Nobody uses the Nilgiri Mountain Railway to get from A to B, but for the sheer joy of riding in a train that passes through 16 tunnels, 250 bridges and 208 serpentine curves.
You have shared a post that offers payment for clicks.
To receive credit and payment, please sign in.
Learn more about paid sharing
by signing in you agree to the terms of use
create your account
I just want to read stuff
Awesome. Browse pages and subscribe to the ones you like.
I want to post and earn money
Create a page about something you're passionate about and post links to articles, stories and more. Trunqd is 100% free to use, and we will pay you 80% of all ad revenue on your pages. It takes less than 60 seconds to sign in and create your first post.
I want to advertise
You can create an ad on any page within seconds.
sign in with facebook
If you prefer to sign in with email, click here.
create new subaccount
Nobody uses the Nilgiri Mountain Railway to get from A to B, but for the sheer joy of riding in a train that passes through 16 tunnels, 250 bridges and 208 serpentine curves.
On its route between Dete and Ngamo Sidings, the "Elephant Express" offers guests an utterly unique safari experience.
A drive down Bolivia's infamous "Death Road" takes travellers into a world where two resources have provoked fascination, misunderstanding and controversy for centuries: coca and gold.
In Morocco, people don't call for an Uber; instead, they pile into Grand Taxis – battered but colourful old diesel Mercedes that are North Africa's answer to Cuba's vintage cars. Many diesel Mercedes (especially the W123 240D model) from the 1970s and '80s have spent their twilight years as Grand Taxis in the sun, after being shipped over when deemed too old for the European market. Here they have become part of the fabric of society, providing an essential long-distance travel link for locals as well as a colourful snapshot for tourists, much like the old American cars in Cuba. But not for much longer, as the Moroccan government is keen to rid them from the country's roads.
Tales of mysterious ruins have long enchanted travellers from afar, but those stories may hide something even more fascinating – and adverse.
An idyllic holiday resort on the banks of the Red Sea was a base for Israeli spies with a secret mission.
Analies Gómez Coyula is deep into her third bowl of helado (ice cream). Her boyfriend, Daniel, is equally engrossed as he spoons up his 13th scoop of vanilla. Aunt Ana Lidia seems content, with two ensaladas – five scoops apiece – already devoured. She unfurls an abanico and fans herself against the heat of Havana in May, then ladles the contents of her third bowl into a plastic container to take away. I feel abstemious in comparison with my single ensalada mixta of five flavours, topped with caramel sauce and crushed cookies. We’re at Parque Coppelia, the world’s largest ice cream parlour and an iconic institution in Cuba. Taking up an entire block diagonally opposite the Hotel Habana Libre in the once-tony Vedado district, this state-run ‘people’s park’ offers a for-pennies indulgence for the masses and serves an average of 30,000 customers a day – and up to 600 at any one time. When Havana sizzles, the entire city seems to descend seeking relief. The helado – served with taciturn efficiency by waitresses in 1950s plaid miniskirts – wins no awards. But no other experience speaks so sweetly to Cuba’s revolutionary idealism.
Ross Island, an abandoned British settlement in the remote Andaman archipelago, is being taken over by its rightful owner: nature. Situated in the Bay of Bengal, India’s Andaman and Nicobar Islands are an isolated group of 572 tropical islands, of which only 38 are currently inhabited. Nautically located closer to South East Asia than India, they are known for stunning beaches, thriving marine life, rich coral reefs and largely undisturbed primary forests. But beyond the idyllic views lie a dark past. (Credit: Neelima Vallangi)
