Intrepid has just launched its first ever book: The Intrepid List.
Packed with 100 uncommon travel experiences, this collection of stories from our network of Intrepid staffers and writers is no bucket list. It’s an invitation to see the world from a new perspective, connect with locals in different ways and find wonder in unexpected places.
It looks pretty swish on a coffee table, too. Here’s a sample of what’s inside.
Global corporate comms manager Lucy Siebert has an unforgettable encounter in Timor-Leste
We were up at 4 am – it was a chilly start at 1392m (4500ft) above sea level, but there was no time for coffee – even though we were in the heart of Timor-Leste’s subtropical highlands and the coffee here is among the best in the world.
Instead, our group of seven dashed across the main street of Maubisse and drowsily heaved ourselves into two hardy Troopy 4x4s. ‘Hurry,’ our tour leader Anastacio Madeira urged us. We were in a race against not only dawn – but also the ancestral spirits, who loom large over life in Timor-Leste.
We had been invited to a cultural ceremony that had only previously been experienced by two other groups of visitors – but we needed to get to the remote mountain village before dawn. Forty-five minutes of spine-cracking, bouncing ascents in the Troopys and we reached the summit. I could smell smoky fires and could just make out some shapes of the village buildings. But it was the eery sounds that meandered through the darkness that grabbed my attention: a yowl, bells jingling, gongs being beaten, singing, a horn being blown.
As a buttery pre-dawn light cast a gentle glow over the hills, I saw a group of about 20 figures making their way towards us – silhouettes of fine feathered headdresses and ceremonial tais fabrics. The villagers sang and swayed as they greeted us, grasping our hands and pulling us into a circle where we joined the rhythmic dancing – kicking one foot in front of the other – for who knows how long. Time stood still. We danced, we laughed and each visitor made an offering to the ancestors. I offered a single cigarette on the timber altar. More dancing, more gongs, more celebrations.
We realised the sun had risen – dawn had passed, and Anastacio declared we were all family now. We could return anytime – the villagers will remember us, he said. In that moment in time, an experience shared with so few others, I knew that I too would remember the villagers forever.
Travel writer Cristian Bonetto makes a splash in sustainable Copenhagen
My Danish mate Mette still laughs about our first swim together at Copenhagen’s Islands Brygge Harbour Bath. The city’s harbour was a toxic, rubbish-strewn soup a few years earlier. And then there we were, Mette bobbing happily in its navy-blue depths, me looking unconvinced by the water’s edge. I should have known better. The water was ridiculously pristine, bracing and utterly liberating. Copenhagen has respected nature, and on that warm July afternoon, it was rewarding us.
But then, Copenhagen has a knack for making sustainability ridiculously fun. You can feel it cycling the orange curves of Cykelslengen (The Bicycle Snake), trampolining atop multilevel carpark Konditaget Lüders or revamping your wardrobe at unisex Henrik Vibskov Boutique. This is my favourite boutique in the city, stocked with some of Denmark’s edgiest, most idiosyncratic streetwear. After all, nothing says ‘Copenhagen’ quite like tearing down CopenHill in a killer Vibskov flying hoodie.
Technically, CopenHill is not a hill but the world’s cleanest waste-to-energy power plant. The ‘Hill’ part refers to its giant sloping roof, designed to ski down or hike up. Danish architect Bjalke Ingels calls it ‘hedonistic sustainability’. I call it brilliantly bonkers.
In the warmer months, an afternoon at CopenHill is usually followed by a carefree cycle north to Reffen, a harbourside street-food village big on recycling, food-waste minimisation and organic, local ingredients. I grabbed the Mikkeller beers while Mette found the deckchairs. DJs were spinning, evening sunshine on our faces – it was bliss.
Intrepid staffer Rowan Waters experiences an elephant traffic jam in Botswana
Have you ever been on a mokoro in the Okavango Delta?
A mokoro is a fibreglass canoe – they’re no longer carved from wood for sustainability reasons – propelled by a ‘poler’ who generates speed by pushing off the bottom of the narrow channel.
We went out on the mokoro on our last morning in the delta. We saw a crocodile from only a few feet away, mouth wide open, posing dead still for a selfie. We disembarked for a walk and watched hippopotamuses run, snort and challenge each other in the shallows. Then we headed back to our mokoros, ready to make the leisurely float back to camp before we were due to fly out from the dirt runway.
Walking slowly and chatting quietly we spotted a herd of impala on the edge of the tree line. Something was off, they were more skittish than normal. An elephant emerged from the trees, then another elephant, and another. Approximately 30 elephants were now walking the plains, heading straight for the water in front of our mokoros. We looked at each other with amazement, smiling and giggling like school children.
‘Behind me now!’ our usually smiley guide urged in a stern, quiet voice as we realised the seriousness of the situation. He advised us to quicken our pace as he took a small device from his pocket that could emit a loud bang imitating a gunshot –it was our only protection.
With the elephants walking to the water and that water channel being our ticket home, we needed to get there before they did. To my adventurous delight, the elephants won the foot race, and we were forced to wait in the mokoros as they drank from the water in front of us.
At our low height, inches above the waterline, the elephants were huge as they drank and cooled off. We were close enough to see the flies on their backs. While we watched in amazement, another elephant came out from the tree line – a male bull with ivory white tusks, walking in a nonchalant slow rhythm. I quietly chuckled in excitement from my vantage point on the mokoro.
Want to keep reading? Find out more about The Intrepid List and get your hands on a copy while they’re hot off the press.
