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Alison Ince, manager of Collections in National Geographic Libraries and Information Services, headed down to explore the Caribbean coast of Colombia.

Who would have thought that lying in a pool of thick gray mud would be one of the highlights of my trip to Colombia?  

But there I was, in the crater of a small volcano, floating on a column of mud that stretched a mile and a half down into the Earth, thinking this was certainly one of the more unusual experiences in my life. So much mud filled my ears that the rest of the world sounded as though it was underwater. The masseuse moved from rubbing mud into my scalp down onto my shoulders. There was nothing to do but try to keep the mud out of my mouth and relax.

My two travel companions and I had heard about the mud pool at Volcan del Totumo near the coastal Caribbean city of Cartagena and were determined not to miss it on our trip to Colombia. Eager to avoid the mud rush hours--vans from Cartagena hotel tour groups in the morning, buses from cruise ships in the afternoon--we hired a taxi for the same price as a tour to drive us the roughly 30 miles from Cartagena. 

An hour and a half and one flat tire later, we turned off the main paved two-lane highway onto a dirt road leading through the forest of totumo trees that gave the volcano its name. After a few hundred yards, the trees opened up to reveal the shores of a wide lagoon with Volcan de Totumo at its edge.

Taylor Kennedy, who works with National Geographic Image Sales in Vancouver, offers a local's perspective on the Games. For more Olympic blogs, click here.

The sleeper hit of the games appears to be the curling events. It also appears that no one knows the rules to this Scottish game--and that is part of the fun of it. While watching the sport, I've had several conversations that started spontaneously with the line: "So, do you know what is going on here?" It always was with someone who had never really watched it before but has become a brand new fan.

Seeing curling live makes you realize it's one giant party. The noise of the crowds has been as high at this sport as it's been in some of the more traditionally popular sports--everyone is rowdy and raucous and cheering on their team.

I personally think a lot of the popularity of curling has to do with how easy it is to joke about it, and the reputation the sport has given itself. Nevertheless everyone is talking about it--and as they say in the PR world, there is never bad press, just press. It really is a highly-skilled sport, albeit a very subtle one, so it doesn't seem to be that hard to play...but the finesse is fun to watch.

The another unexpectedly popular aspect of the games, and one of the highlights in my opinion, is the nightly fireworks shows on the water. At 10:45 p.m. every evening, they kindly send up a warning shot to get everyone's attention, then start the real show a few minutes later. Interspersed in the fireworks is an excellent water show where they project highlights from the various sporting events onto a mist screen like a movie theater for a few minutes, then resume the light show. It's pretty amazing. I have to admit that I am a sucker for fireworks, and since my cousin Pete lives in a spot with an awesome view they are a priority and a fun way to end each night.

Photo: Taylor Kennedy

National Geographic had more than one correspondent at the Vancouver Games this year. Taylor Kennedy works for National Geographic Images Sales out of Vancouver, and gives us a local's perspective.

I wasn't expecting everyone to be having so much fun on the streets at the Olympics.

I've only ever watched the Olympics on TV--which means listening to medal counts, backstories on the Olympians, hearing about how much the athletes have struggled to get there, etc., etc.

In person, the Games are a totally different scene. Everyone is walking around happy and excited to be there to witness these athletes at their sport...and spontaneously building things too, apparently.

The Pacific Ocean waterfront is just outside BC Place, where the hockey games and opening and closing ceremonies are held. Among the rocks that line that sheltered bay there are now hundreds of inukshuks (the symbol of the 2010 Vancouver Olympic Games) that have been constructed by passing fans. Someone started with one, and now there are tons of them all over the place poking up into the sky. They range in size from pretty big stones built by big burly dudes in hockey jerseys to little ones built out of pebbles by kids, and the chant repeated by them all is "Oh! Careful! Don't knock that one over!" as they carefully step between the constructions already there.

The extremely delicious dessert of choice in Ottawa: a BeaverTail.

While the East Coast was getting pummeled with snow earlier this month, I managed to sneak away for a few days and escape snowpocalypse. But instead of an island paradise, I headed north, up to Ottawa, Ontario, and got a taste of its festive Winterlude season, which drew to a close this past weekend.

Ottawa is Canada's capital city, and about two-thirds of its residents work for the federal government, including my friend Louis, whom I met while traveling in Morocco this fall. He and few of other extra-friendly locals helped me find some great places to enjoy the best of Winterlude and offered a few places to stay warm in between. Their tips, and my faves follow.

• I arrived in Ottawa just a few days before the Olympics started, and Canada's passion for the Games was certainly evident, despite being thousands of miles away from Vancouver. I saw hundreds of people on the streets sporting the Games' hot item--the coveted red Olympic mittens--before eventually snagging a pair myself, and believe me, they were the hit of the weekend. Those mittens are lined with fleece that is lined with some kind of magic that keeps your hands incredibly toasty. This was of particular use as I experienced the city's sub-zero temperatures.
  

• As the seat of the city government, Ottawa's Parliament Building is a gorgeous example of Gothic Revival architecture and offers free tours of the complex daily. It's also an all-out party central if you happen to be in town in July for Canada Day. But any day of the year I'd suggest you stroll along the perimeter of the Hill to admire the architecture and the view. You'll also stumble across a small cat sanctuary, which was created to house the many strays that live on the property, and a statue known for its Whispering Wall (sit on either ends of the bench and you'll be able to hear the person across from you as though they were sitting next to you). 

Barbara Ferry, the director of National Geographic Libraries and Information Services, is in Vancouver with her family to watch the Olympic Games, and offers a glimpse of the international antics on the sidelines.

Most outdoor Olympic venues have two levels of tickets - "A" level for assigned seating and "B" level for standing-room areas. The latter ticket holders arrive very early for the best spots - my family showed up three hours before women's luge on February 15 and we nailed the prime spot in front of the Vancouver 2010 sign on the track, hundreds of feet closer than the more pricey seats in the stands. At other venues I've seen ticket holders in the stands join the fun on the ground, either for a better or sunnier (warmer) view.  

Aside from being closer to the action, being on the ground means you are in the center of roving bands of nationalist party-goers, all seemingly trying to out-do each other with costumes, noisemakers, signs, and flags. In a class by themselves are the Canadians, who make up the vast majority of ticket holders at most events. They are the quietest of the national groups until their athletes are on course--then they turn on sheer power of their numbers with bells and flag waving that can drown out any other national group. Only the Netherlands came close at speed skating on February 15, with their de rigeur orange hats and shirts and enthusiastic cheering--they were clearly organized for the events with block seating and organized cheers.  

The Americans showed up by the dozens with large red cowboy hats at Lindsey Vonn's now-famous Olympic gold downhill run on February 17. Some had matching Vonn jackets, Vonn flags, and Vonn posters. The American flag was worn everywhere at the downhill race--one gentleman without a shirt donned it as a cape to ward off the freezing weather. The Swiss arrived with, appropriately, the largest cow bells I have ever seen--more than a foot long and wide, their gong was more akin to a deep drum than a bell. 

Yes, you may be in Vancouver for the Olympics, but that doesn't mean you can't soak up all the city has to offer in your downtime (and with the weather conditions they've been having, there's been plenty of downtime). Barbara Ferry, the director of National Geographic Libraries and Information Services, shares some of the spots she's visited with her family when they aren't watching the athletes do their stuff.

If you want to escape the crowds on busy Olympic streets, hop in a taxi or take Vancouver's excellent bus system and to the University of British Columbia's Museum of Anthropology. During our visit on February 13, there were barely any visitors in sight. The museum's guards agreed that the lack of attendance that morning was due to the revelry the night before during and after the Opening Ceremonies. But since we were still on East Coast time, my family had no trouble getting to the museum by 10 a.m.

The low attendance certainly had nothing to do with the museum's excellent Pacific Northwest and global native collections. Aside from the expansive space with towering totem poles and ceremonial bowls large enough to hold food for an entire village, the museum boasts a $55 million (Canadian) renovation to put more of its collections on display. Each artifact in the renovated space is linked to a visual description in central computer kiosks. With these kiosks the collections came to life--and I found my computer-spoiled 10 and 14-year-old kids running back and forth to identify masks, weapons, and other artifacts around the room (watch a video of how they work here). Finally, a museum we could all enjoy!

Barbara Ferry, the director of National Geographic Libraries and Information Services, is in Vancouver with her family to watch the Olympic Games, and spoke with some of the volunteers on hand helping to make the games happen.

Everywhere you go in Vancouver you'll find hundreds of volunteers in light blue jackets who are directing ticket holders, clearing out snow, or getting the venues ready for competition. And despite the rainy, miserable conditions, I have yet to meet one who is not kind, helpful, and patient with the many questions from Olympic visitors. Many volunteers are from Canada - 95 percent according to CNN.com - others are from the U.S. and around the world. 

One morning at 6:45 a.m. when we were riding a bus between Whistler and Creekside, about a dozen volunteers - one from as far away as Germany - climbed on board as we traveled the route. Some volunteers are retired, but most of the ones I spoke to had agreed to work for free for at least 14 days, taking personal vacation time in order to have the privilege of wearing the blue jackets and colorful backpacks. Volunteering does allow for a great view of the competition: Charles Cullinane of Boston, Massachusetts skis the slopes every day "painting" the blue lines for the racers before they arrive (he also touches them up between runs). On his back is six gallons of food coloring and a hose. It's "like you are spraying your lawn," said Cullinane. "It can get heavy," he added. After the Olympic racer passes, you'll see these line painters behind other skiers smoothing out the course. Cullinane flipped open his hands and showed us how his gloves used in painting the ski slopes had been dyed blue to match his jacket. He seemed as proud of them as he would have been if he'd won a medal.

Photo: Barbara Ferry

Barbara Ferry, the director of National Geographic Libraries and Information Services, is in Vancouver with her family to watch the Olympic Games. She shares her frustration about being fenced out of the Olympic torch.

How can something be so very impressive but also so disappointing? The Vancouver Olympic Cauldron falls in that unlikely category. My family and thousands of others lined up outside Canada Place on Vancouver's waterfront in the pouring rain for a glimpse of the famous flame, only to find it unceremoniously locked behind a chain link fence--there was no way to get a clear view with your camera without pushing the lens through a gap in the links. 

The location of the cauldron was kept under wraps until it was revealed Friday night during the Opening Ceremonies. Even our taxi driver got the location wrong--sending us off through swarming crowds in the wrong direction.

Because no one official--even the heavy security--could give a reason why it was locked up, speculation among the crowd ran rampant. One women was convinced that the Olympic Committee was concerned about protesters  "putting the flame out." Thankfully, after admitting that they "underestimate[d] the degree to which people would want to get close to it," organizers of the Vancouver Games have said they will announce plans today to move the fence and provide visitors greater access to the torch.

Want to see how the torch looks now? Check out some videos after the jump.

Barbara Ferry, the director of National Geographic Libraries and Information Services, is in Vancouver with her family to watch the Olympic Games. She learned that while the athletes are assuredly bringing their high-tech gear, it turns out that the spectators have special equipment of their own.

Every Olympics has its essential equipment--items that everyone seems to have--or wants to get.  I've heard that in the past pins were the thing, and I see some kids adorned but I rarely caught sight of any being exchanged. The exception was two ladies who had set up a make-shift display of dozens of pins from the United States and Russia near Canada Place -- sort of a mini-détente. One nice Canadian also handed me a Robson Square pin when I inquired about directions. 

For the Vancouver Olympics the it item is a pair of bright red mittens which are adorned with the Olympic Rings and Canadian maple leaf. They are everywhere, and were worn by the thousands at the indoor women's hockey game on Sunday night (Canada vs. Slovakia, and Canada trounced the poor opposing team 18-0.) The mittens are a true Canadian item-created by Canadian Olympics Committee with proceeds benefitting Canadian athletes. I had expected to pick up a pair at Olympic stores or at a street vendor - the latter of which are noticeably lacking in Vancouver, which meant I had to hunt them down. Canadians told me they were available at "mall" stores not easily accessible to tourists without a car. I'd also heard also they are at the Vancouver airport (missed that opportunity) and in Whistler. The adult mittens were sold out online and are now being marked up 50-100% on sites like eBay. Finally, I tracked them down at the Hudson's Bay Company store on Granville Street. Just picked up ten pairs for family!

Staffers Krista Rossow and Susanne Hackett are in New Orleans with writer Andrew Nelson this week. Below they check in with us bright and early on Mardi Gras morning.

It's Mardi Gras in New Orleans this morning and the city is awaking to clear skies and King Cake, the iconic, high-sugar carb cake that fuels the merriment of sinners and saints. Especially the Saints, whose Drew Brees ruled as king of Bacchus on Sunday before massive crowds. Stay posted for more images of Mardi Gras day in New Orleans and follow the merriment on WWOZ FM on the web.

Photo: Krista Rossow

Traveler contributing editor Jim Conaway reviews two new exhibits that just recently opened in Washington, D.C.

Thank God for the women, I'm thinking, standing in the bright, airy space of the National Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C. I don't necessarily mean the model for Modigliani's Nude on a Blue Cushion, with her gorgeous, rosy skin, or the sensually draped courtesan in Renoir's Odalisque. I don't mean the lively bathers in Gauguin's Fatata te Miti, or the woman with a fan in Degas's Madame Camus. I mean the subject of the sturdy rendition by Fernand Legér at the conclusion of the new show, "From Impressionism to Modernism: The Chester Dale Collection." It's of a woman in a blue scarf, Maud Dale, wife of the industrialist Chester Dale and the guiding hand in this phenomenal assembly of paintings.

From the 19th and early 20th century, they all belong to the National Gallery, and although they have in the past been included as part of other exhibitions, this is the first time 81 of the finest have been brought together in one landmark show. They include not just the backbone of French painting of the period (and, as the curator points out, the entire rib structure as well), but also American works of the time. This isn't just another grand gathering of significant work, much of which you may have seen in reproduction, but a careful selection of now-famous artists working close to the top of their form.

The eye of the selector proved to be both consistent, and deft. If Maud Dale knew what she liked, apparently her husband agreed. Light is a definite motif here; so is the color blue, at least to my mind. It led me happily, if not from one painting to the next, at least as a kind of pigmented through-line: the oarsman's jacket in Mary Cassatt's The Boating Party; the dress in Renoir's Girl with a Watering Can; Picasso's mournful The Tragedy; Claude Monet's dreamy Houses of Parliament, George Bellow's iconic depiction of New York Harbor, Blue Morning; Corot's and Cezanne's skies, and the luminous azure backdrop in the portrait of Chester Dale by Salvador Dali.

There's another portrait of Dale, by Diego Rivera - in a blue suit, of course. Since the benefactor stipulated that the art he bequeathed to the gallery in 1962 could not travel, you have to travel to it. And you should.

Sheila F. Buckmaster, Traveler editor at large, just came back from a destination wedding in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico.

It was my first Destination Wedding--"my" not as in "bride," but, rather, "guest." And it was in one very special destination: Cabo San Lucas. Whales, beach, and margaritas. Sunny Mexico, where smiles are in abundance. Good friends Kevin and Bethany had planned several days of fun for us, from deep-sea fishing to scuba diving, endless eating to a grand finale party on the beach at Las Ventanas (from $625). This was wedding central. Vows would be accompanied by Sea of Cortez breaking waves.

In the days leading up to the trip, my thoughts focused squarely on the wedding: my husband's role as groomsman (blue blazer and khakis), Bethany's footwear (this Montana cowgirl was going to sport custom-made boots with her sleek white strapless gown), the two sets of parents whose names I vowed to get straight.

But as soon as we touched down it was "destination" that preoccupied me. This was, after all, a trip. And that meant exploring. First, the Las Ventanas resort, with its perfectly-tended cactus gardens and bushes flush with hummingbirds. I saddled up to the outdoor sushi and tequila bar where I found some just-right spicy tuna rolls made from very local catch. At the spa, after my massage, I was asked if I wanted some fruit. Just wait here, I was told. Five minutes later I was handed a wooden plate with thinly sliced melon, pineapple, mango, and kiwi with, on the side, something I didn't recognize. That's a mix of chili powder and salt, I was told. Dip your fruit into it. Perfect. This sort of care and service characterized every moment at the resort. As my friend Susan (a psychotherapist) once told me, Everyone wants to be mothered. Las Ventanas gets that. Running into friends here and there was a great pleasure. We all felt like lucky kids at camp, but with margaritas rather than Kool-Aid.

Senior editor Norie Quintos, who edits the magazine's annual Tours of a Lifetime issue, is just back from a trip down South (way down) to Cape Horn, the Straits of Magellan, and Tierra del Fuego.

As Meg noted earlier, today marks the day when the Epiphany, or Twelfth Night, is celebrated around the world. And in New Orleans, it's also the official kick-off to the Mardi Gras season. It was this time last year that I first went down to the Big Easy to begin reporting the Mardi Gras Moments series for the blog, a project that eventually evolved into my current story in the magazine, "Parading Around New Orleans." When I sat down to write the piece, a certain blue-skinned deity I happened upon immediately came to mind. The opening paragraph of the story, which describes a scene from the amazing Society of St. Anne parade, begins:

My bearings are off. It feels as if I'm in a maze of fun house mirrors. I'm standing at an intersection in New Orleans and before me is a blue-skinned Vishnu, the Hindu protector of the universe, none of whose many eel-like arms seems to point me in the right direction.

So imagine my surprise yesterday when I received the following letter in my inbox...

Traveler contributing editor Margaret Loftus eats her way through the bounty in New York's Hudson Valley.

The Hudson Valley is known for many things--Franklin D. Roosevelt's home, the Vanderbilt Mansion, lots of wineries--but my husband and I recently went there to check out the food scene I'd heard so much about. This fertile swath of valley stretching from New York's Westchester County northward to Albany is home to the Culinary Institute of America (CIA), an incubator for the region's deep pool of top-notch chefs, and a thriving locavore movement.
 
Eating locally is embraced wholeheartedly at the 19-room Buttermilk Falls Inn & Spa, our comfy digs on the west bank of the Hudson River. The rambling 75-acre estate, with a main house that dates back to the Revolutionary War and a handful of carriage houses, sources the ingredients for its hearty breakfasts and afternoon tea from its own organic vegetable and herb garden, orchard, beehive, and heritage breed chickens (there are also peacocks, Angora goats, and some impossibly cute llamas). A commercial kitchen is in the works that will soon expand the inn's offerings to lunch, dinner, and cooking classes. 
 
Fueled by a tasty breakfast of scrambled eggs laced with goat cheese and fresh herbs, we hiked across the Walkway Over the Hudson, which opened in October to commemorate the 400th anniversary of Henry Hudson's river trip. Once a key link from New York City to New England factories, the Poughkeepsie-Highland Railroad Bridge stood idle for some 30 years until a local citizens' group raised the $39 million from public and private funds needed to convert it into a linear park. It's now the longest pedestrian span in the world, beautiful to look at, with its lattice of trusses and struts, and even cooler to walk across. From its peak, the whole valley unfolds and you get a sense of what inspired the expansive landscapes of the Hudson River School painters.

If you add up the days, Josh Thomas and National Geographic television associate producer J.J. Kelley have spent a year of their lives together trekking through land and water. That includes the five months they spent on the Appalachian Trail, where they first met 400 miles into what each of them thought would be a solo hike. In 2006, with mountain bikes and cameras in tow, they headed to Alaska for their second adventure: a 1200-mile bike ride from the Pacific Ocean to the Arctic, out of which came Pedal to the Midnight Sun, their first documentary film. 

Their second film, Paddle to Seattle, tells the story of their most recent journey: 96 days spent paddling from Skagway to Seattle through the Inside Passage in sea kayaks that they crafted by hand from pygmy wooden kits. The film is currently screening at film festivals, and Paddler magazine dubbed it the best feature film about paddling produced in the last decade. It has won the 2009 Port Townsend Film Festival Audience Award and took home the Best Documentary prize at the Minneapolis Underground Film Festival last week. It's screening this week at the Anchorage Film Festival, and will be screened at National Geographic headquarters in Washington D.C. on February 16th, 2010. I spoke with them about planning their adventures, refrigeration tactics, and adjusting to life after being out on the open water for over three months.

What led you to paddle the Inside Passage?

J.J.: Josh said a long time ago, 'There's no reason that you shouldn't be able to do what you love in life. And there's no reason that shouldn't be a viable option for you to be prosperous.' For us it was these trips, going out and experiencing these other places and then just learning how other people and animals inhabit our planet. The more time you have an opportunity to see all that's out there, the hungrier it makes you to continue to follow that path. That longing brought us to the sea-kayaking trip.

Did you become acquainted with the outdoors while growing up?

Josh: I grew up on a hobby farm where we had chicken and goats and all kinds of farm animals. We had a fair amount of property and forest around the house. I've always been real close to nature. This was a natural progression to become more comfortable in it.

How did you prepare to paddle from Juneau to Seattle?

Josh: We both did a fair amount of sea kayaking beforehand. It's low impact enough that we more or less just eased into it. The first few days we were doing five miles a day as opposed to halfway though the trip when we were doing fifteen to twenty-mile days.

Jim Conaway is just back from a visit to Amsterdam, where he checked out two current exhibits at the city's celebrated museums.

In Amsterdam, two unique artists beckon this winter from distinctly different worlds. Anyone passing through Holland, even with just a few hours between connecting flights, should make tracks for both the national Rijksmuseum, and the nearby Van Gogh Museum. And if for some reason Americans miss this opportunity, they'll get a second chance at these extraordinary shows, as I'll explain.

The Rijksmuseum (Jan Luijkenstraat 1) has mounted its "Little Ice Age" exhibition of 17th-century paintings by Hendrick Avercamp, foremost conjurer with Dutch winter scenes that capture two lost aspects: the costumes and social mores of the time, and the bleak beauty of an icy land that due to global warming is no longer a common reality in the Netherlands.

In the last dozen years the canals of Holland have frozen solid enough for skating only once, last year, releasing a flood of pent-up affection for ice skating and all it stands for in the Dutch past and psyche. Ice skating was a democratic endeavor, like most in Holland, where rich and poor gathered on the same slippery surface to recreate, court, compete, party, show off, and travel. Avercamp captures this appealing Low Country ice-aphilia in nostalgic, haunting detail that appeals even to those who have never even strapped a blade to their feet.

The paintings go beyond a fine reflection of Dutch period life to rope in associations with disappearing landscapes everywhere and so acquire a much broader relevance. Fortunately the National Gallery of Art in Washington, DC, will bring "Hendrick Avercamp: The Little Ice Age", to the nation's capital in March, 2010, hence the chance to see it on American turf. Efforts are being made to include actual specimens of the lovely, curvilinear 17th-century ice skates and other related objects, so that immersion in associative childhood dreams - a la Hans Brinker - can be complete.

Kara Marston, who works for National Geographic Digital Media, has shared highlights of her native Armenia with us at Intelligent Travel. Today she looks at the latest cultural offerings from the country. 

At the age when most the kids in my neighborhood were reading Where the Wild Things Are and immersing themselves in the whimsical art of Maurice Sendak, I became captivated by the solemn portraits of Armenian-American artist Arshile Gorky. His haunting self-portrait, "The Artist and His Mother," appeared on the cover of The Crimes Against Humanity and Civilization: The Genocide of the Armenians, a book I was given as a child to help me understand Armenia's violent history. During a recent weekend visit, I finally had the opportunity to view the artist's complete work first hand at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. 

The "Arshile Gorky: A Retrospective" exhibition includes 178 paintings, sculpture, prints, and drawings, showcasing the artist's entire career from the early 1920s until his death in 1948. The exhibit was impressive and seeing the portrait in its original form impacted me more than I had imagined. The accompanying audio tour describing Gorky's piece--inspired by a photograph taken of the artist and his mother before she died in the Armenian genocide-- brought forth memories from my own family's story of escaping the massacres. The photograph had served as a reminder for his father, who had immigrated to the United States, not to forget the family he left behind.