Global travelling articles

These low-cost student international travel insurance carriers sometimes provide one hundred percent of the cost of covered events such as illness, injury, evacuation and repatriation. Many student international travel insurance carriers offer choices of coverage, so that you can pick and choose the coverage limits you wish and can afford.

One carrier, for example, provides three plans, all of which can be quoted and purchased online. The minimum level, the least costly student international travel insurance policy, provides a $100,000 ceiling for medical coverage, but only $50,000 for a single incident. The deductible for each incident is $150. Were you, your loved one, or anyone’s remains require repatriation, the payment with this student international travel insurance would be up to $25,000. Emergency evacuation coverage at this level is $50,000. $10,000 is the ceiling for AD&D (accidental death and dismemberment.) Depending on your age premium for this coverage can be as low as $59.

The best coverage, with a price tag of $69, increases your ceilings on many of the coverage events. With this top-notch student international travel insurance you would realize a lifetime ceiling of $250,000, and each event, whether illness or injury, would have its own ceiling of $150,000. Your deductible is lowered to $90 per event, although the limits for repatriation ($50,000), emergency evacuation ($50,000) and accidental death and dismemberment coverage ($10,000) remain the same no matter which student international travel insurance level of coverage you choose.

When you purchase your student international travel insurance online you’ll be required to supply your destination, travel dates or length of stay, your age and the age of anyone in your travel group and whether you are a student. As a student you’ll need to supply your college name and location as well as your program of study.]]>

Visitors encounter seas, beaches, rivers, waterfalls, mountains, and an abundance of flora and fauna. Twelve major life zones provide habitat for over 10,000 kinds of flowering plants, 850 bird species, 3,000 butterfly species, and 209 species of mammals. Volcanoes, rainforests, cloud forests, lowland jungles, the Pacific coastline, and tranquil Caribbean beaches stretch across seven provinces. Thirty percent of the land is protected by national and private reserves, which harbor more than five percent of the world’s plant and animal species.

Costa Rica is Central America’s jewel. It’s an oasis of calm among its turbulent neighbors and an ecotourism heaven, making it one of the best places to experience the tropics with minimal impact.

Costa Rica boasts 20 national parks, 8 biological reserves, and a wealth of other protected areas to enchant those who marvel at the wonders of nature. It draws ecotourists from around the globe. Activities include horse-back riding, hiking mountainous paths in the cloud forests, guided bird-watching tours, volcanoes, scuba diving, snorkeling, sailing, canopy tours, golf and much more.

Ticos, as the people of Costa Rica are known, are famous for being hospitable, and are quite happy to live up to their reputation. They seem to be well aware that their country is a special place, and they go out of their way to accommodate their visitors, explaining things that might seem foreign to a foreigner, and helping make their stay as enjoyable as possible.

Northwest Costa Rica, the Guanacaste province is for the active soul, drawing visitors with its beaches, rivers, waterfalls and natural attractions. Forming the eastern border is a group of volcanoes that form the Cordillera de Guanacaste and Cordillera de Tilarבn.

From the mountains flow various rivers that roll down and form an alluvial plain drained by the Rio Tempisque, which empties into the Gulf de Nicoya. The name Guanacaste is derived from quahnacaztlan, a native word for the guanacaste tree, which is Costa Rica’s national tree.

With a new airport at Liberia, tourism to Guanacaste has boomed.

Costa Rica is a tropical country with two seasons – dry and wet. The Guanacaste Province is the driest region of the country with less than 55 inches of rain in the coastal areas.

Costa Rica occupies a territory of around 20,000 square miles in the southern part of Central America, and includes several small islands mostly on the Pacific side. It is much like the state of Florida with two long coastlines. The country is only about 200 miles long and 70 miles wide at the narrowest part.

Costa Rica is often compared to Switzerland and Hawaii because of its mountains and forests. Unlike many areas of Mexico, Central and South America, Costa Rica remains beautiful year-round. This is partly because it borders the Pacific Ocean on the west, the Atlantic Ocean on the east, and has a string of towering volcanoes on the Central Plateau. Combine all this and you have a unique tropical paradise with 11 climatic zones.

The high season in Costa Rica, December through April, is the dry season. The green season, which lasts from May to November, usually sees sunny mornings, with rain showers in late afternoon and evening. Overall, the climate is tropical, with an average temperature of 72°F (22°C). It can be much hotter along the coastal areas of the country, and much cooler in the mountains.

In the past, agricultural exports, like bananas and coffee, have been the staple of the Costa Rican economy. However, tourism has always played an ever-increasing role, and now it has become the dominant economic force. Ecotourism travel is the most preferred for expansion because it will provide a sustainable resource for tourism for generations of Costa Ricans to come. Costa Ricans love to show off their country, and sincerely welcome all travelers and vacationers.

San Jose, population over one million, is the capital and cultural heart of Costa Rica. Other major cities (by population) are: Alajuela, Cartago, Heredia, Liberia, Limףn and Puntarenas.
To enter the country you now must have a valid passport. Some countries now require your passport to be valid for at least 6 more months in order to leave your country to come here. Check with you embassy or airline. Costa Rica is on Central Standard Time, six hours behind Greenwich Mean Time and one hour behind EST in the States. It does not currently use daylight saving time.
No shots are required. The water in the major cities of Costa Rica is safe and most hotels and restaurants offer purified tap water. You might prefer to drink bottled water or seltzer to be sure. Costa Rica has excellent, low-cost medical care and well-qualified practitioners. Many North Americans come to Costa Rica for cosmetic surgery or dental work.

Costa Rica is a safe destination for 99% of its tourists, but it’s always a good idea to exercise caution whenever one travels. In general, the country has a low crime rate. In most cases, crimes are simple thievery - non-violent crimes of opportunity, so just exercise caution, as anywhere in the world.

Costa Rica has a reputation as one of the most stable and prosperous Latin American countries.

Costa Rica has something for everybody! Whatever your interests; eco-tourism trips bird watching, adventure tours, fishing, diving, rafting, canopy tours, golf, all inclusive hotels, vacation homes or just relaxing on an unspoiled tropical beach, you will find all of that and more in this tropical and secure paradise.]]>

Alghero is an old fishing town that has embraced the tourist industry with two very large arms. Sprawling out along the coast line Alghero offers the tourist both the opportunity of a beach holiday or a small city break. If you are looking to just relax and be somewhere that you can walk out the door and be on the beach you must stay in the Lido area. The Lido is Alghero’s own beach that runs all the way form Alghero to Fertilia, a small hamlet of Alghero. There are a number of hotels located in the area with sea views and private sun beds on the beach for residents. In the summer months the Lido comes to life with a number of bars, restaurants and pizzerias either on the beach or in the area and when the sun goes down you can find live music and parties on the beach.
For those who don’t want to be on the beach and want to experience a little more of the cultural side of Alghero there is the old town. Dating back to the 12th century the old town centre is truly something that must be seen to be fully appreciated. Have lunch along the battlements looking out to sea or take a stroll through the shops in the warren of cobble stone streets. There are a number of churches and historical places of interest to visit and many guided excursions to help make sure you do not miss anything.
The area of Alghero does of course spread beyond the boundaries of the city itself. There is Porto Conte with its natural wildlife reserve that spreads along the coast line in complete natural beauty. Reachable either by land or by boat excursion there is Capo Caccia and Neptune’s Grotto which is a must for any visitor to Alghero.
Away form the coast there is also much to see and do. Why not visit an Agriturismo, a working farm that has lodging and restaurant facilities serving up only produce from the farm.
As mentioned earlier Alghero is a Catalan town and although much of the cuisine available is Italian there are a few Catalan influences to be found. Why not try Paella Algherese or Catalan lobster (served cold with fresh tomato and onion). There are of course many Sardinian specialities to be tried such as roast suckling pig or Seadas, a pastry filled with Goats cheese and then dribbled with honey.
The climate in Alghero allows for a perfect vacation all year round. The summer months get up to about 35 degrees and throughout the day in the winter the temperature never drops much below 15 degrees.
A great place for children and adults alike, Alghero is definitely worth a visit.

For more information on Sardinia take a look at Sardinia - holiday guides]]>

As you are doing now, I trolled the Internet looking for that rare opportunity that would renew my vigor and let me brag to my domesticated friends. Pick coffee in the South Pacific? No, I already drink too much of it. Sail around the world on a container ship? No, I wasn’t ready for involuntary self-reflection. Before I knew it, I had agreed to move to a city in Siberia known as Chita. Yes, I was going to be a professor at Chita State Technical University through a program put together by Siberian Intercultural Bridges. Donate - they need the money: http://www.siberian-bridges.org.

So, what does one take for a one-year stay in Siberia? Why, I’ll just go buy a guidebook on Siberia and read the “what to take” section. My search of the local mega bookstore was disappointing. Shockingly, there were no guidebooks for Siberia. I was tempted to write a nasty letter to Lonely Planet and others until the bookstore clerk said, “You’re going WHERE?” When she started giving me the “you must be a criminal on the run” look, it was time to go.

Fortunately, I was able to find experienced travelers that could provide me with the details and items that were absolutely necessary. My girlfriend gave me the all-important electric blanket, a power converter and intimate details about what would happen to me if I should dare share it with another women. Grandpa gave me a World War II down coat that was about three sizes to big and made me look like a walking gopher. Family, friends and random strangers contributed further items and advice that would be critical to my survival.

Apparently rating my chances of survival at 50-50, friends and family put together a going away/never see him again party the day before I left. Of course, everyone brought Vodka as a humorous going away gift. The tide quickly turned, however, as all were asked/forced to try a “taste of Russia.” Many of the events of that night will remain forever sealed in antiquity, but it should suffice to say that the wife of one friend went into labor which made it a very fun night and subsequent day for him at the hospital. Few got off so easily.

Gigantic backpack, electric blanket, hangover and I headed to the airport the next morning.

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I should have paid more attention in math.

The itinerary for getting from San Diego to Chita read like this:

1. Fly from San Diego to Seattle.

2. Meet charity representative and other professor.

3. Fly from Seattle to Anchorage.

4. Fly from Anchorage on Aeroflot [gulp] to Khabarovsk, Russia.

5. Take train from Khabarovsk to Chita.

How bad could it be? Very, very, very bad. Did I mention “bad”?

Day 1

The flight to Seattle was no problem. I met Tom Dickinson, the founder of Siberian Intercultural Bridges, but we couldn’t find the other teacher. Turns out the flight to Anchorage wasn’t till the next morning, so it didn’t really appear to be a problem. Around midnight, our attitude changed and we had written off the teacher.

Day 2

At 8 a.m., Grea Waters from Kentucky appears out of the Seattle mist. We have our second professor and he speaks fluent Russian. This is a big relief as I had spent a lot of the previous evening contemplating my Russian skills. That is to say, I had none. I couldn’t even pronounce the name of city we would land in, Khabarovsk. I nearly had a panic attack during the night when I bolted up in bed upon the realization that I would have no way of knowing how to get to the train or when to get off. You see, the Russian language is based on the Cyrillic alphabet. There is no way to wing the Cyrillic alphabet. For example, the letter “y” is pronounced “ch” as in Charlie. I was in definite trouble. Would the rest of my life be spent riding around aimlessly on trains? The continued grinning of Tom Dickinson didn’t make me feel any better.

Our flight from Seattle to Anchorage was uneventful. Yes, we flew Alaska Airlines. While waiting for our connection in Anchorage, two thoughts kept running though my head. First, isn’t Aeroflot the airline with all the crashes? Second, how did a man from Kentucky become fluent in Russian? I mean, what about his accent? I was feeling less confident about my translator and decided to investigate. I started rubbing my temples when he told me that he had never been to Russia.

Alas, there was no turning back. Trust me, I tried.

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Day 3

Technically, it’s day two and half. I think. Time began to blur as we flew over the international date line. Wait, do we add a day or lose a day? I was so confused that I didn’t know whether to whine about losing or gaining a day in my life. Whatever day it was, we were flying along happily on Aeroflot.

I must say that communism had some things going for it. The average airline ticket in the U.S. should come with a shoehorn to help wedge you into the seat. God forbid if the person in front of you should put their seat back. Damn people in first class! Communism solved this problem nicely.

I wouldn’t say our plane was old, but the younger planes around our gate were crowding in to hear our plane tell stories about the first flight of the Wright brothers. Despite some interesting details [My God, does that look like a crack in the wing? That better not be duct tape!], the “maturity” of our flying bull had some distinct advantages.

A central concept of communism is that there is only one class of people, to wit, the workers. Theoretically, everyone gets the same treatment. The benefits of this theory are debatable, but I can tell you it stomps capitalism into the ground when it comes to flying.

The seating compartment on our plane was uniformly first class. There was plenty of space for one’s rump and legs. Each two-seat section was the equivalent of three seats on a U.S. airline. It was at least two feet to the seat in front of me. Those that fly a lot will understand as I quietly shed a tear in memory of that flight. Dozing comfortably, I didn’t give a damn if the wings fell off. At least we were going in style!

Our flight consisted of about 100 people. Of these, 90 percent were Russians. Grae and I counted as two and the remaining five or so people were religious volunteers going to convert the godless masses. They appeared to be having no luck on the plane, but Grae and I were able to strike up a few conversations.

I must say that the Russians on the plane were extremely nice and very honest. While honesty is generally a good thing, their frankness made me a bit uncomfortable. First, there was a clear consensus that we were out of our mind for agreeing to go to Chita. “You are going WHERE?!” was followed by a lot of whispering between Russians and bulging eyes. Since I doubted the pilot would be willing to turn the plane around, this wasn’t particularly comforting.

Our conversations raised an additional problem regarding the definition of “fluent”. In my mind, being fluent in a language meant that one could get directions, tell boring stories, etc., in the language in question. It quickly became clear that Grae’s definition of “fluent” was something less. This was verified when he turned to me and said, “Man, I’ve forgotten a lot.”

Great. Khabarovsk was only a few hours a way.

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Day 3 [Still]

As I lounged in my huge Aeroflot seat, the stewardess announced that we would be arriving in Khabarovsk in the next 30 minutes. Khabarovsk is located in the deep south of the far east of Russia on the border with China. It is the home of the Far East Military of Russia and is the largest city east of Lake Baikal. I was primarily interested in how hard it would be to find a hot shower.

Well, this was it, the first day of my year in Siberia. I had my phrase book, electric blanket, traveler’s checks and a solid rush of adrenaline. Of course, I had never actually taught a class before, but I would deal with that later.

We descended out of the clouds into a rainstorm. The view was still incredible. We were flying into a flat valley surrounded by snow-capped mountains. Everything was a deep green. A few cabins could be seen on the ground.

There was a very clear view of the airport as we banked through the valley to approach from the West. Umm, aren’t airports usually lit up? This one looked like a ghost town. The runways looked fine, but there were no lights in the buildings. There appeared to be a dearth of activity on the ground. I had never backpacked from a plane to the airport, but maybe this was the way it was done. When in Rome…

Finishing off an incredible flight, our Russian pilot set us down with a light touch. As we taxied up to the airport, I could only think that if the rest of Russia was as good as the flight, it was going to be a great year.

Blink, blink, blink…lights started coming on in the terminal! Despite being no more than 50 feet from it, we were herded onto a transport. We started, did a wide u-turn and stopped at the gate. All I could think of was “The Gods Must Be Crazy.”

“The Gods Must Be Crazy” was a hilarious movie released in the eighties [no jokes about my age]. The first scenes of the movie are biting satires of our modern way of life versus the indigenous tribes of Africa. In one scene, a woman gets into her car, backs down to the end of her driveway and puts a letter in the mailbox. Ah, progress! The journey from the plane to the airport couldn’t have been much longer.

The airport terminal was pretty industrial. That is to say, no effort was made to sell you fast food, booze, ice cream, “Khabarovsk Hard Rock Cafי” shirts or duty-free crap you really didn’t need. Frankly, it was a relief.

Russian customs worked pretty much the same way as customs at any airport. You grabbed your bags, bummed pens off of strangers to fill out forms and stood in long line with other tired travelers. Eventually, you got to the front of the line and tried to see how the person standing eight feet in front of you did it.

Unfortunately, my turn was also my first chance to experience the Russian language. I passed my passport, custom forms and visa through the little window. I also tried an innocent smile, which worked about as well as smiling at an IRS agent. Everything went smoothly until the customs agent started speaking rapidly and pointing at my customs form. Something was wrong, but I hadn’t a clue as to what. I turned to Grae with a quizzical look and he came forward to interpret.

All international travelers quickly learn a fundamental rule. The “wait here” line at customs is sacred. To prematurely cross the line is to commit an act of war. Russian customs was no different. Grae was loudly instructed to get behind the line and wait his turn. The customs agent then gave me a stern lecture. To this day, I can’t tell you if he was discussing my forms or the weather, but the tone was definitely stern. The lecture was capped by the universal customs agent expression known as “stupid foreigner…why did I take this job…I really wanted to be a painter…”

Eventually, the issue with the form was resolved. I would like to tell you that I took an active role in this, but I basically stood there while the agent grumbled and aggressively stamped the documents. I did actively pray that the stamp wouldn’t explode, but that was about it. Grae moved through customs without incident and we walked out into the cool, wet air of Khabarovsk, Russia.

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Khabarovsk

Khabarovsk is an amazing city. Museums with works from Picasso, Rembrandt and other masters. A bustling downtown area with cafes, a lively music scene and architectural triumphs. Then again, maybe not. We were far more interested in finding a hotel with hot water and never ventured into the city.

Outside of the airport, we were a bit flummoxed by the fact there appeared to be no taxis. We quickly learned that practically any Russian with a car is also a taxi for hire. After 5 minutes of egging each other on, Grae made taxi arrangements and we were off. Apparently taking in out disheveled appearance after 3 days of traveling, our driver suggested the Intourist hotel. We readily agreed.

During communism, Intourist hotels were set up for exclusive use by foreigners. Ours was fairly nice and, importantly, had showers with copious amounts of hot water. You can see a picture at http://www.lodging.ru/hotels/intouristkhab.asp. After having returned to humanity with one of the best showers of my life, it was time to brush up on my Russian skills.

I am a huge fan of ice hockey. During the eighties and nineties, many of the best players were Russians. In interviews, they almost always talked about learning English by watching television. If it worked for them, it would work for me. Not exactly.

As Grae showered, I flipped through the eight available channels. Sitcoms were a non-starter, but I eventually found a news channel. I see the images. I know what the images are. I hear the words being spoken by the reporters. I have absolutely no idea of what words go with what images. Okay, let’s back up. What words do they use over and over? Damn, do they have to talk so fast? After 30 minutes, I have learned nothing, nada, zippo. My respect for Russians playing in the NHL has never been higher.

Might as well sleep on it. Yes, day three of the trip was finally done. My original prediction of a 2-day trip was out the window. Still, we were in Russia, so how much longer could it take? Pull out a map and take a look at the country. It is twice the size of the U.S.

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Day 4!

If you’ve been reading this series on NomadJournalTrips.com, you know my original travel estimate was 2 ½ days from San Diego to Chita, Russia. Well, day 4 has arrived and I am just getting on the train. This horrible time estimate is evidence of a poor math education. I blame the American education system!

I never could figure out those math hypotheticals, “If a train is going south at “x” speed and a cyclist is going north at “x” speed, when will they meet?” When are they going to meet? More like, “What the heck is cyclist going to look like WHEN they meet?” What about his family, not to mention the nightmares suffered by the conductor. I mean, really, who can do math under such circumstances?

Stairs…Evil, Evil Stairs

At the Intourist hotel, we arranged for train tickets to Chita. By we, I mean my friend Grae did everything. For $27, “we” had arranged a private berth and all was good. With a good nights sleep, we headed down from the room and out into the…pouring rain. A local was kind enough to give us a ride to the train station and all seemed good. After a bit of pointing, extreme facial expressions and so on, we discovered our train was running about an hour slow. We hunkered down and did a bit of people watching.

As we sat, I pondered my luggage. I had a large hiking backpack and something I called “the lump.” The lump was an extremely large duffle bag with tiny wheels on one-end and plastic bars running down the flat side/bottom. In theory, you could roll it or drag it anywhere. Mine was black, wet and weighed about 70 pounds. Before you snicker, keep in mind I was going to Siberia for a year. What would you take? Still, I had an uneasy feeling, but couldn’t really figure out why.

Our hour was up and it was time to head to the track platform. Like many European train stations, one had to actually walk down stairs, through a tunnel and then back up stairs to get to your platform. This is not the way it works in San Diego. It also doesn’t rain in San Diego. Rain, 70 pound bag on wheels, plastic bars, stairs…I think you get the picture.

The stairs were packed as I shuffled forward pulling the lump behind me. You would be proud. I made the first flight without maiming anyone or being slapped. Just as I stepped down the second flight, “thou was nudgeth from behind.”

Time slowed.

The lump hit me in the back of the knees. I fell back onto the lump. In a transformation beyond my primitive understanding of quantum physics, the lump became a high performance bobsled. Down I went.

Still in slow motion, I couldn’t help but notice the agility of the Russians in the stairwell. Some jumped up an ornamental shelf running down the stairs. Overweight individuals sucked it up and suddenly became thin. Miraculously, not one soul was hit on my way to the bottom. My landing was uneventful, which is to say there wasn’t a loud smack on the wall at the bottom of the stairs.

I jumped up and turned to see if anyone was injured. There was total silence. Faces just stared back at me. Apparently, the only thing injured was my ego and skin, which was turning a dark shade of red. Well, I like to make an impression! I vehemently prayed that none of them were going to Chita.

Everyone started moving again and not a word was said. Alas, the lump was not so accommodating when it came to climbing up the stairs on the other end of the tunnel.

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A Train To Nowhere?

In deciding to travel to Chita, Siberia, I had originally estimated a travel time of three days. Okay, maybe three at the outside figuring time changes and such.

As day 4 of the trip headed into the afternoon, I was finally on the train that would take me to Chita and figured I would be there in a day or so. I would finally get to see the beautiful and extreme landscape of Russia. To make things even better, I would get to brag to my friends about riding on the famous Trans-Siberian railway. This was going to be great. As is often the case with anticipated events, reality threw an ugly wrench in the proceedings.

Stop…Go…Stop…Go

In California, there are two types of trains you can take. The first is an express train that pretty much takes you from point A to point B with few stops in between. For those traveling shorter distances, there is a “slow train” that stops at every little town and station. In Russia, we were clearly on the slow train.

As we pulled out of the train station in Khabarovsk, anticipation was in the air. The train slowly gained speed. We stared out the window as the city started to pass at an increasing pace. After about 5 minutes, we stared out the window as the city started to pass at a DECREASING pace. After a few more minutes, we stopped at another train station.

Ah, there are probably two big stations in the city and it makes sense to pick up everyone for the trip across the country. Soon enough, the whistle blew and off we went again. Smiles spread across our face. These disappeared roughly 5 minutes later as we stopped again.

My god, how many train stations are there in this city? I can tell you there are at least 5 since we stopped at that many. With time spent sitting in each little train station, an hour had passed and we weren’t even out of the city!

As I stood at a window in the hall, a Russian man heard me muttering and decided to practice his English. We chatted. I remarked on the number of stops. He grimaced and told me the trip to Chita would take 3 plus days. I grimaced. And nearly cried like a small child. Three days in a train compartment no bigger than a closet. Oh, my.

Then he told me the food car on the train was closed for the trip. Since this is a clean web site, I can’t print the words I uttered at that moment. Just picture the reaction of Homer Simpson on learning there is no more beer in Springfield.

My new Russian friend smiled and said, “What does that word mean? We never learned that.”

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