says.

“Muchas gracias!” I blurted. I wanted to embrace her. For every difficult human, there are always several good ones.  An instant later we had our tickets in hand. I turned to thank the Virgin Mother, but she and her family had already disapparated.  Was this a miracle?

Cyn and I wheeled away with our bags, tossed them to a waiting porter and bound onto the Premiere Class coach in search of our seats. We plopped down, and then with a bang, the engine of the mighty Chepe began to haul us out of the station precisely on time.   

I grinned at Cyn. “After all of that,” I said, “this better be good!”

Departing Los Mochis

The train’s windows are broad, made to reveal the views. We watched its 12 cars pull us through an immense garbage dump. This didn’t look promising, but trains everywhere travel through the backsides of cities and the views are rarely stunning. We gathered speed and watched shanties fashioned from whatever people have been able to find — cardboard, plasterboard, tarps, plywood, plastic — parade by. White circular tubs stood outside, a flat square of dirt where people can wash. Little flags of plastic or cloth provide a morsel of privacy as the train slides by. Here and there skeletal corrals of old wood teeter in the dirt. A few chickens peck in the dust, an emaciated goat or two munches on tiny clusters of grass, while hand washed clothes hang languidly in the humid breeze and a single rooster patrols a little dirt yard, wings spread, squawking a clear message to all chickens that he is boss. I am reminded of John Steinbeck's descriptions in Grapes of Wrath of the shanty towns during the American Depression.

A few moments more and I witnessed an image that will always remain with me: a solitary young man, maybe 21-years-old, tall, slim with dark hair, raggedly dressed. His paper COVID mask was strapped on his ears as he stood unmoving and unmoved amidst 100 yards of garbage and tumbling plastic bags, gazing blankly into the wreckage. What thoughts, I wondered was he thinking? What dreams did he dream? What dreams was he allowed to dream? And then the train moved on.

As we gathered speed the level of homes upgraded. Slowly the boarded slats and plywood houses we had been looking at morphed into small enclosed yards with porticos and cement walls and proper rooms capped with red corrugated roofs. Ranches began to appear as we came into the foothills, small brick buildings among scrub, rock, cactus, dry arroyos, dust and hard chunks of grass. A cowboy on his horse clopped through a flat plain of dry prairie grass, his battered straw hat swatting at a few horses and brahmin cows as he herded them into a nearby corral.

In time we broke into broad rows of corn filling the plains through which the train resolutely passed. Before the day was done, the train would haul us into canyons the guide books told us were five times the size of the Grand Canyon. It swayed left and right, but its progress was steady as we moved towards the beckoning Sierra Madre. I thought if there was one set of tracks that would be carefully maintained, it would be this one. The express was the most popular attraction in northern Mexico, and it brought tourists in by the hundreds of thousands each year. Now that COVID seemed to finally be abating, the income was deeply appreciated.

Life On Board Chepe

El Chepe’s Premiere Class passenger coach offered a startling counterpoint to the world through which the train passed. It was indeed first class, recently renovated we were told. Leather chairs throughout, brown leather cloth and metal scones for lighting, a linen like ceiling with more recessed lighting, tan with valances recalling the fine Spanish architecture of the old days, and an entire car devoted to anyone who wanted a drink in the first class section. In the bar car all of the big windows had been opened and the train now chugged up the mountains through fresh, cool air while the patrons helped themselves to drinks and had the party going strong by 10:30 am.   

The interior of El Chepe’s Premiere Class coach, and the packed bar car

In all of our experience in Mexico, we had never run into anyone who was unkind or the least bit bad-tempered. That changed on the Chepe. The surliest people that we came across were those riding in Premier class. Many of them considered themselves wealthy, entitled to be loud, rude, insistent on their constant care for the battalion of servers on board, seemingly unaware of the poverty around them or even feeling superior because of it. They would order drinks and food and toss away their trash and expect someone else to take care of it which the servers dutifully did.  I wondered if sometimes I acted like this, being just as thoughtless, entirely unaware that I too was a jerk. If so I could only hope this trip would help humble me, help me realize how truly we are all in the same boat and at least deserve an equal shot.  But everywhere it was so clear that so many did not get equal shots and yet they seemed to continue with a smile on their face, working hard, themselves humble and perfectly happy with the state of their lives. Had I been born into those circumstances, I wondered, would I feel the same?

Climbing Into Copper Canyon

Now the views of the river plain below became stunning. We crossed over one of the highest train trestles in the world, the river valley gaping hundreds of feet below. Onward El Chepe rocked, always higher; we rose amongst cliffs of hanging trees and flowers of vivid yellow, pink and periwinkle. We were leaving civilization. In time a broad snaking river appeared, tumbling out the mountains, the Septentrion, which means “going to the ocean.” It seemed to be in a hurry.

For a few hours the rails followed the channel the Septentrion had formed over the epochs. The higher we ascended green rather than brown became the color of choice - pine (Tule) and White Stick trees, Huisache and Jute bushes. The river became a chasm filled with rocks the size of small homes, igneous domes toppled from the ragged cliffs above.

Copper Canyon’s monolithic cliffs

Despite rocking and rolling upward, a small battalion of waiters with perfect, gleaming teeth glided through the aisles carrying platters of snacks and wine, mojitos or tequila from one car to the next. The service was impeccable and we were often asked if we needed anything. Lunch would be served in the dining car around noon and we chose chicken soup with light Seminola and three small roasted pork chops in green sauce.

Higher … now the turns grew sharper, twisting the train into taut switchbacks, and El Chepe made every noise a machine could make, cracking, clapping and rattling, screeching and hissing on its beds, but it never wavered in its journey. Soon the canyon walls approached like closing, volcanic hands, sometimes no more than 10 feet from our window.  Rail workers had had to blast through every one of the railway’s 27 bridges and 86 tunnels to take us on this route. It was truly one of the world’s great engineering feats. The idea for the railroad was inspired when Mexico granted a rail concession to Albert Kinsey Owen, founder of the Utopia Socialist Colony in New Harmony, Indiana. Owen’s goal was to build a socialist colony in Mexico and he needed a way to get people there. Owen’s dream didn’t come true, but Arthur Stilwell who ran a company called the Kansas City, Mexico and Orient Railway began construction in 1900. The route was so rugged, so challenging that last rail wasn’t laid to its terminus in Chihuahua until 1961.

Now the train’s big blue engine began snaking us through fresh stands of pine, and as we approached late afternoon the train seemed to level off a bit. We didn’t see the immense canyon walls you see in the Grand Canyon, there are too many trees, but the canyons are there, and we would catch glimpses, thick with forest hanging along the immense ravines.

Tarahumara Trainside Vendors

Fifteen minutes out of Divisadero, a favorite tourist stop on the route with Alpine-style restaurants and hotels dropped among the Sierra Tarahumara, the train slowed. From out of cluster of small homes a mother, teen daughter, little boy and even younger girl emerged like apparitions. I suspected they were Tarahumara; the mother and children were dressed in bright pink and deep blues. They ran desperately carrying brightly colored hand-made baskets of all kinds. I wanted to help, but couldn’t find a place to debark because the train moved continuously a few feet at a time perhaps to give these people a chance to sell some of their wares to the hundreds on the train. I finally remembered that in between the train cars there was a window. But would it open? I ran to it from our seats and found I could unlatch it. Immediately the family flocked to me, holding out their beautifully woven baskets. Cyn and I had no room for any gifts but I had 100 pesos in my pocket and handed it to the little boy running along side. He leapt with joy and showed me his wide, white teeth. Immediately his mother held out a variety of baskets.

“Regalo!” I called out. A gift and I waved my hand.

After I closed the window the train moved slowly away.  Back in our plush seats, I wondered why is anyone this poor? I knew the stock answers. Political corruption, skewered capitalism, poor education … but those answers still begged the question: Why had this family been dealt these cards and why had I been so fortunate? It wasn’t as though I had earned my good fortune any more than this family deserved the cards they were dealt. The simple luck of a grand lottery placed me in the United States, white and entitled with a far bigger shot at success than these folks. The same lottery had placed this hardworking mother and her children on these tracks in the middle of Mexico’s mountains and there wasn’t much they could do about it but make these baskets, and hope.

Arrival in Creel

When we arrived in Creel, our final destination, it was a chilly 47°. The sun would soon set among a sky of scuttling white clouds. When the train clattered to a halt, people poured in droves from its coaches. Of the 12 cars, only a handful were Premiere class. The rest were second and third class. Cyn and I debarked but the narrow depot left no room for egress or ingress or progress. Cyn held her ground and I battled my way through the crush to the baggage area, hauled the bags onto our backs and began to head we knew not where.

We were looking to find our hotel, the Villa Mexicana, but had no idea where it was or how to get there. Cell signals are in short supply in the land of the Tarahumara.  I figured somewhere we would find a local taxi and figure things out. Then among the throng, I saw one man with a baseball cap hold a sign aloft: “Villa Mexicana.” I waved to him and he gestured toward a kind of parking lot, and headed that way. We were still stuck, but finally we broke out onto battered cement steps and found the man – Xavier, slim and whiskered with soulful eyes, and we followed him to a serviceable white van with four others already inside. Just dumb luck. Xavier rammed the clutch into reverse and soon we were on our way. In the low light, off to the right, I saw El Chepe Express sitting on its rails and gave it a salute.

Quick Tips for El Chepe

If possible, arrive early, bring a printed copy of your ticket confirmation.

Consider learning a few key Spanish phrases. A little preparation—and a bit of luck—can go a long way.

Train windows may be scratched — grab clean spots or open windows early for photos.

Sit on the left side when heading east for the best Copper Canyon views.

FAQ

Q1: Where does the El Chepe Express route begin and end?

A: The El Chepe Express runs between Creel, Chihuahua and Los Mochis, Sinaloa, passing through the heart of Mexico’s Copper Canyon. Most travelers ride from Creel to El Fuerte, or vice versa, to capture the most stunning scenery without committing to the entire 9-hour journey. The full El Chepe Express route between Creel and Los Mochis takes approximately 9 hours, though it can vary depending on the number of scenic stops and dwell time at stations. Shorter segments, like Divisadero to Bahuichivo or El Fuerte to Divisadero, offer gorgeous views in 3 to 5 hours.

Q2: What kind of travelers ride El Chepe Express?

A: You’ll find a mix of Mexican families, older tourists, and intrepid travelers, especially in Clase Turista (Tourist Class). The vibe is more low-key than luxury trains in Europe or Japan — but it’s authentic, unhurried, and social. Passenger behavior varied sharply by class. While many travelers were quiet, kind, and respectful — especially the servers and working-class passengers — those riding in Premier class were often loud, entitled, and dismissive of others.

Q3: What is the experience like on board El Chepe Express?

A: On our ride, the train was comfortable, clean, and modern, with huge windows, friendly staff, and surprisingly smooth rail. The food and drink options were solid (think sandwiches and beer), and the onboard vibe was relaxed — part transit, part sightseeing.

Q4: Is getting tickets for the El Chepe Express complicated?

A: It can be. Even with a payment confirmation in hand, travelers may still face confusion and delays when converting proof of purchase into actual tickets — especially at the station in Los Mochis. We had paid 8,400 pesos online but were still asked to line up again and submit the email confirmation to Ferro Mex before tickets could be printed. The process was glacially slow due to a chatty agent and unclear protocol.

Resource: https://vagabond-adventure.com/library/riding-el-chepe-express-through-mexico-copper-canyon

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Travel Guidance and Ideas for Any Destination You Choose

 

The Vagabond Adventure is just one of so many great travel websites out there. Whatever type of traveler you are (adventure, budget, foodie, solo etc.), wherever you are going, you can find a travel blogger to help your own mission.

Anywhere you go online, there are planning tools, inspirations, ideas, and many fantastic stories. With thousands of these resources, how can you choose? Honestly, we don’t think you can go wrong with any of them, but each has a personality, a flavor to match your tastes.

Here, we’ve decided to include some of our personal favorites. These aren’t the biggest or most popular sites. We think they are highly underrated. Our preference is to avoid the more commercial sites altogether in favor of storytellers and guides that we think our Vagabond audience would relate to.

If you’re looking for more travel content, start with these recommendations and please come back here often as we’re always discovering new adventurers with their own unique takes on getting around the world.

And if you don’t mind, leave a comment below on our selections and please recommend your own favorite travel blogs. Perhaps we can add it to our list!

Great and, Dare We Say, Underrated Travel Blogs?

Just One for the Road

Rupert is a kindred soul. With time to travel the world, he has created a fantastic library of stories from destinations anywhere you might look, along with a nice filter to guide you towards your next favorite spot. He even suggests his own set of travel reading recommendations that are a nice complement to our own favorite travel adventure stories.

Two Birds Breaking Free

Eoghan and Jili write about budget travel, mostly through Asia. Whether you’re looking for inspiration or practical travel ideas you’ll do well to take a look at their work. We especially like their Travel Philosophy.

We also love that they aim for the lesser known spots.

Our own adventure into Asia hasn’t begun (continent #6 coming 2025) , but we’re happy to have drawn some ideas from their exploits.

Perfect Day Somewhere

Perfect Day is written by an ambitious data scientist named Kasia who somehow manages to get about constantly despite managing a career in one of the hottest fields around. We are particularly fond of her delight with “curious humans,” a fascination that Vagabond Adventure readers will recognize in our own work.

She delivers some practical and fun itineraries you should check out. We recently told our own story traveling Into the Sahara via Merzouga. Compare notes by reading up on her own Merzouga Tour.

Fshoq!

Besides being an avid traveler Wojtek is a fantastic photographer. We have to commend him for having one of the most elegant websites we’ve seen that includes this stunning interactive map of his travel destinations.

His travel posts are efficient and tailored to narrow topics. But the range of topics he delivers is what impresses us, with categories covering environmental, family, adventure, and even suggestions for moving your residence.

Travelfoss

Diana and Steve are a Romanian couple who have been traveling nomadically for nearly a decade. They don’t like to think of themselves as nomads, but their travel schedule is quite impressive. Of course, a decade of excursions across all 7 continents and 50 countries has left a wealth of content for us to enjoy.

Their diverse portfolio includes travel tips, destinations, and itineraries.

Heather on Her Travels

Heather Cowper has been active over 15 years, offering travel inspiration for the 50+ traveler who likes authentic experiences mixed with a bit of luxury. Although she gets around the world, most of her writing covers Europe and North America where she writes about food, cruising, and culture.

Heather’s destinations and stories don’t overlap much with our own, in topic or location, making her site an excellent complement to the Vagabond Adventure.

 

Resource: https://vagabond-adventure.com/recommendations/favorite-best-underrated-travel-blogs-and-travel-resources

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Exploring the Globe Today: A Complete Guide for Modern Adventurers

 

Traveling the world is a dream many people share, but the idea of planning and navigating such an adventure can be overwhelming. Whether you're taking a gap year, embarking on a sabbatical, or simply indulging in wanderlust, knowing where to start and how to prepare is key to ensuring your journey is as smooth and rewarding as possible.

One of the first things to consider when planning international travel is your destination. The world is vast, and each location offers unique experiences. From bustling cities to serene rural escapes, the choices are endless. Begin by researching destinations that align with your interests—be it cultural exploration, adventure sports, nature, or relaxation. Make a list of countries or regions you’d like to explore, and from there, determine the best time to visit based on weather, festivals, and local events.

While the excitement of exploring new places is undeniable, planning is crucial. Organizing your travel involves practical steps, including booking flights, finding accommodations, and mapping out your route. It’s essential to plan ahead, but also to remain flexible. The beauty of long-term travel is the freedom it provides, allowing you to alter your itinerary as you go. That said, it’s advisable to pre-book accommodations for the first few nights to help you settle in.

Vagabond Adventure offers a great starting point for anyone looking to delve deeper into the world of travel. With expert tips on how to travel the world, the platform provides invaluable advice for both first-time travelers and seasoned wanderers. The site covers everything from packing essentials and safety precautions to the best travel hacks and experiences that will enrich your journey.

Another critical aspect of traveling is budgeting. Long-term travel can be expensive, but it doesn’t have to break the bank. Consider opting for budget-friendly accommodations, such as hostels or guesthouses, and use local transportation to keep costs down. Dining at local eateries not only offers a taste of authentic cuisine but is often cheaper than touristy restaurants. Additionally, taking part in free activities, such as walking tours or visiting public parks and museums, can help stretch your travel budget while still offering enriching experiences.

If you’re venturing to multiple destinations, consider purchasing a travel pass or card for discounted transportation and entry fees to attractions. Many cities offer passes that allow tourists to visit multiple museums, landmarks, and attractions at a reduced price. This can significantly save on costs and streamline your itinerary.

For those looking to make their travels as sustainable as possible, it’s essential to consider eco-friendly options. Look for airlines and accommodations that have green certifications, or opt for more sustainable modes of transport, such as trains or buses. Simple actions, like minimizing plastic use, supporting local artisans, and respecting wildlife, can have a positive impact on the environment.

Vagabond Adventure emphasizes the importance of mindful travel, offering insights on how to engage respectfully with local cultures and communities. Being aware of cultural customs, supporting local businesses, and contributing to community initiatives are all ways you can make your travels more meaningful and sustainable.

Lastly, remember that the journey is just as important as the destination. Travel has the power to transform and broaden your perspective. Embrace the challenges, learn from them, and be open to the unexpected. The world is waiting to be explored, and with the right mindset and preparation, you can make your travel dreams a reality.

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Perfect for a Romantic Escape to Hidden, Off-the-Beaten-Path Destinations

 

Designing a surprise trip for your loved one is an exhilarating challenge, filled with opportunities to create lasting memories. It’s not just about picking a destination but about weaving an experience that resonates deeply with your partner’s preferences and dreams. This comprehensive guide from A Vagabond’s Adventure will provide you with vital insights to meticulously plan a trip that not only surprises but profoundly delights your beloved.

Tailoring to Your Partner’s Taste

Understanding your partner's travel interests is the cornerstone of planning a successful surprise trip. Whether they revel in the thrill of adventure or bask in the tranquility of nature, pinpointing their preferences is essential. Do they want to really get away and try something off the beaten path like Morocco or Patagonia, or are they more interested in exploring a week in Baja California or the American West? This insight ensures the destination and activities align perfectly with their tastes, setting the stage for an experience that feels personally crafted and deeply thoughtful.

Harmonizing With Their Schedule

A seamless surprise trip requires meticulous alignment with your partner’s schedule. The art lies in discreetly ensuring their availability without giving away the surprise. This careful planning avoids potential conflicts, ensuring that your well-crafted surprise unfolds smoothly and is met with unbridled enthusiasm and availability.

Crafting a Heartfelt Invitation

Creating a personalized invitation injects a unique spark of excitement into your surprise getaway. Employing a free invitation maker, which allows your creativity to stand out, to design an invitation that beautifully reflects your partner's personal style not only heightens the anticipation but also infuses the surprise with a heartfelt touch. This considerate act, blending creativity with affection, significantly enriches the overall experience, conveying to your partner how deeply cherished and valued they are. Moreover, the use of a free invitation maker to stand out offers a cost-effective yet impressive way to add a professional flair to your thoughtful surprise.

Having Financial Foresight

Strategic budgeting is crucial in orchestrating a surprise trip that is both remarkable and financially responsible. Planning a budget that encompasses all aspects of the trip, from travel to leisure, ensures a delightful experience without the stress of overspending. This allows for a journey that’s enjoyable, not only in the moment but also in reflection, free from financial worries.

Finding Walkable Accommodations

Choosing accommodations that support a healthy lifestyle can significantly enhance your travel experience. Opting for a hotel or vacation home located in an area with a high Walk Score of 70 or above can make the trip a lot less stressful because it make its easy to reach plenty of destination with a minimum of hassle. No cabs or buses or vans to worry about. And walking to shops, restaurants, and attractions, puts some exercise into your daily itinerary. Such a choice not only contributes to your physical well-being, but also offers a unique and immersive way to explore your surroundings, making your trip both enjoyable and health-conscious. A Vagaboind-Advenure we walk everywhere and have plenty of examples of wonderful locations we’ve explored by foot from Maine to Western Europe to Norway.

Integrating Sentimental Elements

Incorporating sentimental elements into your trip can transform it from a simple getaway to an unforgettable journey. Whether it’s visiting a place with special memories or including favorite activities, these personal touches infuse the trip with emotional significance. Such thoughtful planning deepens your bond and makes the trip uniquely meaningful.

Prioritizing Health and Comfort

Ensuring your partner’s well-being during the trip is paramount. Choosing accommodations with wellness facilities, planning health-conscious activities, and maintaining a balanced diet underscores your care for their comfort and health. This thoughtful consideration not only enhances the enjoyment of the trip but also reflects your deep understanding and care for your partner’s preferences and needs.

If Your Traveling Overseas

Overseas trips require a little extra effort, especially when you’re planning trip for two. Make sure you both have your passports up-to-date (most countries require that your passport be good for at least 90 days in advance of your arrival at the country you’re visiting). Check with the United States State Department for info. Depending on the places you plan to visit, also check to make sure if you require visits or vaccinations too. The State Department cam also help guide you on these issues.

Engineering an Unforgettable Reveal

The reveal of the surprise trip is as crucial as the trip itself. Crafting a unique and memorable way to unveil the surprise, whether it’s an ingenious scavenger hunt or a heartfelt note, sets the tone for the entire journey. This moment, filled with joy and surprise, becomes a cherished memory that enhances the entire travel experience.

Masterfully planning a surprise getaway for your partner is an art that involves more than just selecting a destination. It’s about understanding their desires, aligning with their life, and adding personal touches that speak volumes of your love and care. By following these insights, you can craft an extraordinary experience that not only surprises but also deeply resonates with your partner, strengthening your bond and creating unforgettable memories.

Be sure to join us on a Vagabond Adventure to explore the world's most interesting places, cultures, and stories, one epic journey at a time.

 

Resource: https://vagabond-adventure.com/library/the-art-of-a-suprise-getaway

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A Remarkable Journey across Borders and Cultures

 

It is difficult to imagine a tougher, or luckier, man than British adventurer Apsley Cherry-Garrard. At the tender age of 23 he finagled his way onto Robert Falcon Scott’s Terra Nova expedition to Antarctica and was among 12 original members of the team that set out to race Norwegian Roald Amundsen’s party to the South Pole in 1911-1912.  Only Cherry-Garrard survived.

That alone would have cemented his reputation as a man of daring, but the winter before that near death experience, he survived an even more harrowing ordeal in the Antarctic that today remains one of the most astounding and dangerous adventures ever. It was so bad that he described it to his neighbor, the great playwright George Bernard Shaw, upon his return to England as “the worst journey in the world”. Nine years later that became the title of the book he wrote that chronicled the experience. In 1996 National Geographic rated the book the best true adventure story ever written, topping a list of 100 stories that included William Clark’s and Meriweather Lewis’ Journal and Marco Polo’s Travels.

Cherry-Garrard, Wilson and Bowers

The adventure happened because the expedition’s chief scientist Dr. Edward “Bill” Wilson had a mission he wanted to complete. Wilson had it in his head to gather the unhatched eggs of Emperor Penguins (themselves later made famous in the 2005 documentary March of the Penguins). Scientific theory at the time held that the embryos of the flightless, and therefore primitive, birds would provide valuable insights into the evolutionary links  between modern birds and dinosaurs.

Scott was opposed to the trip, but Wilson finally convinced him that a small expedition could be mounted before the whole team set off for the South Pole the following spring. So when Scott’s ship, the Terra Nova, set sail from Cardiff, Wales for Antarctica’s McMurdo Sound June 15, 1910, Wilson had his plan in place.  It would call for three men to haul 757 pounds of supplies and equipment on two 9 foot sledges 60 miles from the expedition’s base camp at Cape Evans to the far side of Ross Island across the Ross Ice Shelf past Mount Terror to Cape Crozier, all of it in the dead of the Antarctic winter. That was the only time emperor penguin fathers were known to wait out the frigid winds and weather at the edge of the sea, and protect the unhatched eggs penguin mothers left in their care in the fall. This in itself is one of the more stunning examples of paternal devotion in nature.

Cherry-Garrard idolized Wilson, but it was too bad for him that the scientist had taken him under his wing and made him an assistant Zoologist on the expedition. That, and his youth, were likely the reasons he was chosen to accompany the scientist along with Lieutenant Henry 'Birdie' Bowers.

On June 22, 1911 (the shortest day of the winter) the three set off from camp hauling their sledges without the help of dogs or ponies in almost total darkness to face gale force winds and withstand temperatures that some nights plummeted to 77 degrees F below zero. (That’s a wind chill factor of −140º F. ) Some days the men hauled the sledges no more than a mile, often having to pull one ahead, then walk back to haul the other so that for every mile advanced, three had to be covered.

The unearthly cold made doing the most routine jobs nearly impossible. There was no warm place to go. Tying ropes, striking matches, handling gear and preparing meals, all necessary for setting up and breaking down camp, took a total of nine hours each day. If hands were exposed for even a few seconds, frostbite set in. The moisture of their bodies and breathing didn’t evaporate as it normally does, but instead froze on their faces and beards and inside their clothing, encasing them in a kind of hardened exoskeleton if they stopped moving for very long. Their state-of-the-art reindeer sleeping bags would thaw and grow mushy at night as they slept in them, but then, having absorbed the moisture of their bodies, would rapidly freeze once they crawled out in the morning, making them more like sarcophaguses than bedding. Touching bare skin to any kind of metal was like applying a blowtorch to it, instantly freezing and blistering it. Every day was a battle to save their toes, feet and hands from the triple threat of wind, moisture and cold.

And then there was the darkness. Day and night were essentially indistinguishable, and time tended to slide this way and that without regard to the actual hour of the day. When they awoke they undertook their marches in blackness. Around noon the sun would rise close enough to the horizon to shed a thin halo of light, and then quickly disappear. Cloudless nights with a full-moon (extremely rare) provided more illumination than the noon day sun.

“I don’t believe minus seventy temperatures would be bad in daylight,” Cherry-Garrard wrote in his book, “when you could see where you were going…; could read your watch to see if the blissful moment of getting out of your bag was come without groping in the snow all about; when it would not take five minutes to lash up the door of the tent, and five hours to get started in the morning …” “We slept,” he later wrote, “as men sleep on the rack.”

Through all of this they subsisted on butter, pemmican, tea, hot water and specially made “Antarctic” biscuits designed to provide maximum calories and nutrition.

More than once the men were sure they wouldn’t make it, but after 19 days of frigid hell they managed to haul the sledges through the foothills of Mount Terror to the edge of Crozier Bay where they beheld thousands of emperor penguins standing resolutely in the Antarctic night, their unhatched offspring tucked snugly between their feet, feathers and their enveloping stomachs. The storms came, the winds howled, the temperatures plummeted, yet the birds stood against it all, taut, unflagging and indomitable.  Looking out over the scene Cherry-Garrard wrote in a kind of awe that the land, “Seemed to cast a spell of cold immensity, vague, ponderous, a breeding place of wind and drift and darkness. God! What a place.”

The worst came after they arrived.

The men built a small hut, fitted it with a wooden roof and lashed their tent to it on the leeward side of a small outcropping of rock above Crozier Bay. The idea was that this would provide them something better than the tent they had been huddling within for the past three weeks. Before they completed it, they visited the rookery, retrieved several eggs (three eventually made it to England), and completed drawings of the amazing site under the thin noon sun. Then a winter storm closed on them and smashed the little outpost like a hammer.

The men huddled in the igloo as the winds topped force 11, 75 miles an hour. The wind roared, “As though the earth was torn to pieces.” And then their worst nightmare. First their tent was ripped from its moorings and disappeared in the wall of snow the blizzard had become, and then the block and canvas roof of their igloo tore apart. They were left entirely exposed at −12 Fahrenheit in a black storm whose winds were approaching hurricane force. They may as well have been on Mars. For 36 black hours they huddled in their sleeping bags as the snow drifted around them, shivering, waiting.

Amazingly when the storm had passed all three were still alive and frostbite had failed to take any of their digits, toes or limbs. Even more amazing was their discovery, a half mile from their shattered hut, of the tent that was the key to their continued survival. Without it they could never hope to make it the 60 miles back to base camp. Now they had a chance.

With their eggs safely stowed among their gear, they began the slog back to Cape Evans with their broken tent, crippled cook stove and battered bodies. Growing weaker each day, they marched through the night-day, pummeled by more unrelenting snow and wind.

“The day’s march was bliss compared to the night’s rest,” wrote Cherry-Garrard, “and both were awful.” 

At one point two of them fell into a crevasse nearly pulling the sledge and their third companion with them into the abyss. But somehow they managed to crawl out and five days later, drawing on reserves of human courage and perseverance most of us couldn’t even imagine, they made it back to camp. No one even saw them coming, until one of the team opened the door of their warm winter hut and said, “Good God! Here is the Crozier Party!”

Their clothes had to be cut off they were so hardened, and when at last they could sleep, they did, on and off for days, in between luscious meals and gallons of hot chocolate and tea. Said Cherry-Garrard, “…our beds are the height of all our pleasures.”

The experience had bonded the Cherry-Garrard, Birdie, and Bill Wilson as few men could possibly be joined. But within a year Wilson, along with the apparently indestructible Birdie Bowers and Scott himself would all be dead, victims of the expedition’s failed race to the South Pole. Cherry-Garrard, who had been ordered to return to base because of a food shortage, later found their bodies in what was left of their tent, 11 miles short of their next cache of food. 

Scott was the last to die and closed out his diary with these words, “We are getting weaker, of course, and the end cannot be far. It seems a pity, but I do not think I can write more.” And then one last sentence, a plea: “For God’s sake look after our people.”

And what came of the three eggs that in Cherry-Garrard’s words, three humans “had strained to the utmost extremity of human endurance” to bring out of the Antarctic night? The British Museum of Natural History accepted them without fanfare, unceremoniously really. Cherry-Garrard had to wait all day cooling his heels outside the office of the Chief Custodian to receive a receipt for their delivery. Eventually the scientific verdict was that while the effort to retrieve the eggs was admirable, they did not really shed any new light on the evolution of birds, or their connection to dinosaurs.

Cherry-Garrard managed to live another 46 years after his return to England. His book, published in 1922, is universally considered a classic. Later in life he developed what we would now call post-traumatic stress disorder. He spent many years bed ridden as the result of his Antarctic adventures. He married late in life, in his fifties, and chose not to have any children because he feared he might pass along the mental illnesses from which he believed he suffered. He said that writing his story down, helped him deal with his demons.

Resource: https://vagabond-adventure.com/library/the-worst-journey-in-the-world

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Train Canceled—Turning a Travel Problem into a Border-Crossing Story

 

The morning was bright and sunny when we awoke in Boden, Sweden, even if it was below freezing. The previous evening we had arrived at the town’s tiny train station and hauled our bags to the Quality Bøden Hotel for the night. This morning our plan was to return through the town’s quiet streets to board our 11:51 train to Haparanda on the Swedish border, from whence we would cross into Tornio, Finland, and strike north to Arctic Circle and Lapland, where, I was told, I shared some genes on my mother’s side of the family.  Solid plan, except …

The train was canceled.

But no worries. A bus would come at 12:22 and drive us instead to the same town. At least that’s what the little rambling message that crawled along the lighted sign above the door told us, assuming we had deciphered the Swedish messaging correctly. Nei for no; tåg for train; bussima for bus at 12.22.

We passed the time reviewing the denizens of the Boden train station. Foremost among them, were four young men lying on wooden benches absolutely zonked. Their snoring gave no indication of their origins, but when they woke, chattering in Arabic, I guessed Middle Eastern. Nothing gets by me.

Then across from our bench, sat an elderly couple, clearly deeply in love. The little woman wearing her white tossel cap joked with her big husband, kissing and hugging him as often as she could. He caught my eye and smiled a little sheepishly between snatched kisses. Nearby a stocky man with short hair sat beside his quiet young wife. Both expressionless, waiting.

After awhile I noticed the sleeping men coming out of there tupor. They gazed around the room, utterly lost, and began scrambling left and right like four Keystone Cops. Their heads of hair were wild and thick from sleep. Rapid discussions ensued, then all four grabbed their gear, stood before the train schedule’s rambling message and simply blinked. What could all of these symbols mean?  The messaging confused us, and that was only because everything was written in Swedish. To these men, the words crawling in lights above the door were as foreign and meaningless as Chinese or Cyrillic Russian. I wanted to help but wasn’t sure these men were even bound for the same train - I mean bus - and the best Arabic I could resurrect was salaam (hello) or shokran (thank you), or maybe an inshallah (God willing), and none of those were going to be very useful.

Now the four scrambled in a cluster to the platform outside, then back inside to the station entrance, and then outside again to the other side. For a time there was silence. At one point, the stocky man, noticed a phone on one of the benches. He had just picked it up when one of the four skidded into the station searching furiously. The stocky man handed the boy his phone. Visible relief. Then the other three returned, one by one, all still flummoxed. It really was quite a show.

By this time the bus had arrived, and so we boarded. The elderly driver revved the engine and prepared to  pull away when the four burst together out of the station. One of them said something I couldn’t hear through the window to the bus driver.

“Haparanda, ya!“ Called the driver of the bus. “Haparanda!” and he waved them all in as if they were a flock of ducklings. The  men it turned out, were, like us, headed to the Finnish border. Why or how they had found themselves in the North of Sweden was beyond our comprehension, but they probably couldn’t fathom why a couple of around-the-block Americans like us were on the same bus either.

Meanwhile, another little mystery was unfolding. The cute, elderly couple, the one where the woman was hugging and kissing the gentleman in the train station so publicly, had boarded the same bus that we had, except now she was alone. Where did the loving hubby go? Cyn and I joked that they probably weren’t happily married for 55 years like we had thought, with seven children scattered happily throughout Europe, but had in fact hooked up on Tinder and  just passed the weekend at one of the local hotels banging the headboards! She was smiling a lot.

Once she was in her seat, her partner in crime waved to her at the window, and was gone faster than the Road Runner in a Wiley Coyote cartoon.  Late for his next tête-à-tête, no doubt.

The bus was soon rolling into the wilds of Sweden along a two-lane highway through some of the most beautiful and pristine winter landscape we had ever seen. On either side of us for the next several hours we passed nothing but dense woods, deep snow, and ice-encased trees stripped to their branches. 

Haparanda

At 2:30 PM our bus pulled up at the train station where we hoped we could catch a train across the border. Our affectionate woman had  already arranged to be dropped somewhere in the heart of the town, and for all I knew she’d be hooking up with the bus driver later as a way of saying thanks! I mean … it is Sweden.

At the town’s edge, everyone piled off at the train station — the Middle Eastern Four, the man and his wife who had found the lost phone, and us. As we were about to debark, I mentioned to the bus driver that we intended to cross the border to Haparanda’s sister city, Tornio, in Finland.

“Stay,” he said, holding up his hands, “we go to the Shell gas station.” When the Middle Eastern boys heard this, they stopped. They too were headed to Torino. The old bus driver waved everyone who had gotten off back on.

Five minutes down the road we were at the Shell station. We and the boys found a small mall near a giant IKEA store. It was bitter cold: 19°. We dropped our bags inside wondering how we might grab a cab or bus across the border, but when I consulted our Apple Map I found that our hotel in Torino was a mere 18 minute walk from where we stood!

“Want to walk across the Finnish border?” I asked.

“We walked into Mexico,” said Cyn. “I guess we can walk into Finland.” (You gotta love her her!)

Finland

Out we went into the cold. Soon the early winter sun would disappear. It wouldn't be getting any warmer. We followed the path over the hard crunching snow. It took us through a tunnel under a highway and there stood the sign telling us we were at the border. Cyn stood with her bags, and several hundred yards away we could make out the northernmost edge of the huge Bothnia Sea that separates Norway and Sweden from the rest of Northern Europe. Nearby sat a cluster of buildings, and, we hoped, our home for the night.

Fifteen minutes more hauling our rollers through the snow, fingers growing numb, we made it to the Olof Hôtel, where, we were very happy to see, the owners had gingerbread biscuits and hot free tea.

This is Dispatch XXXV in a series about a Vagabond’s Adventures - journalist and National Geographic Explorer Chip Walter and his wife Cyndy’s effort to capture their experience exploring all seven continents, all seven seas and 100+ countries, never traveling by jet.

If you’ve enjoyed this dispatch, please take a look at Chip’s other adventures (and misadventures) … and don’t forget to check the Vagabond Journal  and our Travel Recommendations to help you plan YOUR next adventure.

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Scandinavian Recommendations

If you’re heading to Scandinavia or you’re shopping for ideas for your next excursion, we wanted to share our recommendations. Feel free to leave your own suggestions too in the comments below! We want the thousands of other vagabonds who have joined us to know about the places you’ve explored and about your own experiences in Scandinavia (or anywhere in the world, for that matter). Here are a few suggestions. Visit our Recommendations page to get ideas and suggestions from around the world!

 

Resource: https://vagabond-adventure.com/library/walking-from-hapranda-sweden-to-tornio-finland

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