One of the best things I ever did for my running was to visit Ethiopia. My first trip to Sululta, a rural town 10 kilometers outside Addis Ababa, was in 2012, midway during my . For two months, I fell hard for the rugged landscape, intense sunshine, flavorful food, and most of all, running culture and community. It took a while for me to loosen my grip on the approach I鈥檇 always known, deeply ingrained as it was. But once I learned to follow the lead of the locals and embrace the way they trained, rested, and generally approached running, my perspective started to shift. That leg of my trip flew by faster than I鈥檇 have liked, and the day I left, I was already dreaming about my return.

Four years later, I found myself on a 36-hour journey back to East Africa, eager to reclaim the spirit and attitude that had won me over on my first visit. Despite my time away, it didn鈥檛 take long to slip back into a nice rhythm in the Sululta eucalyptus groves and on the meandering paths of Mount Entoto. I also had an easier time identifying what about the Ethiopian running tradition 鈥� and especially the mindsets that make it unique 鈥� had attracted me in the first place.

Here are three of the mental shifts that rubbed off on me in Ethiopia, and left a lasting impression on my relationship with running:

1) Effort Over Optics

We U.S. runners love our metrics. Whether it鈥檚 miles, pace, splits, heart rate, or vertical gain 鈥� if we can measure it, we often do. I consider myself pretty minimal in the data department, opting for a simple Timex over a GPS watch for most runs. But then again, I鈥檝e been keeping detailed for nearly 16 years 鈥� so numbers and minutia clearly carry weight.

I found things to be different in Ethiopia. Many runners didn鈥檛 wear watches, and the ones who did weren鈥檛 glued to theirs like I tend to be during hard efforts. I don鈥檛 remember any conversations about mileage or minutes; given the terrain they run on and serpentine paths they forge, it would have been hard to put a number on distance or elevation anyways.

Running with faster, but less metric-driven athletes, convinced me once and for all that effort matters more than optics. I haven鈥檛 since given up tracking weekly volume or worrying about splits in workouts, but I do try to let my body and effort levels take the reins more often.

This mentally extends to the renowned African easy days. It鈥檚 tempting to run quick whenever possible: easy runs, warmups, between-interval jogs, and more. It鈥檚 efficient and it feels like we鈥檙e making gains every day. But running borderline hard every day is not only unsustainable, it compromises how hard the truly hard days can be.

The seriousness with which my Ethiopian training partners took their recovery was impressive. For starters, most runners took one day a week completely off, a practice that鈥檚 not common among U.S. pros. On top of that, they take easy runs to another level. We鈥檇 often start out with a short walk and slowly work our way up to a jog. Sometimes we鈥檇 end at a decent clip, but just as often, we鈥檇 cover ground as leisurely as possible while still technically running. My patience was definitely tested at first, but once I bought in, my legs started bouncing back quicker than before. My fitness, as I鈥檇 feared, didn鈥檛 suffer a bit.

I learned by doing that occasional super slow running does not make super slow runners. When sprinkled throughout an intense training program, true easy days go far. Now, I rarely wear a watch on my recovery days, and I鈥檒l often run with a friend or two who I trust to hold me back.

2) 鈥淲hy Not Me?鈥�

Between social media, websites like LetsRun, and the running rumor mill, it doesn鈥檛 take much work to size up a field beforehand, determine roughly where you stack up, and show up to race with a pretty good guess about how it鈥檒l shake out. I鈥檓 definitely guilty, and it鈥檚 not a very fun or effective way to race.

The races I saw in Ethiopia didn鈥檛 unfold so expectedly. Whether it was the national cross-country championship or the Great Ethiopian Run 10K road race, I was always startled by how many competitors started out like bats out of hell, mixing it up with international stars and paying no mind to the fact that they had nowhere near the credentials or experience. The slightest chance that that day might be their day was reason enough to chance it.

The fact that most of those bold runners didn鈥檛 last up front isn鈥檛 the point. The 鈥渨hy not me鈥� mentality is one that I admire and am still working on. Taking risks doesn鈥檛 always pay off, but by leaving all possible outcomes on the table, the odds of a golden performance shoot up.

3) Low Maintenance/No Excuses

In college, I was particular about many aspects of my running because I could be. I ate the same lunch before every afternoon workout (a bagel with peanut butter, a banana, and honey), had an endless supply of fresh shoes and breathable clothes, and got to decide where, when, and how fast to run my non-workout runs.

My time in Sululta, and the people I ran with, made me rethink how much all of that matters. A close friend there didn鈥檛 own a sports bra until I gave her one of mine. A runner I met on Mount Entoto trained in shoes so tattered the uppers were hanging on by threads, constantly letting rocks in. I don鈥檛 recall any locals showing up for a workout with a gel packet or sports drink. And on any given day, we ran wherever and for as long as the person leading the run wanted to. This is not to say that such things wouldn鈥檛 have been welcomed or beneficial 鈥� only that they didn鈥檛 interfere with good, consistent training, or provide fodder for excuses.

It鈥檚 easy to think that everything has to be just so in order for us to be at our best. As I saw over and over in Ethiopia, that鈥檚 simply not true. There will always be an excuse if we鈥檙e looking for one, but when we鈥檙e prepared to give our all no matter the situation, excuses have no place.

—

Becky Wade is a 2:30 marathoner and author of听the memoir听.

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If you want to become the best runner you can be, you need to obey certain rules. For example, you need to run frequently, do some longer runs, gradually increase your training load from week to week, do some faster runs, and sprinkle in occasional recovery days and weeks. To say that there is only one right way to train, however, would be an overstatement. The unbreakable rules of training do no more than establish a broad framework within which each individual runner can make different choices based on preferences and other factors without sacrificing performance.

Recent studies have demonstrated that there is indeed more than one way to skin a cat, so to speak, in endurance training. led by 脴ystein Sylta of the University of Agder and published in Medicine and Science in Sports and Exercise investigated the effects of three different ways of scheduling high-intensity interval workouts on fitness and performance in cyclists. For 12 weeks, one group started with longer intervals and moved toward shorter, faster intervals, a second group did the opposite, and a third group mixed them all together. All three groups improved by equal amounts, leading the researchers to conclude, 鈥淭his study suggests that organizing different interval sessions in a specific periodized mesocycle order or in a mixed distribution during a 12-wk training period has little or no effect on training adaptation when the overall training load is the same.鈥�

Real-world evidence that there is more than one effective way to approach the sport of running comes from cross-cultural comparisons. Japan鈥檚 top runners, for example, do a lot of things differently than North America鈥檚 top runners. And then there鈥檚 Ethiopia, a nation that produces more winners than any other except Kenya, but hasn鈥檛 gotten nearly as much attention, in part because of a language barrier (English is much less widely spoken there) and in part because of a history of political volatility in that nation. But the secrets to Ethiopia鈥檚 running success became a little less secret with the recent publication of Scottish runner and anthropologist Michael Crawley鈥檚 book .

A very good runner (1:06 half-marathon PB) in his own right, Crawley spent 15 months in Addis Ababa in 2015 and 2016 doing research for a doctoral thesis on Ethiopia鈥檚 elite running culture, during which time he learned to speak fluent Amharic, finished dead last in the Ethiopian National Cross Country Championships, and learned a lot about how Ethiopia鈥檚 top young runners approach the sport. These runners did a lot of things differently than Crawley was accustomed to, but I鈥檒l highlight three distinctively Ethiopian running practices here.

How Ethiopians Train Differently

The first is what I will describe as environment-driven periodization. Unlike runners in many other places, Crawley鈥檚 training partners considered where they ran before they considered how they ran. For those who competed mainly in road races, the training process was divided into three phases, each centered in a different environment. As Crawley described it in reference to one athlete, 鈥淔irst he spends ten days in the forest to get strong, then he runs on the coroconch [gravel] road, and finally he hones his speed on the asphalt. It is a process . . . of gradual adaptation. First you get used to the surface and then you get used to the speed.鈥�

Another feature of Ethiopian run training that took some getting used to for Crawley was that their easy runs were seldom entirely easy. While the runs he did with the likes of 2:06 marathoner Tsedat Ayana often started at an almost comically pedestrian pace, they seldom ended there. 鈥淚n Ethiopia,鈥� Crawley writes, 鈥渁n [easy] run is more likely to consist of an opening kilometre in eight minutes and a final kilometre well under four, followed by a series of strides culminating in a flat-out sprint and a series of increasingly ambitious plyometric exercises.”

Perhaps the most surprising feature of the Ethiopian approach to running, for Crawley, was its flouting of conventional boundaries of space and time. On many occasions, he ran with athletes who ignored a perfectly good trail in favor of improvising a more difficult route through a forest or up a mountain. Nor did Crawley鈥檚 Ethiopian training partners stick to any particular daily routine, dragging him out of bed in the middle of the night to run on more than one occasion. 鈥淩unning is essentially an option at all hours of the day and night,鈥� he writes.

Variations on the Same Principles

As interesting as these idiosyncrasies of the Ethiopian running culture are (and there are others), I think it鈥檚 easy to make too much of them. To read Out of Thin Air and come away thinking that anything goes in run training, or that Ethiopia鈥檚 runners somehow succeed despite how they approach the sport, is to have gleaned the wrong lesson. Indeed, I learned just as much about what every runner must do in training to be successful as I did about how much latitude is afforded by the unbreakable rules of effective run training.

Let鈥檚 reconsider environment-driven periodization. As quirky as this practice may seem on the surface, in substance it is little different from how runners in other countries build fitness. Starting off with an initial phase of forest running that forces runners to keep the intensity low while building strength, then transitioning to gravel running, where it鈥檚 relatively easy to pile on the miles, and finally capping off the process with a sharpening phase on speed-conducive asphalt, makes perfect sense from a physiological perspective.

The same is true of the not-entirely-easy easy runs the Ethiopians do. The unbreakable rule here is the , where 80% of total weekly run time is spent at low intensity and 20% is spent at moderate to high intensity. It is a well-established fact that elite endurance athletes (and not just runners but also cyclists, swimmers, and others) train this way, and Ethiopia鈥檚 elite runners are no exception. They just distribute intensities a little differently, allowing some of the 20% to bleed into the 80, as it were.

Even the temporal and geographical fluidity of Ethiopian-style run training can be seen as validating rather than subverting universal principles. Crawley saw this playfulness as serving the purpose of 鈥渕aking training as interesting and inspiring as possible,鈥� noting, 鈥淢y time in Ethiopia confirmed to me that high performance and enjoyment of running are not mutually exclusive.鈥� In fact, sports psychology research has demonstrated that , and elite coaches everywhere, knowing this, take pains to keep the training process interesting and inspiring for their athletes. If this required sometimes running in the middle of the night or off-trail through thick forest, you can be sure that elite runners in every country would do these things too, but in fact there are other ways.

To be sure, running is different in Ethiopia. I haven鈥檛 even mentioned their coaches鈥� insistence on synchronizing strides during group runs. But in focusing on such differences, it鈥檚 easy to lose sight of the important things that are the same there as elsewhere. If you鈥檙e already periodizing your training in a sensible way, adhering to an approximate 80/20 intensity balance, and doing what鈥檚 necessary to keep your running interesting and inspiring, keep doing these things. And if you鈥檙e not, then take your cue from the best runners in Ethiopia 鈥� or everywhere else 鈥� and start.

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In 2015, Scottish anthropologist and 66-minute half marathon runner Michael Crawley flew to Ethiopia for 15 months of 鈥渄eep hanging out.鈥� That鈥檚 a catchy phrase ethnographers sometimes use to describe their work, i.e, getting to know a culture and its environment. It aptly captures Crawley鈥檚 method. He didn鈥檛 鈥渟tudy鈥� Ethiopian runners through a microscope; he lived and ran with them.

The result, in Crawley鈥檚 engaging new book, is an intimate and at times lyrical view of Ethiopian running, from Abebe Bikila to the current crop of crazy fast marathoners. Crawley penetrates the very ebb and flow of daily running in Addis Ababa. He gets up for a 2 a.m. mountain run; he鈥檚 always on a team bus to some new workout location; he enters the national cross-country championship and manages not to get lapped 鈥� though he finishes in last place just a year after taking 7th in the Scottish championships.

When he arrives in Ethiopian, Crawley seems to do everything wrong. On his first run with local athletes, he realizes he won鈥檛 be able to keep up. But since they are zigzagging across a broad mountainside, he breaks off solo to cut a more direct path straight upward, where he can reconnect. The second time he tries this stunt, someone grabs his wrist and yanks him back into the line of runners, declaring, 鈥淲e run together.鈥�

Later the explanation continues: 鈥淭raining alone is just for health. To be changed, you must run with others. You need to adapt to their pace.鈥� This insistence on group training develops into the book鈥檚 strongest theme.

Un-scattered Focus

After his workouts, Crawley, the academic, has a lot to do. He writes up lengthy notes while the moments are still fresh in his head. He arranges interviews with important coaches and runners. He reads books in his field. He travels across the city to meet with a language teacher so he can learn Amharic.

The runners in his training group frown on this scattered life. To them, it indicates that Crawley lacks gobez. We might translate this as 鈥渇ocus,鈥� but Ethiopians consider it the clever or smart management of total training commitment. Without proper gobez, a runner can not achieve adaptation or change 鈥� the very foundations of successful running in the Ethiopian view.

One day, Crawley learns that Abebe Bikila was not the first and fastest Ethiopian runner in 1960. That honor belonged to Wami Biratu, a name unknown to the outside world. Biratu is still alive at 92, so Crawley visits as soon as he can.

He finds that Biratu is over-6-feet tall, powerfully built, and still running in the annual Great Ethiopian Run. He鈥檚 mostly deaf, but eager to talk. He even manages to produce a mid-race photo of himself with a comfortable lead over Bikila.

Biratu says he has been running for 64 years, and never once dropped out of a run or race. His response to Crawley鈥檚 first question lasts 40 minutes. His advice for modern day runners: 鈥淭ell them to drink water. Water gives you power. If you mix it with other things, you lose power.鈥�

Portrait of a Culture

Many books have been written about running in Kenya, a former British colony where schools teach English. Few have been written about Ethiopia, where English is far less common. We tend to conflate the two countries, since both have high altitudes and fast runners. From Crawley, we learn that they are quite different.

didn鈥檛 have to run to school; he lived across the street. The marathoners aren鈥檛 the poorest of the poor. They are supported by regional and national clubs with corporate sponsors. Thus they get housing, food, a coach, modest equipment, and the important bus transport to carry them to various training locations. Some days, they spend more time in the bus than on the trails.

Of course, all hope to be discovered by an agent and invited to an international race with prize money. But the athletes realize it will take a lot of patience and process, especially endless miles running on the heels of greatness. Everyone understands they must join a team. Individual excellence is possible only via evolution from the group.

A British citizen and scholar, Crawley has grown up seeing the world through Westernized eyes. In Addis, his perspective changes. 鈥淓thiopia unveiled to me a far more intuitive, creative, and adventurous approach to the sport,鈥� he writes. 鈥淚 discovered and adapted alternative ways of thinking about sports psychology from people who have never heard of sports psychology, and for whom the secrets of running are far too enigmatic and mysterious to be distilled in a test tube.鈥�

Crawley answered several questions about running in Ethiopia for us:

Please describe a long run in Ethiopia. What鈥檚 it like to be part of a training group there?

MC: On Monday mornings we would catch the team bus at around 5 a.m. to drive to a coroconch听road, which was the Amharic term for “rough road.鈥� It鈥檚 an onomatopoeic term which comes from the sound of the foot crunching on a gravelly surface. This was intended to strengthen the legs without being too hard on them.

These runs would be done on an empty stomach for the most part, although we would have an opportunity to drink water or an energy drink (for those that had them) every 5km because the bus would drive ahead and then wait. The runs would usually be progressive, starting out slower than 4:00 per kilometer (6:25/mile) and moving down towards 3:20 (5:20/mile) or even quicker at the end, on a road that was fiercely undulating, with some hills lasting a couple of kilometers.

There wouldn鈥檛 really be much of a cool down after a run like this, and if there was, it would be at almost walking pace (I was admonished if I ever tried to jog a warm down a bit quicker with “that looks like warming UP.”). Some athletes would bring beso, a roasted barley powder, to mix with water and drink as a kind of recovery drink after training, but most would just drink water. On occasion we wouldn鈥檛 get back home until almost lunchtime (after a 5am start) because of traffic going back into Addis, and by that point I鈥檇 be so hungry and feeling almost faint sometimes. It didn鈥檛 seem to faze the Ethiopians much.

What is all this talk about zigzagging on runs? Why do you think it might be important?

MC: We ran three sessions a week very hard, and the rest of the running was seen as being a means of recovering from those sessions. Often these easy runs would be done in dense eucalyptus forest, where the tightly packed trees meant we had to run a kind of zig-zagging route, running backwards and forwards and sometimes turning back on ourselves completely.

I was told that the idea behind this was to avoid a monotonous running motion and to engage different muscles, as we were constantly running on a camber. This very slow running was even referred to as a form of massage. The forest was also quite a difficult place to run in other way 鈥� strewn with rocks and tree roots as well as the trees themselves. This meant that it was difficult to do anything but run slowly. I think the Ethiopian athletes went there to make sure that they ran slowly and recovered. I got the sense that they took slowness almost as seriously as they took speed.

Physiologists and anatomists have largely failed to explain the East African running phenomenon with their various bio-measures. What did you learn from your ethnographic approach, the 鈥渄eep hanging out?鈥�

MC: You鈥檙e right that most of the attempts to find genetic or physiological explanations for success have failed, but that doesn鈥檛 mean that there aren鈥檛 any. What was interesting about the Ethiopian runners I spoke to was that they didn’t believe in “talent” in the way that we might. They believed in “adaptation” 鈥� in the notion that given the right training environment (both in terms of the particular environmental resources you have access to, and the people surround yourself with as training partners) and enough time to rest in between training sessions, anyone could “adapt” to becoming a world class athlete.

I don鈥檛 necessarily believe that is that case, but I do think that a lot of physiological testing seems to be about determining peoples鈥� limits, and the Ethiopians I knew weren’t interested in that. The other thing about physiological tests is that they measure the capacity of individual bodies. In Ethiopia success is seen as collectively produced through the mechanism of the group and the sharing of energy.

Could you supply several running-related words or phrases that you heard frequently in Ethiopia, and what they implied about the Ethiopian approach?

MC: Lememid means 鈥渁daptation.鈥� This was often the word that was used for “training.鈥� It suggests a process of gradually getting used to particular training volumes and speeds, as well as the notion that given enough time and the right environment anyone can adapt to being top class.

Badenb sera听means “work properly.鈥� I found it interesting that athletes rarely talked about training “hard.鈥� Rather, they spoke about training “properly” 鈥� with commitment, and patience, and by listening to the pace the coach wanted you to run.

Enkulal kes ba kes be egirua tehedalech听is slightly tricky to translate but means basically: “Step by step an egg learns to walk.” This one is about taking your time and trusting in the process.

Rucha hiwote new听means 鈥淩unning is my life.鈥� For the most part, deciding to become a runner meant that you treated running as a full time job, involving a holistic re-ordering of your whole life.

Why do you think Ethiopia has enjoyed 60 years of world-class distance running success?

MC: Abebe Bikila, who won the Olympic marathon in 1960 running barefoot, was discovered almost by chance by a Swedish army major who was brought to Ethiopia by Emperor Haile Selassie to train the Imperial bodyguard. Before the Olympics, Selassie told Bikila that听 鈥渢o win in Rome would be like winning one thousand times.鈥� When Bikila returned home, he was a hero. The desire to emulate Bikila was clearly very strong, and associated with an almost military heroism.

This meant that a culture of very serious running developed, learned by literally following in the footsteps of other athletes. There鈥檚 a particular Ethiopian distance running expertise characterised by a view of success as collectively produced and dependent upon the right balance of environments and the occasional embracing of 鈥渄angerousness鈥� in training and racing, of which Ethiopian runners are very proud.

There is also, and this came as a surprise to me, a significant amount of institutional support for athletes, with a huge number paid as full time runners by clubs sponsored by organisations ranging from banks to cement factories. The sheer number of people supported in such a way that they can declare that 鈥榬unning is life鈥� means that the top of the pyramid is very high indeed.

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Name: Todd Carmichael
Job: Founder, CEO of La Colombe Coffee Roasters
Home Base: Philadelphia
Age: 55
Education: Studied business and tax law at the University of Washington

Todd Carmichael was a college student听when he got a job lugging grain sacks in a Seattle warehouse. He remembers reading the side of the sacks to see where they had come from, noting places like Rwanda and Brazil. The company he was working for? Starbucks, then a little-known coffee startup with three caf茅s in the city. That was 1982.

A decade later, Carmichael, then almost 30, and his best friend, J.P.听Iberti, started their own coffee brand and called it . They opened their first caf茅听and roaster听听in 1993. They traveled to farms in Bolivia and Haiti to source their own beans and learned how to roast them to bring out their finest flavors, making La Colombe the coffee brand of choice for many James Beard Award鈥搘inning restaurants and Four Seasons hotels around the world.听

Meanwhile, Carmichael was also fulfilling his lifelong habit of long-distance running and trekking. He took a three-month break from work to live听and train听on a remote island in the South Pacific, and in 2008, he set as the first American to solo trek across Antarctica to the South Pole unassisted. He鈥檚 known to disappear in Death Valley for days, climb Mount Rainier on a whim, or take his family鈥攈e and his wife are 鈥攕urfing on Oahu鈥檚 North Shore.

Today, La Colombe has 34 caf茅s across the U.S., employs over 900 people, and sells draft听lattes ()听in cans on shelves at grocery stores around the country. Last summer, La Colombe began a yearlong commitment to the National Parks Foundation. We spoke to Carmichael shortly after that initiative was announced鈥攁nd after his first cup of caffeine for the day.听

On the First Thing He Does When He Wakes Up: 鈥淚 go down the hallway and wake up my youngest child. He鈥檚 seven. He likes to make coffee with me. I have this alone time with my little guy. I make him a decaf latte. I have four espresso shots. Literally, it鈥檚 dark,听and we鈥檙e both in our underwear.鈥�

On How He鈥檚 Incorporated 国产吃瓜黑料 into His Life: 鈥淚 never wanted to abandon the outdoors and adventure. It鈥檚 super important to me. A lot of people might rely on therapy or meditation. For me, I mend by going out and challenging myself. I like to inject adventure into my business, too. I do things differently than other people. I听like to keep it full of adrenaline. When I鈥檓 sourcing coffee, I鈥檓 often going into challenging areas, and I have to rely on my wits and my backpack.鈥�

On Why Philanthropy Is Good for Business: 鈥淚 don鈥檛 think of it as philanthropy. I think of it as decency. Just like I want my children to be decent people, my grandparents taught me this basic concept鈥攖hat it鈥檚 important for businesses to be decent, too. Business has a way of making things better if it鈥檚 done right. We believe in paying fair wages. We believe everyone deserves to live without the ugly stress of poverty on their shoulders. We believe in health insurance for everyone.鈥�

On How National Parks Shaped His Life: 鈥淲hen I was 15, I took a bus and hitchhiked from my home in eastern Washington to Mount Rainier National Park. I didn鈥檛 tell my mom. She wouldn鈥檛 have let me do it. I kicked around for two days trying to figure out how to climb the mountain. I met a band of hippies who adopted me and taught me how to use crampons. On top of Mount Rainier, I saw my future. I knew I wanted more of this. I was going to climb everything I could, walk across everything I could. Without that mountain, I might be back in Spokane picking apples right now. That mountain taught me I could do anything I wanted. It was a profound epiphany.鈥�

On Why We Should All Drink Good Coffee: 鈥淧eople think you need to have some kind of special palate听to taste really good coffee. This is an idea propagated by wine and coffee people. But what鈥檚 good is good. You don鈥檛 need a sophisticated palate听to recognize that. There are a couple of reasons we drink coffee. It鈥檚 an elevating beverage. Even if tastes like shit, it鈥檚 still elevating. But when you get a great coffee, you鈥檙e getting that uplifting piece,听but you鈥檙e also getting that wow factor.鈥�

On the Most Fulfilling Part of His Job: 鈥淐onnecting with people. I come in contact with people in the restaurant industry, the caf茅s, but also people across the world in 27 different countries. I get to connect with people of many different walks. That鈥檚 so rewarding. I look forward to every day. There are things I can learn from everyone.鈥�

On What鈥檚 on His Bedside Table: 鈥淚 like to keep two books going at the same time that aren鈥檛 similar. Right now听I鈥檝e got 听by Yuval Noah Harari, because I love long-arc historical stories. And I鈥檝e got 听by Daniel Coyle. I don鈥檛 read business books, but this one is about people working together. I鈥檝e been handing that book to people I work with and saying, 鈥楻ead the first two pages. You鈥檙e not going to want to put it down.鈥欌��

On the Best Piece of Advice He鈥檚 Received: 鈥淏efore I started La Colombe, I went to Italy and sought out a man named Umberto Bizzarri, the best roaster in the world. He鈥檇 started and sold a coffee-roasting company, and he was a mentor from a distance. I asked him for advice and he said, 鈥業n everything, be yourself. Don鈥檛 pretend to be something else. Be you.鈥� Then he said, 鈥楧on鈥檛 do it for the money.鈥� He was right. If you鈥檙e going to try to make something beautiful, you hope the profit is a by-product of your desires. I鈥檝e lived by those two things.鈥�

On His Perfect Day: 鈥淚 would spend time at my coffee-tasting lab. I鈥檇 have an adventure with my kids. I would cook food outside. Then I would go for a swim. That would be my perfect day.鈥�

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The majority of us鈥擳V viewers, fantasy strategists, and Olympics听bingers鈥攖hink of our athletic heroes as having high-powered nutritionists at their side, serving a militant diet where everything is as plain as oatmeal with a dot of honey. But many athletes around the world eat things that would surprise even the Chopped听judging table.

鈥淢ost of the international athletes I鈥檝e encountered tend to prefer what鈥檚 common in their home country.听I鈥檝e found that they don鈥檛 have bland diets,鈥� says Shawn Arent, sports medicine and performance expert and director of the Center for Health and听Human Performance at Rutgers University. 鈥淲e鈥檝e even seen a problem when foreign athletes come to the U.S. and access more processed foods. In many cases, I鈥檝e seen those athletes gain quite a bit of weight as they adapt to different foods.鈥�

We connected with athletes around the world to discover what鈥檚 in the training meal听(or cheat meal)听that they can鈥檛 get enough of.

Adam Ondra, Rock Climber, Czech Republic听

In the Czech Republic鈥檚 southwestern city of Brno, climber听Adam Ondra听relies on听local produce from the lowlands for superfoods. Colder months yield a side dish of raw sour cabbage that鈥檚 chock-full of vitamins.听Poppy seeds are in every bread and bun on the plate or blended into a smoothie. For the traditional Czech taste, though, he turns to svickova: a thin cut of beef served with cream-based gravy, bread dumplings, and cranberry topping. The dish is made by the masters (grandmothers), and Ondra indulges once, maybe twice, a year鈥攐ne must stay lean on the cliff faces.

Mira Rai, Trail Runner, Nepal

The petite, 108-pound Mira Rai puts away the remarkable amount of calories trail runners need by eating the traditional dish,听dal bhat. The Nepalese staple includes a heaping pile of white or brown rice;听a side bowl of lentils, spinach, and other mixed veggies;听occasional slices of meat;听and a spice mix of coriander, cumin, garam masala, and turmeric. Like all Nepalese dishes, dal bhat is听eaten with the hands.

Atsede Baysa,听Marathon听Runner, Ethiopia听

This year鈥檚 Boston Marathon winner, Atsede Baysa, lives and trains 45 miles west of Ethiopia鈥檚 centrally听located capital of听Addis Ababa, in a small town near the Chilimo-Gaji forest. She supplements standard starch and protein combos of pasta and fish with national treasure injera chechebsa. Injera is Ethiopia鈥檚 sour and spongy bread, rich in both iron and carbohydrates.听Chechebsa, commonly known as kita firfir, is fried injera seasoned in a berbere sauce made with hot red pepper powder, all served with honey. The dish provides protein and fat for Baysa, who eats it with a tilapia-like white fish called Nile perch.

Jain Kim, Rock Climber, South Korea

The summer heat in South Korea calls for cold noodle soup, and climber听Jain Kim favors the wildly popular naengmyeon. Seldom served in other Asian countries, the buckwheat noodle soup comes with sliced beef, cucumbers, Korean pear, and a soft-boiled egg. A simpler variation, called mul-naengmyeon, relies on beef broth alone, but Kim opts for the bibim-naengmyeon, which incorporates spicy red chili peppers into the broth.

Max Matissek, Windsurfer, Greece

Some of the best local produce in Naxos, Greece, are juicy tomatoes, which windsurfer听Max Matissek eats on top of daily salads with Naxian cheese鈥攊magine a hybrid of cottage cheese and feta. His protein comes from chicken souvlaki, the lightly marinated meat skewers over rice, with a side of Naxian potatoes鈥攐ven-roasted and mixed with local olive oil, garlic, lemon, and pepper.

Mo Hrezi, Marathon听Runner, Libya/United States

As a听former Italian colony, Libya boasts cuisine with Mediterranean, North African, and Middle Eastern influences. The country鈥檚 residents take the preparation and sharing of food seriously, and Mo听Hrezi, a Libyan-American runner with a carb-heavy, spicy-infused diet, is no exception. When he visits his parents and sisters in Tripoli, where he hopes to one day move back after finishing college, his most savored dish is rishdet burma, a warm, soupy, spicy bowl of homemade pasta with a tomato base, chickpeas, fava beans, lentils, fenugreek, and gideed (dried and salted meat).

Farida Osman, Swimmer, Egypt/United States

For Olympic swimmer Farida听Osman, the late-morning spread in her Zamalek neighborhood of Cairo includes ful medames鈥攍ocal beans seasoned with olive oil, lemon,听and cumin鈥攁nd traditional molokheya, made by mixing the dish鈥檚 namesake听plant leaves with coriander, garlic, and chicken stock. Keeping with the sharp flavors of Egyptian cuisine, Osman tops her dishes with roumy, the native听crumbly cheese similar to a manchego.听

Irina Sazonova, Gymnast, Iceland

In her hometown of Reykjavik, the nation鈥檚 capital, 24-year-old gymnast Irina Sazonova prefers meat-centric dishes like kj枚ts煤pa (Icelandic lamb soup). The lean meat is raised more responsibly than anywhere else in the world thanks to Iceland鈥檚 robust agriculture regulations. Cuts are often served bone-in, and the soup adjoins plenty of thyme, oregano, carrots, cauliflower, potatoes, brown rice, and rutabaga (turnip). 听

Annika Langvad, Cross-Country Mountain Biker, Denmark

When in Copenhagen, childhood staples reign supreme for daytime snacks, and it鈥檚 all about the nationwide-favorite sm酶rrebr酶d at lunch. For听Langvad, a small, thin slice of Danish-style rye bread serves as the base for the open-faced sandwich.听Her favorite topping combination includes warm leverpostej (liver pat茅听meat spread) with pickled beets and fresh herbs. The Danes often take their sm酶rrebr酶d simple, like Langvad鈥檚, but that doesn鈥檛 mean you can鈥檛 find tricked-out combinations, like a smoked halibut rillette with pickled radish, capers, and rosemary.

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Each year, we send our editors and writers on a mission to find the destinations on the vanguard of the travel. The major takeaway from our 28 favorites of 2016?听The entire world is getting more adventurous. Travelers are pushing boundaries, from听seeking out newly accessible Cuban bars to touring North Carolina breweries鈥攂y canoe. In years past, a cruise around the Antarctic involved lots of gawking at icebergs. Today, the same cruise has you booting up and ripping untouched snow with mountaineers Andrew McLean and Chris Davenport.

But don鈥檛 think for a second that this trend is limited to far-flung and expensive trips: small towns like Bentonville, Arkansas, are investing in world-class mountain bike trails鈥攎aintained by professional crews!鈥攁nd innovative, hard, and fun-as-hell races like Quincy, California鈥檚 Grinduro are popping up just about everywhere. There's never been a better time to get out there鈥攁nd this is the definitive guide to a year well traveled.

1. Jamaica

We know what you鈥檙e thinking鈥攔eggae and ganja. But there鈥檚 another reason to head here: Blue and John Crow Mountains National Park just earned World Heritage Status in 2015.听This 65,000-acre tropical rainforest鈥檚 two mountain ranges are a Caribbean biodiversity hot spot, with 1,357 species of flowering plants plus endangered birds like the yellow-billed parrot. On the clearest days, 7,402-foot Blue Mountain Peak offers views of Cuba, 130 miles to the north. Arrange an overnight or long-haul backpacking trip with Kingston-based (from $230). For easy access to the park, book the brand-new, six-bedroom (from $2,750), which sits on a lush hilltop near the northeast beach town of Port Antonio. 鈥�Stephanie Pearson

2. Bentonville, Arkansas

Yes, the home of Walmart鈥檚 corporate headquarters. The retail behemoth鈥檚 presence means the town is flush with cash, and a lot of it has gone toward creating a premier mountain-biking destination. There are now some 23 miles of singletrack just three miles from downtown. Even better: Arkansas employs the only professional mountain-bike-trail maintenance crews in the U.S. But don鈥檛 just take our word for it. The booked it for this year鈥檚 World Summit in November. 鈥�Bryan Rogala

3. Basecamp Hotel, Tahoe City, California

In 2012, Christian Strobel turned a decrepit motel in South Lake Tahoe into , a boutique lodge for adventure travelers, with fire pits and GoPro screenings. Now he鈥檚 giving Tahoe City a Basecamp of its own, with a yoga studio, in-room bike racks, and concierges with climbing beta鈥攁ll located less than 20 minutes from the slopes. 鈥�Megan Michelson

4. Iran

Look past the complicated politics and the dark image of the country鈥檚 leadership; intrepid travelers who鈥檝e trailblazed here come back with tales of lively culture and the overwhelming friendliness of the people. Skip the canned tours and start with a DIY circuit of Tehran鈥檚 museums, caf茅s, mosques, and the Unesco World Heritage site of ancient Persepolis, in Shiraz. Then hook up with British outfitter to summit Iran鈥檚 highest peak, the 18,464-foot, still-active volcano Mount Damavand (from $3,675). Located just 45 miles northeast of the capital, Damavand is a nontechnical but demanding five-day ascent, with views of the Caspian Sea to the north and barren desert to the south. 鈥淒amavand has the challenge of other more famous treks like Kilimanjaro but without the crowds,鈥� says Exodus鈥檚 Emma Garrick. 鈥淣ot encountering other groups for the entire route is practically guaranteed.鈥� 鈥�Graeme Green

5. Ladder Ranch, Gila Mountains, New Mexico

Media mogul Ted Turner has impeccable taste in real estate. Take , a remote five-bedroom home that opened to guests in September and sits on 160,000 acres of Turner鈥檚 private land on the edge of the Gila Mountains and the Chiricahua Desert. Guests spend days mountain-biking, spotting bighorn sheep and elk, and visiting ancient petroglyphs. $6,000 for four people, all-inclusive. 鈥�Kate Siber

6. Nihiwatu, Sumba Island, Indonesia

After a long search for the perfect surf spot, Claude and Petra Graves knew they were finished when they saw the reef break 100 yards off Nihiwatu Beach. The couple built the by the wave鈥攊t鈥檚 an hour鈥檚 flight east of Bali and comes complete with spear-fishing guides and an equestrian center. But the focus is still on surfing, and less than 80 guests per day means you won鈥檛 have to battle for a spot on the huge, hollow left. From $1,000, all-inclusive. 鈥�Jen Murphy

7. Quincy, California

Think of the as a soulful gran fondo for mountain bikers on hardtails and gravel-grinding nuts on cross bikes. The folks at Giro invented it as a new kind of race, combining the timed segments of endurance mountain biking with the luxe food of a century ride and inviting everyone to camp at a fairgrounds high in the Sierra Nevada. And while the resulting vibe is laidback, the course鈥攈eld on fire roads in the Plumas National Forest鈥攊s definitely not: riders gain 7,500 feet in 60 miles, half of which comes in a brutal five-mile dirt climb that averages 12 percent and reduces many to walking. October 8. 鈥�Scott Rosenfield

8. Pemberton Music 颅Festival, British Columbia

Picture Bonnaroo without the sweltering heat and mosquitoes and you鈥檝e got . Last year 115,000 people saw Kendrick Lamar and the Black Keys headline, and things got weird. (Think: an adult-size ball pit and waterslide.) Plan to stay a couple of extra days to ride Pemberton鈥檚 abundant singletrack, which you can roll to directly from the village. July 14鈥�17; passes from $295. 鈥�Graham Averill

9. Ethiopia

Ethiopia is an outlier. It follows a calendar different than the rest of the world. It harbors some of the world鈥檚 last subsistence tribes, one of the harshest deserts on the planet, and (if you believe the locals) the Ark of the Covenant. It鈥檚 also one of the fastest-growing economies in Africa, and recently it has made efforts to improve conditions for visitors. So tackle the Northern Historical Route, a rugged overland trail that leads past ancient stone churches and roaring waterfalls. Or book a few nights in the airy (from $140). It opened in March in the Simien Mountains, which are threaded by trekking routes and populated by animals, like Ethiopian wolves and gelada monkeys, that are found nowhere else in the world. 鈥擪.S.

10. Portland, Oregon

Specifically the Central Eastside. Once an industrial zone packed with old warehouses, it鈥檚 now one of the city鈥檚 coolest spots. Yes, that sounds like a setup for a Portlandia sketch. But the stunning new location of outfitter is giving the area adventure cred. And after you browse skis, you can catch acts like Neko Case at , a remodeled brick high school, or get the four-course chef鈥檚 menu at , situated in a former loading dock. 鈥擬.M.

11. French Broad River, North Carolina

The beauty of traveling by canoe is that you can carry a lot of beer. There鈥檚 probably no better place in the country to test out this theory than the mild 45-mile stretch of the French Broad that flows past the Southern outposts of three of America鈥檚 most cherished craft breweries. Put in at , hit midway through the trip, and take out at on the edge of downtown Asheville. Three days, three killer breweries, and island camping, thanks to the , a newly established series of campgrounds along the way. 鈥擥.A.

12. Smith Island, Maryland

Some of the most determined watermen in the world live on Smith Island, 12 miles off Maryland鈥檚 coast. Shaped by Chesapeake Bay tides, this small patch of dry ground set in salt marsh offers access to a natural maze of kayak trails that cut through the sea grass. Undaunted by rising sea levels, the 300 or so remaining islanders stay true to age-old traditions, fishing for oysters and crabs while speaking the 400-year-old dialect of their Welsh and English ancestors. Catch the on the mainland at Crisfield ($26 round-trip), then check out the island鈥檚 cultural center, where you can rent bikes and kayaks. Stay the night at the (from $125), and don鈥檛 skip a slice of ten-layer Smith Island cake, Maryland鈥檚 official dessert. 鈥�Andrew Evans

13. Nevada

It鈥檚 fair to say that Nevada鈥檚 mountain-biking scene is exploding鈥攆rom the 539-mile Trans-Nevada Trail, which starts at Lake Tahoe and spans the entire width of the state, to miles of new trails being constructed in the state鈥檚 48 million acres of Bureau of Land Management wilds. Start your tour of the best stuff 36 miles south of Las Vegas and ride 35 miles of smooth, flowy intermediate singletrack at the Bootleg Canyon bike park, which has received the Epic distinction from the International Mountain Bicycling Association. Then get farther afield in tiny Caliente, 150 miles northeast of Vegas, where IMBA plans to create 42 miles of trails this year. The group鈥檚 ultimate goal is to build a 150-mile system. Until then, the gravel riding in the area鈥檚 surrounding four million acres of BLM land is spectacular, and the 15 new campsites at just south of town are quiet and tucked away at the base of a 700-foot canyon ($17). 鈥擲.P.

14. San Lorenzo Mountain Lodge, Dolomites, Italy

Giorgia and Stefano Barbini, two Italian fashion-industry veterans, reimagined a into the type of place their friends would visit, preserving its Alpine charm while updating it with creature comforts like heated floors and, naturally, a heli-pad to access distant peaks for -hiking and skiing. Back at the lodge, Giorgia prepares dinner in the wood-fired stove while Stefano selects the evening鈥檚 pairings from the stable turned 1,500-bottle wine cellar. From $2,300 for up to ten people. 鈥擩.M.

15. Wrangell鈥揝t. Elias National Park, Alaska

On 鈥� new pack-raft traverse across Alaska鈥檚 Wrangell鈥揝t. Elias National Park, the action starts the moment the bush plane drops you at Nizina Lake, where you鈥檒l blow up your pack raft and paddle across the water, dodging icebergs fallen from the Nizina Glacier. Then you鈥檒l backpack for the next several days, until you reach the braided White River. From there it鈥檚 all downhill: a four-day, 60-mile Class II trip that ends with a pickup in Canada鈥檚 Yukon. From $4,000. 鈥�Chris Solomon

16. Scotland

If John Muir and James Bond got together and dreamed up an adventure, it would look a lot like 国产吃瓜黑料 GO鈥檚 across Scotland. You鈥檒l experience the spectacular Highlands and then unwind in 007-worthy castles, complete with roaring fireplaces and aged Scotch (which Ian Fleming aficionados know is Bond鈥檚 true drink of choice). You鈥檒l arrive in Edinburgh and shake off jet lag with a hike to the top of Arthur鈥檚 Seat, a dormant volcano that affords Instagram-perfect views of the capital. The next day, you鈥檒l head to the Highlands, taking a boat ride to the Strait of Corryvreckan for a spin in one of the world鈥檚 largest natural whirlpools, off the coast of Islay. The village of Glencoe will be your base for mountain-biking singletrack and scrambling up rugged peaks. And you鈥檒l want to burn as many calories as possible, since dinners at Glencoe Country House have a reputation for decadence鈥攖hink roast rump of lamb and sticky toffee pudding. In the morning, you鈥檒l kayak past otters and eagles en route to a secluded beach where camp tents and a roaring fire await. After a night in the wild, check in at Fonab Castle, then fish for salmon on the River Tay and take in views of Loch Faskally. From $5,450 for ten days. 鈥擩.M.

17. Nepal

Go now. Much of the country was unaffected by the 2015 earthquake, and just 15 percent of the trekking routes were damaged. With tourism down by almost 40 percent, there鈥檚 actually elbow room on the ($3,799 with REI 国产吃瓜黑料s). Visitors to Kathmandu can watch the painstaking restoration of historic monuments while staying at , a monument unto itself (from $220). The quake hasn鈥檛 stopped exciting new developments, either. (from $250), a sustainable resort less than five miles from Pokhara, sits in a lush valley on a working organic farm and will eventually donate up to 70 percent of its profits to charity. From there you can hike Himalayan foothills or set out on a dawn birdwatching tour. Mountain bikers with big lungs: consider 鈥� 12-day tour up trails between 5,000 and 13,000 feet in the Annapurna and Lower Mustang regions (from $3,350). 鈥擲.P.

18. Northshore, Louisiana

For Bayou charm, skip bland, boozy Bourbon Street and the voodoo tourist traps of New Orleans and head across the causeway to the other side of Lake Pontchartrain. The Northshore region was rocked by Hurricane Katrina but has undergone a serious rebirth in the past couple of years. In Covington, rent a set of wheels from and hop on the Tammany Trace, a 27-mile rail trail that weaves through the wetlands. Pull off in Abita Springs, where is brewed with the namesake springwater. If it鈥檚 a Saturday night, stick around for a bluegrass show at the . If not, head back to Covington to fill up on salumi and mussels at , then sip a Sazerac at the Cypress Bar in the century-old . 鈥�Cheney Gardner

19. Antarctica

One can only imagine what Ernest Shackleton would think of the continent鈥檚 transformation into an adventure travel hub. Now skiers can carve empty slopes with ski mountaineers Andrew McLean and Chris Davenport on a with Ice Axe Expeditions (from $8,995, plus a $1,000 backcountry-skiing fee). Shackleton buffs can join all-star explorers Conrad Anker and Tim Jarvis on a that sails to Elephant Island, where his expedition took refuge after their ship sank (from $14,995). The seriously hardy can fat-bike to the South Pole on TDA Global Cycling鈥檚 18-day, 69-mile . The $70,000 price tag is staggering but includes a Specialized fat bike to take home. Or opt for 国产吃瓜黑料 GO鈥檚 on a 68-passenger icebreaker. You鈥檒l sea-kayak to remote inlets, hike to rugged peaks, and, if you dare, cannonball into the frigid ocean (from $11,595). 鈥擲.P.

20. Colombia

The country鈥檚 passion for cycling is superheated at the moment, thanks to Nairo Quintana鈥檚 second-place finish at the 2015 Tour de France. And adventure companies like are offering new routes into forgotten corners of the Andes and across the coastal plains. Tackle the Alto de Letras鈥擟olombia鈥檚 signature ride and what鈥檚 said to be the longest paved climb in the world at 51 miles. Or opt for something mellower: pedal a chunk of Colombia鈥檚 coffee region, riding narrow, low-traffic streets past colonial villages, plantations, and high-elevation jungles. Make sure to fuel your ride with an agua-panela, hot sugarcane water mixed with melted cheese, known to locals as Colombian Gatorade. 鈥擥.A.

21. Santa Barbara, California

Santa Barbara usually brings to mind retirees on picture-perfect beaches. But the town of 90,000 is becoming younger, more active, and more interesting. , off downtown鈥檚 State Street, was started by two former pro cyclists and is the de facto meeting spot for the new breed of Santa Barbaran鈥攖he type that鈥檚 fueling up for a trail run in the Los Padres National Forest or a ride into the Santa Ynez Mountains. At night you鈥檒l find the same crowd at downtown bistro , which opened two years ago under the leadership of a twenty-something manager and wunderkind head chef. The team mixes can鈥檛-miss dishes with a sense of humor: the Egg McMuffin is an ode to the sandwich invented in 1971 at a McDonald鈥檚 just down the road. 鈥�J. Wesley Judd

22. Australia

Trekkers often overlook Australia because they鈥檙e dazzled by the descriptions of the routes in New Zealand (plus that whole Lord of the Rings thing). But Oz offers some of the best hiking routes on the planet. A particular stunner is Victoria鈥檚 four-day guided , a moderately difficult trail that covers 34 beautiful and remote miles hugging mainland Australia鈥檚 southernmost coastline along the Bass Strait. Guests stay at an eco-lodge designed for trekkers, with a foot spa and an impressive collection of wines. From $1,432. 鈥擲.P.

23. Hokkaido, Japan

The far northern island of Hokkaido is known for hot springs, temples, serious powder in the winter, and alpine hiking in the summer. Getting there used to require a ferry or pricey flight. The new , scheduled to begin service in March, will take you from Tokyo to Hokkaido in just over four hours, reaching speeds of nearly 200 miles per hour and traveling through the longest undersea train tunnel in the world. 鈥擥.G.

24. South Africa

Because the country offers incredible wildlife and wine鈥攂ut also because it hosts world-class races. On March 6, ride along-side 35,000 others in the 67-mile . Surfers, SUPers, and longboarders can sign up for the second annual August 19 to 21, at Muizenberg Corner, 16 miles south of Cape Town. Worth noting: last year鈥檚 inaugural event was cut short due to a great white shark sighting. The hottest new stage race is the three-day, 99-mile . You鈥檒l skirt the local high point鈥�8,209-foot Compassberg鈥攁nd pass through a game reserve filled with wildebeests, springbok, gemsbok, and zebras. 鈥擲.P.

25. 贵盲惫颈办别苍, J盲rpen, Sweden

Remote and well regarded鈥攊t鈥檚 number 25 on the San Pellegrino list of the 50 best restaurants in the world鈥� is set in an 18th-century barn on a 24,000-acre hunting estate 374 miles north of Stockholm. It鈥檚 worth the journey. The 30-course meal, orchestrated by head chef Magnus Nilsson, is farmed, foraged, and hunted on or near the estate. From drippingly fresh scallops cooked over juniper branches and birch coal to pine-bark-syrup ice cream, every bite is original. The best strategy to get one of its coveted 16 seats? Call on April 1 for a reservation for May through December, and spend the night in one of the restaurant鈥檚 five rustic bedrooms. Dinner, $258; accommodations, $292. 鈥擲.P.

26. Mealy Mountains National Park, Canada

Canada鈥檚 western half has long dominated the dreams of adventure travelers, but this year all eyes are on Newfoundland and Labrador with the opening of 4,130-square-mile Mealy Mountains National Park. Officially titled the Akami鈥搖apishku-KakKasuak鈥揗ealy Mountains National Park Reserve, it will be the largest in eastern Canada and comanaged by Parks Canada and the Innu people, who will develop aboriginal cultural experiences for visitors. The terrain ranges from rivers full of wild Atlantic salmon, rugged mountains capped with snow, sub-arctic tundra, boreal forest, and sandy ocean beaches that marauding Vikings called the Wonderstrands when they sailed past 1,000 years ago. Wildlife highlights: caribou, wolves, black bears, and martens, just to name a few. Base at the Innu-owned (from $2,190 for three days) or land a salmon at the fly-in fishing camp ($6,465 for three days). 鈥擥.G.

27. The Hotel 颅Habana Riviera Bar, Havana, Cuba

Havana is a city of ghosts, of absent gods and buried criminals. Take a seat in the 鈥檚 lobby bar鈥攁 tiny black curve with just four or five stools鈥攁nd listen for the sounds of the past: the roulette wheel, the clacking of poker chips, the murmuring crowds and celebrity high rollers. The principal owner at the time, Meyer Lansky, was the American Mafia鈥檚 main man in Cuba. His aerospace pleasure palace opened with a performance by Ginger Rogers in December 1957. Barely a year later, Fidel Castro took power, the casino tables were tipped over, and the hotel nationalized, the brief moment of corrupt glory over. But you can still have the memories. The hotel鈥檚 interior is stuffed with rich marble, golden latticework, and Enzo Gallo sculptures. The bar is now a quiet space, backstopped by an epic picture window full of ocean. There鈥檚 usually baseball on, and the Daiquiri Natural is good, year on year. 鈥�Patrick Symmes

28. WeeCasa, 颅Lyons, Colorado

Test-drive living small at this . There are 12 rentals on-hand, clustered along the banks of the North St. Vrain River in Lyons, 30 minutes from Rocky Mountain National Park and a quick bike ride from the Oskar Blues brewery. From $189. 鈥擥.A.

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Bleak can be beautiful鈥攁t least when Mother Nature听or mankind听has gone awry. Taking in the juxtaposition of disfigured trees in a desert, rare听beasts on a barren island, a house engulfed in lava, or a听brillant听white desert used for testing end-of-the-world missiles,听one is compelled to redefine the concept of beauty. Here are five rare apocalyptic places that will get inside your head, and stay there, long after you鈥檝e returned to pretty civilization.

Hike the Caribbean Pompeii

Montserrat, Caribbean
When the 听erupted in 1995, it buried two-thirds of this (it鈥檚 just听ten听by听seven听miles wide), including Plymouth, its former capital. Luckily, most of the people in the affected area were safely evacuated.听Recently, islanders who have relocated to the island鈥檚 unaffected northern side听have begun offering the zone of destruction.听, on the lush听northern coast, is a secluded听jungle retreat of villas, some overlooking the sea, that offers full-day tours ($65) to explore听places like the abandoned Montserrat Springs Hotel听and the old airport. Alternatively, get a bird鈥檚-eye view of the devastation on a 听or听. Stick around to try Montserrat鈥檚 excellent diving, hiking, birding, and spearfishing.

Get there: Fly to Antigua, and then take a 20-minute on Montserrat听or a two-hour in Antigua.听

Explore a Silo of Stark Beauty

White Sands, New Mexico
is the world鈥檚 largest gypsum desert. (Gypsum is听the mineral used to make chalk.)听It鈥檚听275 miles of sand so blindingly white that听it looks like you could be in Antarctica. The entire area听was under the sea 100 million years ago,听but even though the ocean left this place for dead, its apocalyptic reputation stems听from being the site of the first nuclear bomb test. The explosion occurred on the Trinity Site, 30 miles from Las Cruces, and is open only two days each year: the first Saturday of April (April 5, 2015) and the first Saturday of October (October 3, 2015). The visitor center,听open six听days a week听year-round, has an eerie听. Since you might need some cheering up after this site, take a 听(the source of White Sands鈥� 4.5 billion tons of gypsum),听see fossilized animal footprints at the bottom of Lake Otero,听or hike the five mile .听

Get there: Fly into Albuquerque and drive 240 straight-shot miles south to Alamogordo, or land听in nearby听Las Cruces and drive 30 miles.

Swim in an Asteroid-Impact Zone

Chicxulub, Mexico
The asteroid impact that may have destroyed the dinosaurs 65听million听years听ago is now a network of swimmable caves called cenotes. They鈥檙e peppered throughout the Yucatan Peninsula, but Chicxulub, about a three-hour听drive west of Cancun, is where scientists believe the occurred. 鈥淗alf of the crater rim is undersea;听the other half forms the cenotes [sinkholes]听which we have all over the peninsula,鈥� says Yuanita Stein, editorial director for .听Base yourself in Cancun (if you can stand the crowds) or stay closer in听, the Yucatan capital. Pop into the to see a history of the crater, and then dive on in. Just be sure to go with an official guide听since .听

Get there: , and听then take a nine-mile听bus ride听to 听or drive west 30 miles to Merida.

See a Polar Bear Sanctuary

Wrangel Island, Russia
Wrangel Island has a curious history. It was one of the only plots of land听that avoided glaciation during the last Ice Age, and scientists believe this Arctic tundra is听where the last wooly mammoths roamed. Today听this 2,900-square-mile听island 88 miles off the coast of Siberia is a veritable Galapagos of the Arctic, with unusual plants and wildlife, like musk听ox, Arctic fox, Pacific walrus, snowy owl, and the relatively large polar bear population ().听Only recently opened to tourists鈥攚ho largely come to see the gathering sites of polar bears鈥攖ravelers are otherwise forbidden without proper visas and park passes. Outfitters like facilitate the process,听but it comes at a price: A听15-day excursion costs $11,200, excluding flights.听

Get there: Fly 听direct from Moscow to Anadyr,听the port to Wrangel Island.听

Camp at the Gates of Hell

Erta Ale, Ethiopia
Erta Ale is as inhospitable to human life as you can imagine. As the sun sets, smoke emerges from the cracks beneath your feet听and an eerie red glow emits from a gurgling lava lake (one of only five听on earth) located in the center of one of the world鈥檚 only . San Francisco鈥揵ased writer听Jill Perambi says camping in the Denali Depression, in the northeastern region of Ethiopia,听was one of the most intense experiences she鈥檚 ever had:听鈥淭he strong sulphur smell made our eyes water and throat burn, and without headlamps (our main light source was the lava itself), we could鈥檝e easily tripped and fallen into the boiling lava.鈥� Plus, air temperatures . Take a , which听include stays on the surrounding caldera, but only if you鈥檙e looking to .听

Get there: Fly into Mekele, Africa, on听.听From there, it鈥檚 about 80 miles to Erta Ale听with a tour on land.

Surf the Scene of Mad Max: Fury Road

Namib Desert, Namibia
The ocean once covered the arid, unforgiving landscape of this desert in southwestern Africa. Sand, dunes, and rock outcroppings now stretch as far as the eye can see, which made it the perfect set for the postapocalyptic thriller听. Despite the bleak feel, it鈥檚 a popular place for sandboarders, as home to the world鈥檚 tallest sand dunes,听some reaching upwards of 1,000 feet. Check out the hills near Sossusvlei in the ,听which overlooks Dead Vlei, a 550-year-old petrified forest. 听runs a few duneboard-centric tours, or stay at , just at the lip of the park. For bragging rights, hike up the Big Daddy Dune (1,066 feet),听the largest sand dune in the world.听

Get there: Fly into , the capital of Namibia.听From there, it鈥檚 either a six-hour drive or a one-hour air听taxi flight to Sossusvlei with your tour company.

The post 5 Made-for-the-Movies Destinations appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

PASQUALE SCATURRO LEADS TWO LIVES. A big, rough-edged, passionate guy with a salty mouth and a Sicilian surname, Scaturro is an exploration geophysicist who travels the world prospecting for oil reserves. This is Scaturro's soldier-of-fortune persona, a role that has taken him to such dicey locales as the Ogaden, the lawless wasteland between Ethiopia and Somalia, and the former Soviet republic of Georgia, which he calls “the kidnapping capital of the world.” The work can be dangerous-he needed military protection on both those jobs-and he's well compensated for it. He recently earned his pilot's license and has his eye on a Cessna 206. His house in suburban Denver is paid off. He owns a 35,000-acre ranch in Namibia and keeps a Land Rover there, tricked out for safaris. He's in peak physical condition, is happily married, and has three grown children from a previous marriage, five grandchildren, and a wide circle of friends and contacts around the globe. Life is good.

Travel Ethiopia

Scaturro cleans up on the banks of the Omo

Travel Ethiopia

Scaturro and crew on the Lower Omo

Travel Ethiopia

A Bodi man in a dugout canoe

Travel Ethiopia

Members of the Gofa tribe with spears for sale

Travel Ethiopia

Women from the Mursi tribe

Travel Ethiopia

Scaturro and Petros consulting the map

Travel Ethiopia

On the Omo's upper section

Rare moment of Scaturro

Scaturro in a rare moment of downtime

Ethiopia Map

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But it's also short, as he likes to observe, and at 54, having reached a point at which others might be tempted to ease up, Scaturro has an internal doomsday clock that's racing like there's no tomorrow.

“He has this time thing going,” says his wife, Kim. “It's not like a midlife crisis, but he knows his body is going to give out at some point.” Before that happens, his apparent goal is to cram in as many experiences as possible-in the mold of his 19th-century heroes, Nile explorers Samuel Baker and Richard Francis Burton.

Scaturro's hobby, which seems to be morphing into a full-time second career, is organizing and leading extreme expeditions, as in extremely long, challenging, remote, logistically complicated, or never before accomplished-sometimes all of the above. He calls his business Exploration Specialists International, which covers just about everything he does, for both fun and profit. Working 25 percent of his time as a geophysicist allows him to spend the other 75 percent indulging his wanderlust. He's been to Everest three times and summited on his second attempt, in 1998. In 2001, he led a large team to the mountain with the principal objective of putting the first blind climber, Erik Weihenmayer, on the summit. Scaturro was forced to turn back at 27,500 feet, due to a relapse of malaria that he had picked up in Africa, but Weihenmayer made it to the top and safely back down-along with 19 teammates, including 64-year-old Sherman Bull, who at the time was the oldest climber to have scaled Everest.

Three years later, in 2004, Scaturro became an adventure celebrity himself when the Imax film-production companies MacGillivray Freeman and Orbita Max recruited him to lead an expedition with the audacious goal of navigating the Blue Nile from its source in the Ethiopian highlands to the Mediterranean Sea, an unprecedented journey of roughly 3,500 miles. Bandits had murdered a number of people on previous expeditions, and ferocious rapids in the river's upper gorges had claimed others. But it was the length of the trip (114 days), particularly the desert passages across Sudan and Egypt, that presented the most daunting challenge. Producer Greg MacGillivray was sure monotony itself would defeat Scaturro and the expedition's cameraman, Gordon Brown.

“My fear was that any mere mortal would turn back out of sheer boredom,” says MacGillivray. “But Pasquale never lost steam. He kept moving. He said he would do it, for me, for Gordon. I don't know any other person besides him who could have pulled it off.” MacGillivray places Scaturro into an elite adventure league with super-alpinist Ed Viesturs and oceanographer Robert Ballard, who found the wreck of the Titanic. “Pasquale is one of those people who take on challenges that are almost unachievable and then push beyond that,” MacGillivray says. “If it were easy, they wouldn't be interested.”

Scaturro's starring role in Mystery of the Nile propelled him into a glamorous, hectic orbit. MacGillivray made him director of mountain operations for The Alps, a 2007 Imax documentary about climber John Harlin's attempt to scale the Eiger's north face, the hazardous rock wall that claimed his father's life. Back home, Scaturro was in demand as a speaker. One week he popped up in Boston lecturing executives on corporate team-building, the next he was in Albuquerque introducing the Nile movie's local premiere.

Serious money came knocking when an investment group asked if he was interested in looking for oil in Nigeria, Libya, and Kurdistan. “Kurdistan?” he snorted. “Don't you mean northern Iraq? In other words, you want me to work in the three most fucked-up places on the planet for two years?” Thanks, he said, but he had better things to do.

Namely, running Ethiopia's Omo River with his Colorado rafting buddies. As he conceived the expedition, the team would be lim颅ited to eight people and two rafts. They would spend about two weeks on the river, a run he'd done twice before, in 1994 and 2001. But in typical Scaturro fashion, he proposed parking the rafts on the Lower Omo and trekking 60 miles across the Boma Plateau into southern Sudan-a region he calls “perhaps the last wilderness area in Africa.” Afterwards, they'd keep boating to the Omo's terminus, in Kenya's Lake Turkana. The journey would span roughly 600 miles.

“Last time I was on the Omo,” Scaturro wrote in an e-mail to me, “I decided that I wouldn't return unless it was to explore the area to the west of the river. This is that trip.”

Southern Sudan? An area awash in automatic weapons, where a protracted civil war had only recently ended?

Not to worry, Scaturro said: He had arranged for a military escort. “We'll be met at the border by a colonel in the SPLA. Dude, you should come.”

“OK, EVERYBODY, LISTEN UP!” Scaturro barked in a booming, gravelly voice. He was standing by the bow of his gray Avon Pro raft, dressed in a clean khaki field shirt, shorts, and flip-flops, about to deliver his morning pep talk. It was around 10 a.m. on the eighth day of the trip, in late 2006, and we were about to shove off from the previous night's camp, a narrow, terraced beach that crowded into the Omo's tangled riverine forest. Across the water, a troop of nervous baboons clambered on a cliff face festooned with tropical greenery. We were coming down out of the mountains here, some 160 river miles below our put-in, and Scaturro was worried about falling behind schedule. For the past three days, he'd been dogging the Ethiopian staff to shake a leg in the morning and get the coffee on the campfire. Without a caffeine buzz, he insisted, we would never get under way earlier.

“Tomorrow, coffee will be ready at six o'clock,” he said, shooting a glance at our late-rising logistics manager, Petros Sisay, who'd rolled out that morning a full half-hour after Scaturro. “When you hear that coffee is ready, I want you all to pack your personal gear and clear your tents. We need to be on the river by eight o'clock.”

Considering the size of our group-19 of us, including five Ethiopian staff-a departure that early was going to be a stretch. With six more people and two more boats than Scaturro initially had planned, we weren't what you'd call fast-and-light. Our camps looked like deluxe Colorado River bivouacs, and the front storage bin of our booze barge, a classic old 18-foot Avon Spirit, was filled to the brim with clanking bottles, mostly local beer but also wine, whiskey, and a deadly off-brand ouzo. After a delirious party one night upriver, there had been so many empties strewn around the fire pit that Scaturro had declared a moratorium on happy hour.

To be fair, our late departure wasn't entirely Petros's fault. But by then the pudgy, garrulous cultural anthropologist and tour guide had become everybody's favorite whipping boy. He'd sold himself to Scaturro on the strength of his academic credentials and purported expertise on the Omo Valley's tribes-the Bodi, Bumi, and Mursi, among others. That remained to be seen, since we hadn't come to any villages yet. But as a manager he'd already proven undependable. He'd arrived at the Bele Bridge, our first resupply spot, two days upriver, with plenty of food and cold beer but without the mounting hardware for an outboard motor that we'd need to power through the Lower Omo's sluggish meanders.

“We ain't going nowhere on the lower river without those pipes, Petros!” Scaturro had exploded. “How many times did I tell you, 'On penalty of death, don't forget those parts'? Jesus Christ! I said it 20 times and should have said it 21.”

“I delegated this responsibility,” Petros explained lamely. Scaturro stomped off, placed a satellite call to our outfitter, Red Jackal tours, and arranged to have the parts driven overnight to the next road access, about 20 miles downriver.

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As a leader, Scaturro can be overbearing and foulmouthed, salting his orders with run-on profanities that would make a Soprano blush. In his view, an expedition team has one decider-in-chief-him-and when he bellows an order, you'd better jump. But he knows he's not infallible.

“My definition of a great team is one that continues to function when the leader goes down, like I did on Everest,” he says. “The leader's role is to pick a team, train them, and then make himself irrelevant.”

Despite his outbursts, he seems to thrive on fixing snafus and coaxing the best out of people. Between oil and gas gigs and what he calls his “high-profile” expeditions, he loves nothing more than bringing together comrades and casual acquaintances on a do-it-yourself adventure, for which everyone shares the cost. He's a pied piper to an ever-changing entourage of climbers, rafters, trekkers, and ordinary travelers who would follow him just about anywhere.

“He's a great team leader,” says Mike Prosser, a bearish, gray-bearded river-equipment manufacturer who ran the upper Blue Nile with Scaturro and jumped at the invitation to row the Omo. “He can be demanding and he'll get in your face, but five minutes later he'll put his arm around you and it's over.”

Twenty-five years ago, Scaturro considered guiding as a career but decided against taking passengers down the same rivers or up the same slopes again and again, like a glorified tour-bus operator. Instead, he sees his role as a catalyst, coach, and master of ceremonies. When we'd all met up in Addis Ababa a couple of weeks earlier, he'd assigned key tasks like rigging rafts to the boatmen and crew, while everyone else eagerly pitched in. On shopping excursions, he led the way into Addis's sprawling open-air market, the Mercato, ordering large quantities of provisions, dickering, and clearly relishing the role of tour leader and consummate Africa hand. At noisy team dinners, Scaturro was lord of the banquet to his adoring subjects, spinning stories about his trips on the Omo (“mud two feet deep in camp”) and the Ogaden (“the asshole pulled the pin and held the grenade on our hood”). It probably wouldn't have mattered if they were in Addis or Anchorage, as long as they were with the man they knew as “PV,” short for Pasquale Vincent.

“I've never met anyone with his energy and drive,” says Steve Jones, one of our lead boatmen. Jones had logged nearly 90 trips down the Colorado as a commercial guide in the 1980s and later went to Chile with Scaturro to raft the B铆o-B铆o. “These expeditions are not fun a hundred percent of the time,” he says. “The trips get long, people can get sick and irritable. Pasquale seems to have a larger appetite for these tough expeditions than anyone I know.”

Our third raft was piloted by another of Scaturro's old friends, Kurt Hoppe, an ultrafit oil-exploration consultant who'd rowed part of the Blue Nile with him. For assistant boatmen, he'd tapped two young guys, Zach Gill and Zach Baird- “Big Zach and Pro Zach”-who were like sons to him. The rest of us looked like package tourists-a lawyer and her computer-scientist husband, a veterinarian, a software salesman, a marketing exec, and a business-school professor.

On the Nile expedition, Scaturro's Ethiopian staff had secretly called him chakwala, which in Amharic means something like “impatient and pushy.” But two had agreed to be rehired: Yalew Mteku, his agile little factotum; and Baye Gebreselassie, our security guard, a laconic soldier who looks like Denzel Washington. Scaturro had also recruited Robel Petros, a seasoned crewman, and Tesomen Gesla, our cook.

After five days, we rolled out of Addis in an air-conditioned Mercedes coach followed by a cargo truck stuffed with rolled-up boats and gear, heading for the Great Rift Valley and the put-in bridge.

“God, I'm tired,” Scaturro said. “I can't wait to get on the river.”

BELOW THE PUT-IN, we entered a lost world inhabited only by insects, birds, and other wildlife. Tsetse flies and mosquitoes render the upper reaches of the Omo Valley inhospitable to humans and livestock. The people were a thousand feet above us on the Ethiopian Plateau, Scaturro said, where there were scores of grass-hut villages. The river was brown, wide, and choppy, clipping along at five miles an hour in a channel lined by gleaming black boulders that looked like colossal lumps of coal. Colobus monkeys with striking black-and-white coats leaped through the treetops, while hippos lolled in the shallows.

When he heard about the Omo in 1976, three years after Sobek Expeditions had made the first descent, Scaturro was 23, married, and holding down jobs as a general contractor and night cook while studying geology at Northern Arizona University, in Flagstaff. On a trip to the Grand Canyon, Gary Mercado, a classmate who'd been a Colorado River guide, described his recent adventures in Ethiopia as a Sobek boatman. One of these, on the Baro River, had been a catastrophe. Rounding the first bend below the put-in, the team's rafts had plunged over a waterfall and flipped, drowning a client.

Scaturro was more envious of the adventure than horrified by the tragedy. “I thought, My God, that's the greatest story I ever heard. I was so fucking jealous.”

After graduating in 1980, Scaturro moved to Denver and went to work for Amoco as a geophysicist. After four years, he struck out on his own, taking lucrative consulting jobs that left him with enough freedom and money to take off on adventures. During an ascent of Argentina's 22,834-foot Aconcagua, he found himself at Camp 1, two miles ahead of his teammates. To kill time, he made tea and organized the camp himself.

“I decided most mountaineers didn't know shit about logistics and organizing expeditions,” he says, “so I started doing it myself.” He guided friends on Aconcagua twice more before trying the Himalayas, the Karakoram, and high-altitude peaks in Russia and Alaska, including Mount McKinley. He led private rafting expeditions as well, running some of the same rivers Sobek had pioneered.

For his first B铆o-B铆o trip, Scaturro borrowed Sobek oar boats, customized them with raft frames he designed himself, and ran the river Grand Canyon style. He helped produce an ESPN film about the B铆o-B铆o in 1991, to raise awareness of the dam projects that were about to ruin it. “If God created the perfect river,” he told me, “it was the B铆o-B铆o.”

I took that as a figure of speech, since the only other time I'd heard Scaturro use the word God on our expedition had been with damn. I never would have guessed he used to be a churchgoing man-a Baptist deacon, no less. But he and his first wife had been devout Christians, both raised in deeply religious families. (Growing up in Hollywood, Scaturro shared a bedroom with four brothers in a bungalow behind his father's Sunset Boulevard trattoria, Vince's Little Star Restaurant, which was right near Paramount Studios.) His marriage broke up after 17 years, in 1989. His wife's spiritualism had grown increasingly fervent, he says, to the point that it interfered with their relationship. He'd been donating heavily to the church but stopped when he suspected the elders were scamming him in a building project, quit the congregation, renounced organized religion, and split with his wife. “I feel like I had to go through that period,” he says.

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Relaxing in camp on the Omo one evening, Scaturro said, “When you take away the guilt trip of religion and knock down the walls, you have to ask yourself, 'What are my boundaries?' I get out here and I can see more clearly. It's like being on a straight stretch of river.”

Mostly, though, Scaturro kept focused on our progress. Every afternoon he would sit at a folding table to update his daily river log and annotate a computer-generated topo map of the river that he'd produced at home. The map was about 15 feet long and 18 inches wide. It showed the river corridor in fine detail but omitted one critical feature: a massive new hydroelectric plant being built about 45 miles below the put-in. It was only after reaching Addis that we'd heard rumors about it. The project is part of the government's scheme to harness every major river in Ethiopia.

On the night before we reached the plant, sitting around the campfire with wine in hand, Scaturro slipped into a reflective mood. “Are the Ethiopian people better off with the dams or not?” he asked. “I don't know.”

There was no equivocating the next morning when we rounded the first bend and saw what was happening. Roads that had been bulldozed down from above on both sides of the river were about to converge at the narrowest point in the canyon. The channel was being pinched off by tons of rock debris supporting the ends of a temporary bridge. In a week, the bridge would be finished, the river blocked. Along the right bank was an enormous poured-concrete turbine plant. A second generating plant and a nearly 800-foot-high dam would be located about a hundred miles downstream. By 2011, when both projects are scheduled to be online, the most spectacular part of the Omo Valley will be lost forever.

Scaturro scowled. “There aren't going to be any free-flowing rivers left in the world,” he grumbled. “All that will remain is cesspools. We may be the last generation to have these river adventures.” As we shot the rapids in the narrowing gap at the bridge site, he roared, “Yahoo, baby! The last run on the Omo!”

THE OMO'S MOST CHALLENGING RAPID, about 175 miles below the put-in, is called Tis Isat (“Smoke of Fire”) Falls South. When we pulled over to scout the drop, on day nine, we were a slightly different team. Tom Bateman, our sharp-witted management professor, had left after an old foot injury flared up. We'd picked up photographer Liz Gilbert and a sweet Greek tourist named Simoni Zafiropoulou. A tall, middle-aged blonde who favored flamboyant jewelry, she'd met us at our hotel in Addis and, to everyone's shock, popped up at the resupply bridge, carrying her clothing in garbage bags. She was desperate to join the team. What could Scaturro say?

Scaturro consulted a sketch of the rapid in his 2001 river log, taking careful note of a keeper hole that couldn't be seen from where we stood. He warned the other boatmen. Liz said she wanted photos of the other rafts in the rapid. No problem, Scaturro said. He would eddy out at the bottom of the run, after clearing the hole.

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Simoni, Liz, and I sat in the bow of Scaturro's boat, while Yalew lounged on a pile of drybags lashed to the stern. Scaturro told us to crouch in the bilge and hold tight to the grab lines. Straining at the oars, he ferried across the channel, pivoted downstream, and let the river do the rest. The boat bumped and crunched over rocky shoals, hung up briefly, then continued sweeping down through the left-trending curve. Scaturro was standing at the oars, making minor course corrections, when he glanced sideways to scope out the best way into the eddy. When he looked back, he screamed, “Hold on! Hold on!” He'd forgotten about the keeper hole.

I was on the raft's downstream side, which plunged into the hole first and slammed into a standing wave. A wall of water crashed over my back. The boat tilted at a steep angle as backwash drove the downstream tube underwater. A weird roaring sound filled the air. We were trapped and about to flip.

Instinctively, Scaturro dropped the oars and moved to the high side. “Get in the back of the boat!” he yelled. “Get in the back!” He grabbed Simoni and Liz by the scruffs of their life jackets and yanked them into the middle of the raft.

Suddenly weightless, the bow popped up and leaped over the backwash. We were all right.

Scaturro looked shaken. Our close call was a disturbing flashback to near misses that he'd vowed would never happen again. One had occurred about a month into the Nile expedition, in the river's ominous Black Gorge.

In Gordon Brown's retelling of that 2004 episode, he was scouting in his kayak and ran a long rapid with a 12-foot pour-over that couldn't be seen from upriver. Scaturro followed in his raft, but a mixup in signals sent him careering over the drop into a nasty hole. Scaturro threw himself on the raft's high side to prevent it from flipping. He washed out of the hole, but the raft following him, piloted by Chilean photographer Michel L'Huillier, a whitewater novice, dropped into the pit sideways and capsized, pitching everyone aboard into the river and nearly drowning the trip's cook.

The Imax movie shows L'Huillier's flip but not the subsequent shouting match between Brown and Scaturro. The two got into it as the rattled Ethiopian camp staff looked on. Scaturro said he didn't see Brown's signals; Brown thought Scaturro had ignored them. When Brown accused Scaturro of being reckless with people's lives, he touched a nerve. Two of Scaturro's teammates had perished on previous expeditions, both in 1993: climber Greg Gordon, who slipped to his death on Pumori, the 23,494-foot peak next to Everest; and Harriet Nicholson, the fianc茅e of one of his clients, who drowned on a rafting holiday on the Yukon's Alsek River. Nicholson's death was especially troubling, because she'd been riding in Scaturro's boat, which flipped in a deep hole that he saw too late. Years later, the deaths still haunt him.

Our near miss at Tis Isat happened for the same reason as the Alsek accident. “In both instances,” Scaturro says, “I was paying attention to other things rather than concentrating on the river, something I try never to do, but it does happen.”

Tis Isat hadn't quite finished with us. The moment we reached shore, we heard a piercing emergency whistle. Scaturro grabbed two throw bags of coiled rescue line and dashed upriver, hopping across the sharp, black boulders in his flip-flops. It was only a false alarm: one man briefly overboard.

“I need a rest,” Scaturro said afterwards. “I need lunch.”

Petros didn't take the hint.

“Petros, lunch!” Scaturro hollered. “I am still the goddamn expedition leader, and I want lunch.”

That night in camp, perhaps to make a point to Petros, he handed napkins to everyone after dessert. Five minutes later he was fast asleep, slumped in a chair by the campfire with his chin on his chest.

IN THE MILES BELOW the Tis Isat falls, the river's current stalled. To make time, we began motoring. The first tribal village we encountered was a Bodi settlement. Petros's command of their language was limited, but he gathered that a stick-fighting contest was about to take place, in which young suitors whack each other silly with poles that have phallus-shaped tips. The winner gets the girl.

Scaturro suggested we take photos from the boats and move on. We were on a tight schedule. At a Mursi village 30 miles downstream, Liz, the photographer, put her foot down. The women were wearing lip plates, and she wanted time to shoot them. Scaturro cut the throttle and steered toward shore. He told Petros to get off and negotiate a deal with the elders: one price, unlimited photos.

“Leave your daypack here so they don't know that it's your bank,” Scaturro told him.

Petros scrambled out of the boat, still carrying his rucksack. Two young men arrived by dugout. As lean as gazelles, they were naked but covered themselves with blankets. Their upper arms were dotted with scars, which were self-inflicted to show how many enemies they'd defeated in battle. One of them carried an assault rifle.

Petros gave us the high sign.

“OK, everybody, go ahead,” Scaturro said. We piled off with our cameras. The deal was 70 birr, about $9, for as many photos as we wanted. “Don't anybody pull out any money, or it's all over,” Scaturro shouted. “Petros will pay.”

After five minutes, a commotion developed. Petros was rummaging in his backpack for money while a gray-haired Mursi elder standing beside him peeled off crisp one-birr notes from a stack and handed them out to a knot of clamoring women. They were demanding two birr per photo.

“All right, back in the boats,” Scaturro screamed. “Now! Petros, get that fucking backpack on board.”

We hurried to the rafts. Zach Gill, our massively strong, six-foot-five assistant boatman, stayed ashore tending the bow line. “Shove off! Shove off!” Scaturro yelled. The women wouldn't have it. They surrounded Gill and held fast to the line, haranguing us.

Suddenly, there was the metallic ker-chank of a round being chambered. One of the angry young men pacing the banks was brandishing a loaded Kalashnikov.

Scaturro turned and calmly said to our security guard, “Baye.” Baye understood immediately; he moved to his drybag and started pulling out socks, shirts, and finally his 9mm service pistol, which he cocked and held barrel-down by his thigh.

Another gunman appeared. “John Ricci, get up here,” Scaturro barked. “If that guy loads a round, jump him.” An Ironman triathlete, Ricci was, at 235 pounds, the bulkiest man on the team. Even if the Mursi were bluffing, I couldn't believe Scaturro would take such a risk. Ricci stepped to the bow and folded his arms. The second gunman backed off.

But money was still an issue. “Petros, get some money up here, right now,” Scaturro yelled. Petros remained frozen in place.

We were at a tense standoff. At last, Robel pulled out his own wallet and palavered with the gunmen in Amharic. They settled for 12 birr, the equivalent of $1.50. We were free to leave.

FOUR DAYS LATER, I left the expedition, along with six others who had commitments at home. We found out by e-mail that the remaining team members had reached Lake Turkana, but there had been no trekking, no colonel, and no SPLA escort. Instead, they had waited three days at a riverside missionary station for a truck that Petros had insisted was coming, then had driven to a border outpost called Kibbish Wells. Petros had gotten sick and moaned that he was dying. Scaturro had slipped him a sleeping pill to shut him up.

After he got home, Scaturro e-mailed a final thank-you to everyone on the team. “I have never been with a commercial or private group in such difficult conditions and had such a wonderful time,” he wrote.

“I know the trip I want to take now,” Scaturro told me later. “I want to go back next year, take a dugout across the lower river, and start walking. It'll be a 400-kilometer walk. I'm convinced that if there are any authentic tribes left in Africa, we'll find them.”

But that would have to wait. Last July, Scaturro flew to Pakistan to join the Shared Summits Expedition on K2. In September, he led a team down Ethiopia's Tekeze, portaging around a dam that will choke off that river. He ended 2007 in the Middle East, working with a television crew producing a series on the Arab countries.

Meanwhile, his wish list is ever-expanding: Raft the Mekong from source to sea, walk the length of Russia's Kamchatka Peninsula, sail the South Pacific, drive from Cape Town to Lon颅don. He and Weihenmayer are talking about putting up a new route on New Guinea's Carstensz Pyramid, one of the Seven Summits.

“I'm not afraid of dying,” Scaturro says. “I'm afraid of dying before I do everything I want to do. People always ask me, 'How do you do it, and how can I do it?' I tell them that we've been born into the greatest country on earth. All we have to do is to get rid of our fear and control the guilt-family guilt, church guilt, work guilt-and take advantage of the opportunity. When I hear, 'I can't go, my grass will die,' I say, 'Tear out the grass and let's go adventuring.'

“Because in the end, it's all about friends and memories, baby.”

Access + Resources
ETHIOPIA

GETTING THERE: Ethiopian Airlines flies direct from Washington, D.C., to Addis Ababa for about $1,600 round-trip (). WHEN TO GO: September through February, following the rainy season, when the countryside is full of wildflowers.

WHAT TO DO & WHERE TO STAY:
Great Rift Valley
RAFT THE OMO – Remote River Expeditions has plans to raft the upper canyon this October, from Gibe Farm to Bele Bridge, an 80-mile journey that will take you down one of the Omo s last raftable stretches ($2,100; ). DISCOVER ETHIOPIAN CULTURE – After you set up base camp at Murulle Omo Explorer s Lodge, on the Lower Omo, Ethiopian Rift Valley Safaris will take you to local villages of the Dorze and Hamar people (from $1,300 for ten days; ).

Simien National Park
HIKE THE SIMIEN MOUNTAINS – Join Mountain Travel Sobek on its 16-day Ethiopian trekking tour and hike inside Simien National Park, topping out on 15,158-foot Ras Dashen, Ethiopia s highest peak ($4,700; ). SIMIEN LODGE – Dubbed Africa s highest hotel (10,696 feet), this new lodge s thatch-roof tukuls are equipped with heated floors (doubles, $110; ).

Lake Tana
DESCEND THE NILE – Raft the wild stretch between Lake Tana and Blue Nile Falls on a seven-to-ten-day trip with Nile River Safaris this October ($1,700; ).

Lakes District
BISHANGARI LODGE – On the eastern shore of Lake Langano, this eco-resort s nine godjos (bungalows) are made with papyrus, wood, and grass, and are adorned with local craftwork. The lodge can organize everything from bird-watching to mountain biking, but seeing the sunset from the resort s Tree Bar, built around a 400-year-old fig tree, is equally appealing (doubles, $90; ).

Bale Mountains National Park
TRACK A WOLF – The Ethiopian wolf, one of the planet s most endangered species, persists in a small section of the Bale Mountains above 10,500 feet. Track the elusive canid with Naturetrek, which offers a 13-day safari from London for about $3,900 ().

GETTING AROUND: Ethiopian Airlines offers regular flights to more than a dozen cities throughout the country. Red Jackal Tour Operator, in Addis Ababa, rents Land Cruisers from $90 per day, with a driver ().

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