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iBestTravel
Jul 30, 2017 • 9 min read
Given the number of travellers on the move these days, you might be forgiven for thinking that there is little left to discover. However, our world still holds captivating, forgotten corners that the crowds are yet to reach, and may never reach. Consequently, these hidden gems offer an opportunity for unique travel experiences.
In this excerpt from iBestTravel’s Secret Marvels of the World, four writers recount their experiences of such little-known yet astounding destinations.
Amy Balfour visits the Racetrack Playa, California
As my Jeep Liberty slammed over the washboard ruts of Racetrack Road in Death Valley National Park, I tried to keep my bones from rattling right out of my body. With miles of washboard ahead and empty desert all around, I felt vulnerable and alone. Nevertheless, that was the point of this adventure.
My goal? Observing the mysterious moving rocks of the Racetrack Playa, a dry lake-bed in the northern wilds of the park. At the time, I was living in Los Angeles, trying to break in as a screenwriter. Success was elusive, which prompted me to seek out a series of challenging outdoor adventures. Such mini-successes would help keep me motivated.
However, I met Racetrack Road—a daunting 20-mile unpaved journey in a desert valley framed by dark mountains. The park even recommends a 4WD for this trip. Moreover, a spare tire is advisable, given the lack of cell phone coverage. And did I mention that infamous figures like Charles Manson and his followers once lurked in the southern reaches of Death Valley? Misfits and malcontents have never been foreign to this desolate landscape.
Finally, Teakettle Junction appeared, a lonely mileage marker often draped in tea kettles, indicating that the playa was just six miles ahead. Anticipation quickly overcame my initial fears as I continued driving. After reaching the south-playa parking area, I excitedly left the Jeep and approached the lakebed.
Boulders adorned the parched earth before me, leaving trails carved into the dirt. How did these rocks move? Some weighed more than 600 pounds, prompting decades of perplexity among observers. Could it be aliens? Supernatural forces? Unusual weather? Scientists unraveled this mystery in 2013—during winter, a thin layer of ice occasionally forms over the playa. As the ice warms, it cracks apart, and the wind drives these ice patches into the rocks that have tumbled from surrounding mountains, effectively pushing them across the slick surface of the lakebed.
I walked, took pictures, and felt mesmerized by the uniqueness of the place. However, as I realized I had a long journey back, I didn’t linger for too long. My return was bumpy, yet exhilarating. Accomplishing my goal was rewarding, and witnessing something so rare filled me with a renewed sense of wonder. Perhaps there is still magic in the world. Although the mystery has been solved, the stark beauty of the setting and the rarity of the phenomenon continue to captivate visitors.
The boulders are located at the southern end of the playa. Avoid walking across the playa when it is wet, and do not drive or cycle across it at any time. The western border of the park is approximately 370km from Los Angeles.
Joe Bindloss visits Haw Par Villa, Singapore
When Hercules ventured to the underworld to capture the demon dog Cerberus, he faced ghosts and monsters. However, visiting the underworld in Singapore required much less effort. All that was necessary was to disembark from the Mass Rapid Transport train, stroll across Pasir Panjang Road, and step into a garden of surrealism.
Haw Par Villa, a unique sculpture garden created by eccentric brothers Aw Boon Haw and Aw Boon Par (known for inventing Tiger Balm), is one of the world’s most surreal tourist attractions. Spanning 3.2 hectares of prime Singapore real estate and coated in countless primary-coloured paints, it houses over a thousand statues depicting demons and deities from Chinese and Buddhist mythology. Many are arranged in gruesome dioramas, serving as cautionary tales against evil deeds.
I had encountered extraordinary visions of the afterlife during my travels, from Hieronymus Bosch’s nightmares at Madrid’s Museo del Prado to the concrete pumpkin from hell at Laos’ Xieng Khuan Buddha Park. However, Haw Par Villa intrigued me the most. The vibrant and hallucinogenic colours I had seen in pictures before visiting exerted a magnetic pull on my imagination.
Crossing through the seemingly innocent Chinese gates, I was unprepared for the bizarre whimsy that awaited on the winding walkways. I spotted a crab with a man’s head and a girl with a snail’s body. Nearby, the damned writhed in agony as they were crushed beneath grindstones and impaled on spikes, drenched in vivid red paint as if they were part of an early Hammer horror film.
The lack of attendants and the scarcity of visitors, which has brought the gardens close to closure on more than one occasion, only amplified the surreal feeling of being transported into a freakish parallel universe.
Surprisingly, it wasn’t all doom and gloom. For every gruesome demon, there was an uplifting scene of Buddhist meditation or a magnificent Chinese dragon comparable in size to a subway train. For most guests, it serves as an enthralling introduction to the vibrant world of Chinese and Buddhist mythology. Despite the inconsistent signage, the underlying themes—do bad deeds, face dire consequences—cross cultural barriers.
The sculpture park is open daily from 9am to 7pm. MRT trains run regularly to Haw Par Villa station.
Gregor Clark visits Stromboli, Italy
Sitting astride the volcanic arc between Italy’s Mt Vesuvius and Sicily’s Mt Etna, the hyperactive island of Stromboli has captivated human imaginations for centuries. Ancient sailors dubbed it the ‘lighthouse of the Mediterranean’ due to its constant eruptions. The volcano-lover in me had long felt a profound attraction to this perfect cone, adrift in isolation at the eastern edge of the Aeolian archipelago. Therefore, on a sunny mid-May afternoon, with a full moon forecasted, I decided to embark on a visit. My small group set off at 4:30 pm from San Vincenzo church. A steady climb through vibrant yellow broom and wild capers took us above the tree line, offering stunning views of the whitewashed Stromboli village against the sparkling Mediterranean. Above us, a zigzag line of fellow hikers tried to conquer the summit.
Two hours later, we arrived at the otherworldly landscape of Stromboli’s summit: smoking craters contrasted against a brilliant twilight sky. The setting sun traced an enormous upside-down exclamation mark across the sea. For the next 60 minutes, bundled against the cold, we enjoyed front-row seats to a volcano’s fireworks. From our exhilarating perch above the craters, we marveled at the hissing steam mixed with vertical jets of fire, thunderous booms, and the pitter-patter of sizzling rocks tumbling down the slopes. As darkness enveloped us, the eruptions transformed from red-flecked plumes of grey smoke to vivid fountains of red-orange light—each spectacle unique and incredibly beautiful.
What goes up must come down. Eventually, our headlamp-clad group carefully descended onto Stromboli’s eastern slope, navigating the talus-strewn wasteland while the moonlit sea stretched before us, twinkling towards Italy’s mainland.
Once was not enough. The allure of the mountain had ensnared my spirit, compelling me to linger. At dusk the following night, I hopped on a boat to witness the eruptions from the sea. Additionally, before dawn the day after, I hiked up to the Sciara del Fuoco, the desolate grey expanse below Stromboli’s craters, where you can watch molten rocks race down the slopes and crash into the Mediterranean, 900m below. A decade later, my obsession remains; I have returned almost every year since, and Stromboli’s enchantment shows no signs of fading.
Access Stromboli daily by hydrofoil from Milazzo (Sicily) or twice-weekly ferry from Naples. Note that the summit is off-limits to children under 7 years old.
Ray Bartlett visits Hashima, Japan
As the boat departs from Nagasaki Port, bound for the ‘Ghost Island’ of Hashima, I find it challenging to maintain my composure. I continuously scan the horizon for the striking ship-like silhouette that gives this place its nickname: Battleship Island. We leave the shoreline behind, passing boats, barges, and uninhabited small islands. Suddenly, someone exclaims: ‘There it is!’ and indeed, the island resembles a naval warship, faded yet unmistakable against the azure sky.
Visiting Hashima had long been on my bucket list, first while living in Japan during the ’90s, then again as images of this wasteland city began circulating in popular culture. Most notably, it served as the villain’s lair in the 2012 James Bond film, Skyfall.
Ironically, Hashima was once the most densely populated place in Japan, owned by a coal company. However, following the coal mine’s closure in 1974, it took merely four months for the island to slip into abandonment. Dormitories, equipment, schools, clinics, and temples stand as reminders of a bygone era, left behind in a post-apocalyptic dream. Presently, crumbling buildings unveil forgotten dolls, televisions, and kitchen appliances.
Vine-covered alleyways are scattered with the rubble of evocative decay. As we arrive and step onto walkways, I feel like I’m entering a realm of science fiction. Rusted iron spikes twist into claw-like fingers while the mine shaft resembles a gaping mouth. I can almost envision ghosts of miners emerging from the depths, blackened from top to bottom.
We stop at a safe distance from the structures, mindful of the risk of sudden collapses. The group, primarily Japanese tourists, falls silent, solemn in the presence of history. I envision spending a night on the island, observing the sun’s rays soaking into the concrete. The desolation is awe-inspiring, devoid of not only human life but any life at all. I struggle to locate a single seagull in the sky.
As we head back to the boat, I reflect on the Inca, the Maya, the Anasazi, the Egyptian Pharaohs. Will modern metropolises like Tokyo, New York, and Paris face a similar fate someday? Who lived here? Future generations will ponder as they traverse these marked paths. What led to their departure? When the boat finally docks, the crowds around me seem all the more precious, vulnerable, and transient. It’s an impression that lingers long after.
Access is exclusively through guided tours from Nagasaki’s port; tours operate once or twice daily. For more information, see gunkanjima-concierge.com.
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