​It is known as the Capital of Cars, the Engine of Italy.    Born within a golden circle that surrounds the city of Modena, are the mythical brands whispered on the lips of car lovers the world over, along with the mega-rich, and boys of all ages. Maserati. De Tomaso.  Pagani.   The Italian sports car introduced the world to speed and luxury, the ultimate union of art and technology.   Defining this perfectly are the region’s two most famous sons:  Lamborghini, and Ferrari, vehicles that have transcended the circuits and bolts within them, commanding religious-like reverence from both drivers, and dreamers.
 
Few car enthusiasts know there would be no Lamborghini were it not for Ferrari.    Ferrucio Lamborghini was one of the wealthiest men in Italy, having made his fortune selling tractors and appliances.    An avid car enthusiast and collector, among Ferrucio’s favourites were several Ferraris, although he found them to be mechanically temperamental.   A recurring clutch issue led him to contact Enzo Ferrari, founder and namesake, a volatile character best described as being ferociously driven in the pursuit of automobile racing.   How different the vehicle landscape would be if Ferrari had taken his customer’s feedback seriously.  Instead, Enzo allowed the manufacture of Ferrari sports cars only as a means to fund his beloved racing initiatives.   Private customers had to put up with Enzo’s notoriously dismissive attitude, viewed as an unfortunate by-product for owning a vehicle of such outstanding quality.   Ferrucio was no different.  However, once informed that a tractor manufacturer had no right to criticize Ferrari’s cars, Lamborghini was compelled to repair his own models, and discovered that the mechanics of car and tractors had encouraging similarities.   If Ferrari would not improve their road models, Lamborghini had the knowledge and financial clout to do it for them. In 1963, Automobili Lamborghini was born.  With the help of hired ex-Ferrari engineers, his first model - a 350 GTV - was rolled out, built in a factory set up not far from Ferrari’s own.    Unlike Ferrari, Lamborghini would focus solely on sports cars, shying away from the racetrack.    Today, Lamborghini is a name synonymous with the Italian sports car, a better-looking thorn in the much bigger Ferrari landscape.   Did Enzo rue his decision to insult Ferrucio?   Probably not.  He was a man so focused on the chequered flag there was little time for Sunday afternoon drives in the countryside.  

​Just a few minutes across the municipal border into Bologna, you’ll find the headquarters and factory of Lamborghini.   The eponymous Bull logo, taken from Ferrucio’s Taurus star sign, appears boldly on the walls.   A parking lot holds dozens of Audis belonging to staff, now that the German manufacturer owns 100% of the Lamborghini brand.   Since the 1970’s, the company has endured bankruptcy, a sale to Chrysler (itself sold to Italian car giant Fiat), ownership by an Indonesian consortium headed by the son of the dictator Suharto, and sporadic years of economic uncertainty.   Yet it has continued to produce vehicles that have redefined design and car envy. Vehicles like the Aventador, Murciélago, the Diablo, and its predecessor, the Countach.   As a teenage boy, I had a mounted poster of a blue Countach in my bedroom, a rocket ship on earth, my ultimate dream car.   It was named after an Italian wolf whistle, for that is what it in inspired.   Subsequent generations of the Countach, along with one of a kind prototypes and concept cars, are on display in an on-site gallery, open daily to the public.     The Concept S has adjacent seat booths protected by individual windows, creating the distinct look of a jet fighter.  The LM002 looks much like a Hummer, an SUV built in the mid-1980’s, way before its time.   A green Countach sits so low on the ground it barely reaches my thigh.    On show is also a Lamborghini police car, one of two donated to the Italian police department, to be used for emergency organ transplants and blood deliveries.  It is the car you want to be arrested in.  

​Behind the gallery is the factory itself, where every Lamborghini created is carefully hand-assembled.   There are no giant robots drilling sparks into the air.  There is no loud industrial noise, or even a spot of grease on the floor.  Every 190 minutes, the cars move forward on a U-shaped production line to the next work station, where a team of white-gloved engineers set to work installing the electronics, the interior, the wheels and dashboard.  For factory engineers, they look young, healthy, and completely enthused by their job, paying attention to the finest detail, scribbling their efforts into a production book that will follow the vehicle for the remainder of its life.   Lamborghini does not keep stock.   Each model is made to order, customized according to the exact specification of the buyer.   From station to station, the car matures, until at the halfway point, a marriage takes place.   The engine, already assembled, is hoisted up and inserted into the chassis, the perfect metaphor for the soul entering the body.    At the final station, the electronics are tested, the lights flicker on, and spark plugs get their first ignition.  The birth roar of an engine is primal, like a dragon breathing fire, a lion owning the savannah.   190 minutes later, another customized model, black fly-wing doors open, will roar its approval. 
 
It takes the finest leather of five Austrian cows to furnish the interior of Lamborghini, dyed in lush colours and stitched by hand.  One upholsterer has large photos of his kids above his work desk.  My guide says “this is love, no?”, I am not sure if she’s talking about the kids, or the car. Valetino Balboni,  a 60 year-old test driver hired by Ferrucio Lamborghini himself, pulls up in a silver Gallardo LP 560-4 Spyder.    He’s been driving these cars longer than I have been alive, and he’s taking me into the countryside to demonstrate what all that marvellous production amounts to.     A car journalist might tell you that the Gallardo Spyder has a new 5.2 litre V10 engine with an output of 560 horsepower, a power to weight ratio of 2.77kg, an 18% reduction in fuel consumption and C02 emissions from previous models, and a top speed of 324 km/hr.    All I’ll say is that stepping into the Spyder for the first time made me giggle like a schoolgirl.   There is not a head on this planet (or any other for that matter) that would not swivel the second it sees this elegant creation.   No wonder that Jeremy Clarkson, presenter of Top Gear and the car man’s car man, replaced his Ford GT with a Gallardo Spyder.   Valentino presses a button, the Spyder growls to life, and we effortlessly pull into the road.   At the first intersection, I receive eight nods of envy and three photographs.  

We are but two men comfortably seated on expensive red leather with a powerful state of the art engine strapped to our backs.  Valentino shoots ahead, demonstrating the incredible power (0 to 100 km/hr in 3.9 seconds) and stop-on-a-penny all wheel drive braking. The sudden lurch of speed, as we taking sharp corners that could flip most cars, is not unlike being in a rollercoaster, catapulting forward but leaving my eyeballs trailing.   We find a quiet stretch and Valentino invites me to take the wheel.  With an advanced paddle shift transmission and various driving modes, he reassures me that I cannot make a mistake, as the car will automatically adjust itself as it needs.   Sweat is dripping from my forehead, and this low to the tarmac, heat is radiating from the ground. The temperate in the cockpit reads an incredible 50C under a relentless Italian summer sun.    I hesitantly pull forward, piloting a vehicle worth more than I could ever afford, well aware that I had signed a waiver holding me responsible for any mishaps.    Valentino was right.   The Spyder is beautifully forgiving, guiding my paddle presses, injecting fuel when needed, shifting solidly around corners.   It doesn’t take long before I have the confidence to induce G-force and make this silver bullet fly.   I drive back to the factory, pull up in front of a group of jealous tourists, and would have made a proud and gallant exit had my knees not buckled under the pure bliss of the experience.
 
It is a short drive from the Lamborghini factory to Maranello, where Enzo Ferrari relocated his factory after his original workshops in Modena were bombed during World War II.   Maranello is a mecca for racing and car enthusiasts, and is not so much a small town as a Ferrari theme park.  There are Ferrari stores and Ferrari schools, red-painted restaurants and hotels.  Images of the famous prancing horse - adopted as a logo by Enzo in 1923 from a famed Italian fighter pilot - are everywhere.  While Lamborghini and Ferrari are both Italian sports cars, it is immediately clear that Ferrari is the much larger enterprise -  a fast, bright red world unto itself. 
 
Enzo, who died in 1988, did not live to see Michael Schumacher dominate Formula 1 at the wheel of a Ferrari, but this was always his dream.  Enzo was born to race, and when he realized his own skill was not up to par with the best, he changed his destiny so that other drivers could fulfil theirs.   Originally working for Alfa Romeo, he left the company to start his own stable of race cars called Scuderia Ferrari, literally, Stable Ferrari.  Founded in 1947,  Ferrari’s impact on the world of motor racing was immediate if somewhat turbulent.  It appeared to have more success off the track, as Ferrari road cars became the sought after toys of wealthy car enthusiasts.   Yet Enzo viewed the consumer market as an afterthought.  Plugging millions into racing development, financial woes in the 1960’s forced him to sell a large stake in the company to Fiat, which today owns 90% of the company.     Yet Enzo’s tenacity, not to mention the raw power, stylish design and racing mentality of his cars, ensured not only the survival but also Ferrari’s growth into perhaps the world’s most sought after and recognized sport car brand.  Ferraris are vehicles of success, on and off the road. 

​At the Galleria Ferrari, many of the most famous Ferraris are on display for an adoring public.   From the original cars built by Enzo to the F1 triumphs of Michael Schumacher, the recreation of a pit stop inside the museum continues to emphasise the importance of the racetrack to the company.  It takes some time for me to realize that the display cars are not replicas, but the very models that dominated sport headlines around the world, having won 31 Formula 1 World Titles.   Upstairs are the sports cars, the famous Testa Rossa, the F40, the Enzo Ferrari, named in tribute.    A red 308GTS represents my personal introduction to Ferrari – the car driven by Tom Selleck in the 80’s series Magnum.  There is a marked difference from the sleekness and almost minimalistic lines I found inside Lamborghini’s showcase. These cars exude brute strength, more muscle than finesse. A special showcase houses a black 1957 250 Testa Rossa, an antique car that happens to be one of the most expensive vehicles ever sold at an auction.  It sold for a staggering US$12.1 million, and it doesn’t even have headlights.  
 
Just about every car in the Galleria Ferrari is bright red, a colour forever associated with Ferrari, even though all Italian sports cars have been painted red since a racing organization assigned it to the country in the 1920’s.   French blue, German white (later silver), British green.   Ferrari came to own the colour because it came to own the idea of Italian race cars.  Ironically, the 430 Scuderia waiting for me to test drive outside is a light metallic blue, with two silver racing stripes down the middle.    Launched by Michael Schumacher at the Frankfurt Auto Show in 2007, this model was created to complete with the Lamborghini Gallardo Superleggera, offering a lighter body, more power, and faster speed.   508 horsepower at 8500 rpm, power to rate ratio of 2.5kk/hp, an F1-trac system and E-Diff stability control, and I’m not really sure what all that means other than this is a purebred racing machine built for speed.  0 – 100 km/hr in 3.5 seconds, and with a top speed of 320 km/hr, you’re always the pace car on the smooth Italian autostrade.  
 
My test driver’s name is Gabriel, and we both agree that a job requiring you to drive in a Ferrari all day is a job worth keeping.   Of all the Ferraris he has driven at the company, this is his favourite, because this model, he tells me, was built for racing, period.   The interior is somewhat basic, the seats practical, belts tellingly over the shoulder, like the jump seat in an aeroplane.  A metal footplate lets me support myself as Gabriel screams around the bend of a quiet country road, the engine snarling as he shifts the transmission with the paddles. We are tigers lurking in the concrete jungle of automobiles, ferociously hunting prey.   After screeching past a chicane, I ask Gabriel how fast he was going.  With a wry grin, he tells me he doesn’t know.   You’d have to have a Lamborghini police car to catch us anyway, and I happen to know they’re focused on other priorities.

​It is late afternoon when we drive back to the Galleria, and in the traffic of rush hour, it seems almost cruel for the 430 Scuderia to trot at 40 km/hr back to the stable.   A race car without a race is but an appetite without the means to feed it.   I thank my pilot, awkwardly exit the cockpit, and walk over to my rented blue Peugeot 107.  Like most cars in Italy, it is a tiny vehicle capable of squeezing through narrow cobblestone streets, slotting in miniscule parking spaces, but still exceeding the 130 km/hr speed limit on the highway.   It is half the size of a Ferrari or Lamborghini, but it got me to both factories safely, with room for my suitcase and a couple friends.    Comparing it in the same breath as these mighty Italian giants seems almost sacrilegious, and yet the realist might argue they are all machines of transport, on four rubber wheels, powered by an engine.   Is a supermodel a better person because she looks better than the average housewife?   Is a sportsman a better father because he has more strength and tanned, toned muscles?    This is logic, and certainly, this is folly.   Dream machines were not designed to carry groceries or pick up the kids.   Lamborghini and Ferrari are the golden chariots that shepherd our inspiration, our quest for power, speed and beauty, the desire to transcend practicality in the name of art and technology.   Placing a price tag on such an endeavour misses the point.  For the majority of us who can appreciate if not afford the result, there’s always a visit to the Engine of Italy.

I heard a quote from someone, misquoted by someone else, which I will now misquote further: creative people need to be creating, otherwise they’re not breathing.  It is why musicians make music, painters make paintings and writers make words.  God help all of us trying to make a living doing it.
 
My act of creation is rather specific:  I travel and record my experiences in a positively authentic manner with the hopes I can inspire others to have these experiences too.   Every year begins with a fresh slate with very little idea where I will end up, and what I will do when I get there.  Each December, I look back on the year with a sense of bewilderment that can I assure you, never grows old.   Did I really get the opportunity to go there, and to do that?    Looking back on 2024, here’s a round-up of what I mean:

​January:  A Theme in Orlando
 
Can you take the kids to the theme-park capital of the world and not visit the theme parks?    This was my idea for a story, and it almost worked.  Under stormy skies, we air-boated in the everglades, took on obstacle, aquatic and rope courses, illusion museums, and graceful manatees floating in crystal streams.  But I’m not a monster, so the kids did get to enjoy Legoland (before they grow out of it) and Sea World’s Discovery Cove too.    After Orlando, we headed south to Delray Beach for a long overdue family reunion 30 years in the making. This combination, of busy activities with personal reconnections, kicked off another remarkable year on the bucket list.

February:  Showing off on the Slopes
 
Every winter I like to profile a different ski destination.  It’s usually the only time my family gets on skis, but slopes are only one aspect of any ski resort.  This year we drove up from Vancouver to SilverStar Mountain Resort, discovering a compact, family-friendly resort with beautiful hills and a lot of fun off it.  SilverStar had the best tubes runs I’ve ever seen, and the kids had way too much fun on the mini-sleds.  My story took shape thanks to my sister and brother in-law joining us from New York.  Who knew there was an authentic Austrian restaurant – shipped from Austria itself - in the hills of the Okanagan?  Canada is always underestimated by visitors, and always overdelivers.  SilverStar and Vernon proved to be yet another perfect example of this phenomenon.   

March:  Between Belize and a Barrier Reef
 
After conquering the skeleton at the Whistler Bobsleigh Centre and learning all about the non-alcoholic beverage trend, my daughter and I flew to Central America to climb Mayan jungle temples, eat ceviche, and float underwater.  For I wondered: can a 10-year-old go scuba diving?  The answer is yes, especially a 10-year-old like my daughter.  With the help of PADI and a wonderful instructor at Ocean Quest Dive Centre, Raquel took her online courses and pool classes in Vancouver, completing her Junior Open Water Certification in Belize’s San Pedro. Adults struggle with the tests and it wasn’t easy, but watching her resilience to overcome the fear and challenges gave me pure nachas. This is a Yiddish word you’ll have to Google.  Exploring the world’s second largest barrier reef with her, underwater and from above with a snorkel, meant more than one thousand Taylor Swift concerts.   Enya slays in my video, but Raquel as always owns the show.  
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April:  Vacations vs Adventures in Mexico
 
I don’t begrudge anyone who chooses a flop-n-drop vacation, especially with kids.  Others, like myself, are just wired differently and prefer an adventure.  With the family in tow, we headed to Puerto Vallarta in Mexico to see if it’s possible to combine an adventure and vacation.  You can read my story here, or watch the dreamy video that makes me appreciate that trip more with every viewing.  Back in beautiful British Columbia, the legendary Ange Chew backed up her claims that Surrey – soon to be the largest city in the province – has an incredible culinary scene with a Spice Trail worth salivating over.   

May:  What the hell am I doing, speeding in LA?
 
IPW is a massive annual US tourism expo, where states and companies one-up each other for trade and media attention.  Host city Los Angeles pulled out all the stops, including shutting down Universal Studios for a private party, and throwing an opening bash at the historic LA Coliseum (which will host another Olympic Games in 2028).  Always chasing a bucket list experience, I hopped in three Porsche models to see what these babies can do around a special-built race, sliding, and 4x4 track.  Back home, I volunteered at the Courage to Come Back Awards, which raised $1.7m for the Coast Mental Health Foundation, and then headed to Medicine Hat for an inspiring talk to a wonderful community.  After years chasing the northern lights in the Arctic, a powerful solar storm brought them south, lighting up the skies of Vancouver in greens and reds on a beautiful and clear spring night. 
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June:  Sunsets in Botswana (and Johannesburg too)
 
I’ve always wanted to visit Botswana’s Chobe National Park and Okavango Delta. It has also been 14 years since my last visit to Johannesburg, where I was born and raised.  Welcome to June.  Catching up with my old friends and driving around Jo’burg for a few days was as comforting as a weighted blanket. A lot has changed, but some things haven’t changed at all.   Botswana easily lived up to its reputation as a Bucket List safari destination for people who love safaris.  Desert and Delta Safaris have incredible camps throughout the country, with a literal view of unforgettable wildlife experiences.  In a year of highlights, June proved hard to beat.  Cherry on the top: while on safari I learned that my story about visiting Churchill with my son took First Place in the Family Travel category at the Travel Media Association of Canada annual conference. 

July:  Biking Vancouver Island, the Stampede and Roadsurfing to Waterton
 
For the third year in a row, I joined a group of motorbike riders for a road trip, renting a Harley Davidson from Eaglerider in Vancouver.  We travel far and light, and there’s something about the open road, the fresh air, and the camaraderie that makes these trips particularly special.  Swapping my Street Glide for a different mode of transport, the family joined me on a memorable trip to Alberta, first to the Calgary Stampede, and then in a roadsurfer rental RV for a roadtrip to stunning Waterton National Park in the Rockies.  Meanwhile, a fully revised and beautiful second edition of The Great Western Canada Bucket List hit the shelves nationwide.  It was too late to squeeze in Waterton, but it easily makes its way in the third edition of The Great Canadian Bucket List, coming fall 2025.
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August:  Go east, young man
 
I love multi-generational travel. You experience a destination through different eyes, and the bonding is priceless.  Together with my mom and son, we headed to Prince Edward Island and New Brunswick for a road trip to natural landmarks, beautiful red-sandy beaches, green gables, lovely little towns, the Bay of Fundy, and fuzzy goats on a boat. Over two weeks we packed in a lot, covering Fredericton, Moncton, St Andrews, Saint John, King’s Landing, and so much ground (and history) in New Brunswick.   Returning home, I joined some friends for a milestone adventure in the backcountry: a week-long rafting trip down Idaho’s Salmon River.  That story is coming up next year in The Globe and Mail, and it was a metaphorical bullseye for the idea that life is but an adventure, flowing in one direction, never looking back.  
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September:  Waltzing down the Danube
 
My poor, beautiful wife.  Here I am, travelling the world, stealing the kids for one adventure after another, while she stays at home contributing to the community.  Hoping to remind her who I am, we left the kids behind for a romantic river cruise down the Danube, hopping aboard the Viking Jaal in Regensburg, Germany and disembarking a week later in Budapest.  The weather was moody (the Danube flooded the day we left for home) but there was so much to keep us busy between the historic towns, grand museums of Vienna, the incredible food, and a lovely boat with fun and gracious company. 

October:  Amalfi lemons don’t need lemonade
 
Returning to Europe, my daughter joined me for our first Exodus Family Travel Adventure, exploring Italy’s stunning Amalfi Coast.  Exodus knows exactly how to keep kids and their parents engaged:  cooking pasta and pizza in an authentic Italian kitchen; hiking the most scenic sections of the Path of the Gods; making paper with medieval tools; painting traditional ceramics; lemon gelato; kayaking the terraced coastline; exploring ocean caves and wandering about the remarkable ruins of Pompeii.   All of this a fun first for everyone, and another gorgeous highlight in a year full of them.  Amalfi was a memorable location to celebrate my 50th birthday too, and we snuck in a quick visit to Paris too!

November: Travel is a Gift
 
You’ll have to excuse me, I’m not at my best, I’ve been gone for a month...” The classic hit by Spirit of the West has always captured the exhaustion of travel, so I took it easy this month, dreaming up big adventures for 2025.  I did jet to Cambridge, Ontario for an inspiring talk for the lovely folks at MD Financial.  I checked in with the folks at the Saintlo Jail Hostel in Ottawa, and worked on a new edition of my annual Bucket List Gift Guide, which I’ve now ported over to my column at Canadian Geographic.  
 
Another unexpected gift: I won a prestigious Lowell Thomas Gold Medal Award from the Society of American Travel Writers, where an impartial panel of judges chose my Canadian Bucket List blog as the best blog on the continent.  This shocked me as much as anyone.  After almost two decades of working away in the shadows, receiving two top awards (and being nominated late last year as the Tourism Industry of Canada’s Travel Media Professional of the Year) is welcome validation from my peers for all the hard work. Remember, success is an iceberg: you see 10% of it shining under the sun, but 90% of the effort, failure, frustration, desperation, disappointment, sacrifice and discipline lies below the water. 

December: Around the Corner
 
So here we are, wrapping up my 19th year as a travel writer with another unexpected and extraordinary year.  There are still a few stories to come, but I’m looking forward to the future in what I hope (although can never guarantee) will be another magical year. It’s been almost twenty years since I set out to see the world as a budget backpacker. So much has changed personally, globally, technically, politically, economically too.   The mission has stayed the same:  channel my energy and talent where it has a positive impact on the lives of others, while at the same time enjoying the juiciest fruits life has to offer.   Coming up: kayaking the bioluminescent bays of Puerto Rico; a snowmobiling adventure in northern Ontario, skiing in Colorado, visiting ancient ruins in Egypt, exploring the French countryside on a small river boat, hopefully riding Route 66, and taking my daughter on the Inca Trail in Peru. 
 
One of the hallmarks of finding happiness is having something to look forward to.  Regardless of what’s happening in the world, I hope you too have the good fortune and opportunity to see joy in the possibilities.

 - Robin

I compiled this definitive list with two very simple rules: 
​
a) The items mentioned below should be available to members of the paying - and no doubt occasionally insane - public
b) To qualify, the thought of each dish should make my stomach swill over, my throat seize up, my nose twitch, and my eyes rattle.

This list demonstrates that we will devour whatever we are culturally conditioned to consume, and whatever creature with the distasteful misfortune to be around us if we are hungry.  Presenting my global menu for those of iron will and titanium gut: ​

Deep Fried Hairy Spiders
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Personally, I just didn’t have the stomach for arachnoids when I was travelling by bus through Cambodia.   A popular roadside snack, the large spiders are eaten in big bites, or pulled apart, leg by leg, and consumed like French fries.  Black bug juice dribbles down the chin as you reach the best part of meal, the pincers and the bulbous back.   All the poison is removed when the spiders are fried, and apparently the appeal lies in its crunchy-chewy texture.   Along came a spider, and sat down beside her, and so Muffin just ate the damn thing. ​

Honorary Mentions: Lutifisk is a fish Norwegian weapon of mass culinary destruction.  Laos Snake Whiskey is sold with farm-bred cobras at the bottom, some with scorpions for extra zing.   We should also leave room for cockroaches, haggis, and cuy (deep-fried guinea pig).  And how can I forget my delicious fruit bat stew in beautiful New Caledonia? ​

In 300 BC, a guy named Herodotus thought it would be just swell to compile a list of the Seven Wonders of the World.   These seven sites were so utterly wonderful that humanity has since gone on to destroy all of them save one, the Pyramids of Giza - only because nobody could figure out what to do with two million 80 ton blocks.  ​

2300 years later, a guy named Bernard Weber thought the list needed an update, and guess what, the new7wonders.com domain name was still available.  While Herodotus traded on his historian credentials, Bernard was armed with online marketing savvy and contacts within the tourism industry.  The decision as to what these new wonders would be rested with the mouseclick of the masses, and a quasi-regulated online vote. Swept into hysteria, the world (or rather, those countries who managed to mobilize their digerati) declared our “new” seven wonders at a gala event hosted by Hilary Swank and the guy who played Gandhi.  UNESCO’s World Heritage Committee, the buck-stops-here for this sort of thing, distanced themselves from the spectacle, stating:  “This initiative cannot, in any significant and sustainable manner, contribute to the preservation of sites elected by this public.”  Ouch.  Since I’ve somehow managed to drag myself to all the winning wonders, here are short reviews of what to expect. ​

Not to be confused with Chicken Pizza, which in Mexico, often leads to Montezuma’s Revenge.     The Maya were a clever lot who designed intricate jungle pyramids for calendars, ancient cosmic ball courts, and other sites of magic at this must-see in the Yucatan.   The largest of several pyramids and ruins in the area, I was disappointed to learn that tourists can no longer climb Chichen Itsa’s steps (which severed heads once rolled down) due to an elderly American tourist who slipped and killed herself, subsequently ruining it for the rest of us.   I did however pick up a free wireless signal just outside the mandatory gift shop, which may explain why Chichen Itsa, and not Tikal in Guatemala, gathered enough online votes to be included as a new Wonder of the World.   ​

There’s little controversy with this one, since there’s really nothing little about a 4000-mile wall that many people mistakenly believe can be seen from space.   Most tourists in Beijing visit a nearby carefully manicured chunk of wall, struggling to take a photo clear of domestic package tours.  I joined a more adventurous lot to drive three hours outside of the city, barely escaping the choking pollution, to a section known as Jinshangling.  From here, it’s a tough yet thoroughly rewarding 7-mile hike to Simatai, crossing 67 watchtowers.   Parts of the wall are immaculate, others crumbling under the weight of history, but rest assured there’s usually an enterprising local selling cold beers at the next watchtower.  Legend has it over one million people died building the wall, with bodies mixed into cement or buried in the wall itself.  Built by a succession of several dynasties, the world’s longest man-made structure is the ultimate symbol of our desire to keep things out, or in.  Mao famously said:  "You're not a real man if you haven't climbed the Great Wall.” ​

You saw it in Indiana Jones, and it’s tough to stop whistling Indy’s theme song walking down the magnificent path to this 2000-year old Nabataean ruin.   Jordan’s most popular attraction is actually a tomb, misnamed by treasure hunters, glowing red in the late afternoon sun. It’s the highlight of a vast ancient city with much to explore, like the Urn Tomb, which delivered one of my best flying photos ever.   Decent hotels, fresh humus, the smell of camel – it’s not exactly Indiana Jones’s last crusade, but deservedly takes its place on the list. ​

The famed Inca Trail really does live up to its hype, especially since you arrive at Maccu Piccu early in the morning, before buses of tourists arrive to make your photos look like you’re  in Japan.   It takes four days of hiking at altitude through the majestic Andes before you earn the right to have the Lost City of the Incas all to yourself, but it’s well worth it.  Porters, their legs ripped of steel, carry all the supplies, cook up delicious meals, even pitch your tent. We slowly hiked past old Incan forts and terraces, peaking at Dead Woman’s Pass, where the uphill slog and altitude left me squeezing my lungs for air. My group, aged 18 – 57, displayed inspiring camaraderie, led by two upbeat Peruvian guides, all the while looking forward to that moment, when you cross Sun Gate, and see Maccu Piccu lit up in the morning sun.  Few moments are quite like it, even when the buses pull up. ​