By Gail Carter

We glided through the sharp blue water of Lake Titicaca on a small motorboat. Our guide Julio announced that the Uros Islands lay just ahead. My mind pictured a stereotypical sandy beach, but this island looked more like a flattened pile of brown straw. I stepped off the boat. The first thing I noticed was that the ground felt weird to walk on -- it was soft, a little squishy and a bit spongy.

By Cris Magnino

When most people mention Colorado, they conjure up images of vast ski resorts, snow-covered peaks, crystal clear streams, remnants of a Gold Rush past, and the lush alpine meadows of the Rocky Mountains. However, hidden away in the southern part of the state is the desert oasis of the Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve. Seeming totally out of place at the edge of the snow-covered Rockies lay these dunes of pure golden sand.

By Cathleen McKay

Shocking, but true… there are indeed waterfalls other than the man-made wonders on the Strip. This must be Las Vegas’ best kept secret. I found myself lounging on a rock at stream’s edge, munching on cheese and veggies, and surrounded by the unmistakable whoosh of a cascading waterfall. Three horseback riders arrived, tethering their steeds to a nearby bush and completing the pastoral setting.

It’s not only the peaceful surroundings that make Standley Chasm an ideal place for a family walk. It’s the fact that kids can climb, jump, chase, hide, seek, investigate, discover and appreciate the attraction of its wild beauty while parents do much the same thing, but at a more, well... ‘parental’ pace.

Wearing sturdy walking shoes and carrying plenty of water are essential. The pleasure of a family outing in this particular corner of the Australian outback, only 47 km west of Alice Springs via sealed roads, is that adults can become kids again, and kids can (and do!) guide the adults. Adults of average fitness and kids age 5 and up will enjoy the exhilarating exertion of this walk.

By Heather Rath

The smell of fresh blood mingled with red dust wafts up my nose. As if to ward off the unwelcome stench, I close my eyes and begin to slow down my breathing.

This is my first ever bullfight in Mérida, Mexico and I am not sure I want to be here. As we wind our way into the stands at plaza de toros, pushing through polite but determined animal activists who carry signs to abolish bullfighting, I realize not all Mexicans love this spectacle. Despite the opposition, there is a part of me that wants to experience this slice of Mexican culture of Spanish origin. I want to compare it with my memory of Ernest Hemingway’s account of the corrida de toros in Death in the Afternoon.