Floating the Channel in Penticton, B.C, Canada

Inching along at a crawl, bumper to bumper and the only thing you feel is...peace, quiet, and the gentle lap of water on your pedal foot. After all, this is not your everyday crosstown traffic. Under the summer sun, skip the gridlock and get to Skaha Lake by floating down the four-mile waterway that cuts Penticton in two. The flow of this jam is at the whim of the water, and serious sunburns can set in before you bob to the end. An option is to get off halfway and have a friend pick you up, or get Coyote Cruises to rent you a tube and take you home. This way, the only puncture you'll have worry about is one that will definitely get you refreshingly wet.

#adventure #cruise #river #outdoors #nature #lake #swimming #boat #summer #escape #kayaking #getaway #canoeing #outfitter #tubing #peaceful #water #paddling #travel #urban #serene #waterway #freshair #urbanoasis #tanning #sunbathing #tube #byboat #boattrips #rivertrip #sunning #riveradventure

Originally published on Trazzler

The Siesta Taxi

Writing in the local paper. Local issues with a global take. I never translate literally and the editor trims at will to make it fit. Here's my version, then theirs.

Like it or not, the first and last faces that visitors encounter when arriving someplace new are its taxi drivers. And while the vehicles they drive around the world vary enormously, the drivers themselves often share at least one common characteristic, they like to talk. A trait that can come in handy to a travel writer trying to discover that special something beyond what you can see in the tourist brochures.The other day as I was leaving Madrid and came upon the unexpected closure of the blue metro line (1), I was forced to jump a taxi to get to Atocha in time for the slow train to Caceres. Our driver was at the end of his shift and his rolling commentary about the goings ons during the previous night’s Gay Pride march was infinitely more entertaining than the insightful analysis I would later read about in the newspapers, that basically focused on the tonnes of garbage that had been produced. In the two kilometres between Sol and Atocha, I was able to get a street level opinion of Carmena’s Madrid that I wouldn’t find in guidebooks, the ABC or even El Pais. An eternity later, after our train crawled into Caceres, we missed the two taxis that were waiting and had to call radiotaxi. As we waited in the midday 40 degree heat, we chatted with some Scottish tourists who had asked the RENFE agent to call for another taxi. Thirty minutes later a taxi finally arrived but he hadn’t come for either of us. In the interest of hospitality, we offered the tourists to take the taxi and asked the surprised driver to please call the central and ask where our taxi was. When the next driver finally arrived, he was shocked that we had to wait so long but unfortunately wasn’t surprised. Since they had outsourced the call service, he said this happened often. Mystery solved, now if I can only figure out why it cost us so much more to get to the old town from the station in little 'ol Caceres than it did to get from Sol to Atocha.