Travel Guide

Wellington, New Zealand (CNN) — A cheese roll may seem simple: it’s basically a slice of bread with cheese-based filling, rolled up and toasted until slightly crispy.

Margaret Peck remembers her first cheese roll. She was a teenager at the beach near Invercargill, almost at the end of the South Island and New Zealand’s southernmost city — it’s also home to the world’s southernmost Starbucks and McDonald’s outlets.

Her husband Mark Peck remembers his first, too. It came after arriving as a kid from Kentucky.

“I’d never had them before. And, ooohhh — they were good! I got hooked, well and truly!”

Decades later, there’s a reason their memories are so clear.

“The cheese roll means celebrations, events, gatherings, homecomings, fundraisers,” explains Donna Hamilton, who makes cheese rolls at The Batch in Invercargill, which she co-owns with husband Gareth.

“It means people, family and laughter. They’re the ultimate comfort food.”

Immigration and identity

They gained popularity in the 1950s and 60s, as sliced bread became more common in New Zealand, becoming a staple at school fundraisers.

But cheese rolls are a distinctly regional cuisine. Leach’s research shows the first recipe for an “authentic” cheese roll with a pre-cooked cheese filling did not appear in a cookbook in the more populous North Island until 1979. Even now, it’s uncommon to find cheese rolls at North Island cafes.

Yet the Pecks wanted to offer them in the capital when they opened Little Peckish in Wellington — at the bottom of the North Island — in 2009, after Mark Peck finished a career in Parliament; his constituency was Invercargill.

“I’m a Southlander,” explains Margaret Peck, who grew up north of Invercargill near the town of Winton. “I wanted to have something that’s part of my identity.”

There was an adjustment, though: at first, patrons were eating cheese rolls with a knife and fork. She’s adamant cheese rolls are eaten with your hands.

West of Invercargill is Riverton, a small town along an estuary formed by the meandering Aparima and Pourakino rivers.

It’s here Cazna Gilder makes cheese rolls at The Crib. She says “southern sushi” — as cheese rolls are sometimes called, because they’re “as popular as sushi” — are synonymous with regional identity.

“A cheese roll’s honest,” she explains. “It’s not pretentious. I think it’s because we’re so down-to-earth.”

More than meets the eye

There are many variations of a cheese roll.

“Traditions are handed down from generation to generation,” Hamilton says. “Children living overseas have sent home for the correct recipe to make for flatmates in London to overcome homesickness.”

Mark Heffer, who makes cheese rolls at his café, Industry, in Invercargill, says a “proper” cheese roll needs a few things: “[The bread has] got to be rolled and not folded, lots of cheese and fresh red onion, some sort of mayo to give it that creamy flavor, and we like to add a little bit of sour cream and chopped parsley. Toasted but not too toasted, it must be golden brown and topped with lashings of butter.”

“As long as there are people in Southland, the cheese roll will live on forever,” says Industry’s Mark Heffer.

Brandon Todd

“You should need to wash your hands and face after eating a proper cheese roll,” he adds.

Some have a slightly different take, however.

One example is north of Southland, below the snowcapped peaks of The Remarkables, at Rātā. Their cheese rolls are garnished with locally-sourced preserved apricots, hazelnuts, truffle oil and honey from the southern rātā tree, found on the west coast of the South Island. Served as an entrée, founder Fleur Caulton says they’re a popular dish at the Queenstown restaurant.

“Everyone has their version of a roast. We have our version of a cheese roll.”

Rolling on

Bucolic as it may seem in an area where neighbors can leave doors unlocked and penguins visit beaches, life’s changing like everywhere else. For instance, the planned 2024 closure of the aluminum smelter south of Invercargill at Tiwai Point — Southland’s single-largest employer — could mean the loss of hundreds of jobs.

Other changes are also afoot. The shutting of New Zealand’s borders amid the coronavirus pandemic has led to an increase in domestic tourists, but there are concerns about what the absence of international visitors could mean for the future. Large parts of central Invercargill have also been demolished. Rising from the rubble will be a business and shopping complex that could cost NZ$165 million (about US$120 million).

But cheese rolls continue to play an important part in the story of the Deep South. Rātā’s Caulton says “1,800 dozen” cheese rolls were made for a fundraiser at Queenstown’s Wakatipu High School last year, for example.

The morning of our interview, The Crib’s Gilder said she’d made about 200 in anticipation of demand from visitors attending the Burt Munro Challenge motorcycle competition, one of Southland’s largest annual events.

“As long as there are people in Southland, the cheese roll will live on forever,” says Industry’s Heffer.

Adds Hamilton: “The gathering of people, the comradeship, the support — right now, I would say the world needs more cheese rolls.”

Ben Mack is a writer from North Plains, Oregon living in New Zealand. His work has appeared in outlets including Vogue Australia, The Sydney Morning Herald and Newsweek. Cheese rolls are his favorite food.

(CNN) — One of the largest beds in the sky is set to debut in just a few months time when JetBlue starts flying its A321neos from Boston and New York to London.

JetBlue’s new Mint Studio offering consists of two mini-rooms at the front of its newest planes, each with a comfortable seat that turns into its own fully flat bed behind a privacy door with an adjoining sofa that, with the seat, converts to one of the largest beds in the air. Behind those come 22 Mint Suites, minus the adjoining sofa.

And if JetBlue stays true to form, the pricing for these new offerings will make it within reach of more travelers than ever.

Mint Studio features a seat that flattens alongside an adjacent sofa into one of the largest beds in business class.

Courtesy JetBlue Airways

But it’s not just the seat itself that’s revolutionary. It’s the design details behind it, with wireless charging, multiple power points, space created to let you continue to work or use your tablet while eating, a Tuft & Needle mattress, and all kinds of hidden touches that wouldn’t be out of place in Architectural Digest.

How does this all come together? Buying a new airplane isn’t like popping along to a car showroom and deciding on this year’s stylish yet fuel-efficient new coupe. It takes, quite literally, years and years.

Through conversations dating back half a decade and more with executives and designers at JetBlue, aircraft manufacturer Airbus, the seatmaker Thompson, the design partner Acumen and industry players worldwide, the story of these new seats can now be told.

Building a new plane takes so long that they’re already well into working on the next one. But for now, here’s a look behind what awaits consumers in the near future:

There will be 22 Mint Suites behind the two Mint Studios in JetBlue’s new transatlantic business class.

Courtesy JetBlue Airways

The backstory

Let’s wind the clock back a decade to 2010. Airplane manufacturer Airbus is making updated versions of what used to be a short-range family of planes, its A320. New, more efficient engines mean that the A320neo can fly farther than before, and Airbus is talking to airlines about where they might want to fly, and how.

One of those airlines is JetBlue, the New York-based “hybrid airline” that isn’t quite a full-service carrier but isn’t quite a no-frills operator either. And JetBlue already has a couple hundred of Airbus’ A320 planes in its fleet.

In 2010, JetBlue is already working on creating Mint, its equivalent to business class, which will start flying in 2013 on a small subfleet of A321s between cities where folks want (and will pay for) a bit of luxury: New York to Los Angeles, for example. And it’s thinking about what’s next — and talking to Airbus about it.

These conversations between airlines and airplane manufacturers are always secret, conducted either in flying visits by executives or at airshows such as the annual Paris or Farnborough shows. They feature swanky exposition chalets overlooking a runway where aerial displays are taking off, as businesspeople are shuttled in and out in large black limousines and around by golf carts.

The conversations are something of a give-and-take of questions along these lines: Airbus is thinking of making an A321neo with a longer range, and would an airline be interested?

Perhaps, but what seats would be on board, and how many would fit? Well, how about this new one that, in a different set of trade shows, seatmaker Thompson has been showing as an option for planes of the A321neo’s size?

Sure, but will it be certified by safety regulators in time? Yes, and we’re thinking of updating the cabin with bigger bins, too …

Seat selection

In this case, JetBlue picked Thompson’s Solo seat (a seat that this reporter first encountered in the early 2010s as a very early non-working mockup in the back room of Thompson’s stand at the Aircraft Interiors Expo in Hamburg). JetBlue also agreed to launch the updated Airspace cabin design from Airbus, with bigger bins and a new look to everything from ceilings to windows.

And that’s where Acumen comes in. They’re one of the handful of design consultancies that is familiar with the requirements of working on airplane cabins. Every material must be tested for crashworthiness, flame-retardancy, toxicity, longevity and much more — and airlines want it to look good, too.

This mood board from Acumen Design Associates provided inspiration for JetBlue’s Mint cabin.

Courtesy Acumen Design Associates

After winning the pitch for the work in 2016, JetBlue presented Acumen with an early version of what’s known as a LOPA: the Layout of Passenger Accommodations diagram, an inch-by-inch detailed equivalent of the seat map you might use to select where you’d like to sit on board.

From there, Acumen’s designers start their work, getting inside the heads of JetBlue’s brand specialists, flying across its network, understanding its passengers and predicting what the longer-term needs would be when, five years later, the new seat that JetBlue had already chosen would start flying.

Exactly when that will happen is still under wraps. but the debut is expected within months.

Concepts for the ‘constantly connected’ traveler

Designers start bringing together what are essentially elaborate, in-depth mood boards of color, materials and textures, but also thinking about what people want to do on board, and coming up with concepts like what Acumen calls the “constantly connected consumer” to help inform how the design evolves: more plugs, wireless charging and so on.

That evolution takes place over many months, starting off with mockups of the seat and cabin made out of wood or sometimes even cardboard, figuring out the shapes that maximize the amount of space available.

The Mint seats are a collaboration with Tuft & Needle, a bed-in-a-box company that provided the seat foam.

Courtesy JetBlue Airways

That’s why, at the elbow of every passenger, there’s a small triangular cutout into the sidewall — with a wireless charging point built in.

The designers try a variety of options, with almost everything up for discussion in almost infinite detail. The stitching and tag on the seat is designed to match the signature look from Tuft & Needle, the bed-in-a-box company brought in as a brand partnership for the seat foam.

The wall ahead of each seat ends up being made of the biggest ever piece of curved thermoplastic used for a seat, from a company called Sekisui Kydex. The company developed a technology to allow the patterned design to gradate from a whiter blue next to the window to a darker blue next to the door, brightening the experience. The lamp is designed from Polystone, which replicates the look and texture of concrete.

After a variety of design choices are made in conjunction with JetBlue and seatmaker Thompson, it’s off to the certification races, and the seat iterates quickly to pass the stringent tests so that it can be safely installed on an aircraft.

Somewhere around five to 10 years after that first conversation, you get on board, sit down, and someone brings you a drink as you settle in for a transatlantic flight. And as you take your first sip, they’re already designing the seat that comes next.

John Walton is an international transportation and aviation journalist based in France, specializing in airlines, commercial aircraft and the passenger experience.

But while the virus has struck far and wide, a lucky few remote locations remain coronavirus-free a year after the virus halted much of the world.

However, a handful of its most isolated islands are among the spots that have kept Covid at bay for now.

An Italian proverb popular with sailors declares “the sea can be treacherous but it can also be your greatest ally.” This seems particularly fitting now, as the water acts as a natural barrier protecting many of those living on far-flung pieces of land.

But although living in a secluded location has proven to be a blessing for those residing in spots that Covid-19 is yet to reach, coronavirus-related fears have still reached many of them.

So what it’s like to have the pandemic unfold beyond the horizon while living on Italy’s most isolated and idyllic islands?

Here a number of islanders tell CNN Travel how the situation has impacted their lives and whether they’ve managed to remain as calm and serene as the destinations they inhabit.

Linosa

The residents of volcanic atoll Linosa are fearful that outsiders may spread the virus here.

Regione Sicilia

Positioned halfway between Sicily and Tunisia in the Mediterranean, this tiny volcanic atoll is off most travelers’ radar.

Reaching Linosa involves either flying to sister isle Lampedusa’s airport and taking the ferry, or hopping on the ferry at Porto Empedocle on mainland Sicily and embarking on a 12-hour sea journey. But a trip here is definitely worth the effort.

While some cases have been reported in Lampedusa, there have been no confirmed cases in Linosa.

From La Pozzolana beach, which looks like a corner of Mars with its black sand and sulfur-yellow and red layers, to the extinct crater of Monte Vulcano, the island is filled with majestic sights.

Linosa is circled by one main road, lined with prickly pears and low brick walls adorned with capers. The locals are protective of their solitude and accustomed to quiet winters.

Fabio Tuccio, one of the 200 residents who live here year-round, says things have remained pretty much the same since the pandemic outbreak.

“A lockdown-style scenario is regular here this time of year,” Tuccio tells CNN. “There’s not much to do. Everything is shut except for a supermarket, two bars, a pharmacy, post office. Take away pizza only on Saturdays.

“It’s winter and people kill time at home, tending their plots in the countryside or fishing on their small boats for a daily catch to eat with their families. Things haven’t really changed.”

While locals wear masks when meeting family and friends at the bar in front of the quiet harbor or outside the island’s pink, purple and green dwellings adorned with bright bougainvilleas, the absence of a main piazza prevents crowding.

There’s no doubt Linosa’s remoteness has helped to keep the island safe from Covid so far, but its residents remain fearful that the virus may find its way to this safe haven.

“Islanders are very suspicious of outsiders and protective of their safety, ” Mayor Totò Martello tells CNN Travel.

“Since Linosa has succeeded in staying Covid free, each time a ferry lands they gather at the harbor to examine who disembarks and see if there are any new unknown faces of people who could smuggle in the virus.”

All visitors or non-residents are required to take a Covid test at the ferry port before they set foot on the island.

“The sea shelters from the risk of contagion and people feel safe as long as they are indeed safe, with no positive cases around. Fear keeps us alert,” Tuccio adds.

Tremiti

The islands of the Tremiti archipelago relies heavily on tourism, but residents are preparing for better times.

Enit Photo Archive

Although the Tremiti archipelago off Puglia’s coast gets crowded during summer when scuba divers and sunbathers flock in, in winter only 200 people live here.

Featuring emerald-green waters, granite rocks and ragged cliffs, it’s easy to see why the five islands of this archipelago are known as the “Pearls of the Adriatic.”

The residents of Tremiti are scattered on the two main isles of San Nicola, with its overhanging monastery, and San Domino. Tremiti’s other three islands are uninhabited.

According to Greek mythology, Diomedes, a former suitor of Helen of Troy, created the archipelago after he threw a handful of stones from the ancient city into the sea.

At mainland harbor Termoli, which is one hour away by ferry boat, controls are strict. The body temperatures of any incoming or outgoing travelers are recorded and their ID cards are scrutinized.

The people here rely on tourism and recovering this lost source of income, along with staying in good health, has been their main concern in recent months.

Other than fishing and growing vegetables, locals are focusing on getting in shape for the upcoming summer season, which they hope will be better than the last one.

And that doesn’t just mean flexing muscles up the island’s steep killer path, nicknamed “Death’s Climb.”

Those with a business or tourist activity are currently sprucing up their shops, hotels and restaurants, as well as the boats and studio apartments they usually rent to tourists.

Winter is the ideal time for undertaking maintenance works, as well as restyling the very few roads here.

“Our diving shop is always open, we’re organizing our guided boat trips for the spring and look forward to having tourists again when this nightmare will be hopefully over,” says Samantha Dionisi of Blu Tremiti diving center.

In his free time, mayor Antonio Fentini enjoys growing salads, cabbages and Puglia’s traditional cime di rapa turnip greens.

“We’re not lucky, we’ve just been careful in adopting correct anti-Covid rules and now we’re following what’s happening in the world with great attention and hope,” Fentini says.

“We’re eager to restart again, to go back to the pre-pandemic ‘normal’ and prepare the Tremiti for next summer. We can’t wait to welcome tourists.”

Vulcano

The Aeolian island of Vulcano, which is known as the “Mouth of Hell.”

Silvia Marchetti

With pristine beaches, translucent waters and stunning scenery, these idyllic islands that form part of Sicily’s stunning Aeolian archipelago usually have no problem luring in tourists, so the pandemic has dealt them a heavy blow.

While Italy briefly reopened to travelers in June, the second wave that rocked the European country in October chased away most tourists and the beautiful Aeolian island of Vulcano was left almost empty.

Since then, locals complain that no travelers have come to visit this fascinating isle known as the “Mouth of Hell.”

Vulcano is reported to have had one confirmed Covid-19 case last year, but has remained free of the virus otherwise.

“It’s been rather dead and extremely silent lately. Tourism is our life; most of us work just during the summer months but we can’t complain,” says Marco Spisso, who co-runs Vulcano’s popular mud bath.

“Winters are usually quiet, so on that front the pandemic hasn’t revolutionized our lives.”

According to legend, Greek God of fire Hephaestus vented his anger over wife Aphrodite’s betrayals in Vulcano, so it seems fitting that the island is full of bubbling mud baths with healing hot springs and underwater sea fumaroles.

It’s a place where sulfur gases ooze out of black, red and yellow stone walls and pavements where tourists typically gather to catch the ferry. Tiny heat clouds can be seen rising from the rocks here.

The 300 or so people who live in Vulcano all year are continuing as normal. They spend their time fishing, walking, fixing their houses, meeting each other for quick chats (wearing masks) at the local bar and relaxing at home.

Shuttered shops aren’t unusual for this time of year, says Spisso, who often goes for a swim down at the volcanic beach in front of his old lookout tower home.

Vulcano has reasonably warm temperatures all year, and the constant volcanic activity helps to keep the sea water pleasantly mild.

“We lead a peaceful life, relatively serene, and we feel safe compared to many other people living elsewhere,” adds Spisso.

“There are regular Covid checks at Milazzo harbor from where the ferries depart.”

While the island is very close to mainland Sicily, which has been hit hard by the pandemic, it’s still managed to remain free of the virus.

Marco Giorgianni, who is mayor of the entire Aeolian archipelago except for the island of Salina, enforced stricter Covid rules back in October by limiting island-hopping between the seven isles, and this move appears to have been successful.

Filicudi

The islanders of Filicudi are grateful to live in “another world” during these uncertain times.

Silvia Marchetti

The island of Filicudi, one of the wildest and farthest out among the Aeolian islands, has also done well at keeping Covid at bay.

Ferries often find it difficult to dock here due to the rough sea conditions. While this was a frustration for locals in the past, the missing connection is now mostly viewed as a good thing.

Islanders feel lucky to live in such seclusion, far from the chaos and confusion brought about by coronavirus.

“It’s an ugly moment for humanity but I am happy to live here, it’s like being in another world,” says Peppino Taranto, a resident of Filicudi.

“We’re privileged. Social distancing is guaranteed. Thanks to our warm winter climate my wife and I often enjoy having dinner outside under starry skies.”

Locals can while away the hours relaxing on typical Aeolian-style panoramic terraces made of columns covered with bright bougainvilleas and majolica benches with stunning sea views.

Filicudi has just one fishing village, Pecorini a Mare, connected to the harbor by one dusty road.

The island’s steep donkey trails and stone paths lead to bright cottages and its black, green and red cliffs contain labyrinths of grottoes.

Pietro Anastasi, owner of panoramic La Canna restaurant and hotel, has lived in Filicudi for decades.

The 85-year-old retired postman lives alone at La Canna, which is now closed.

“Each day I look after my little tomatoes and tasty perette, a minuscule variety of pears that grow only here,” says Anastasi.

“When the sea is calm I walk down to the beach and fish my daily catch, little yummy fishes that I fry for lunch.

“I’m happy. This is my world. I always have little things to do and my days are full; I like being alone.”

Anastasi’s family tell him to avoid watching the news, and he enjoys having the freedom to move around his large garden of fig trees and prickly pears without having to wear a “mask muzzle,” although he puts on a face covering to attend Mass.

Alicudi

There are no roads and zero crowds in Alicudi, one of the smallest of Italy’s Aeolian Islands.

Silvia Marchetti

Alicudi, Filicudi’s sister isle, is the most secluded of the Aeolian isles, imbued with a primitive vibe. In this tiny island, Covid is perceived as a very, very distant threat.

During the summer, Taranto runs a hotel and restaurant named Ericusa on the island. But like most local establishments, it’s currently shut.

Silence rules in Alicudi. Forget cars, scooters and even bikes. There are no roads, only dusty mule paths that unwind for 25 kilometers. More than 10,000 stone steps connect the dwellings of this picturesque hamlet.

Donkeys are the sole means of transport on the island. Alicudi has no ATMs, boutiques, clubs or cigarette vendors. There’s no street lighting, just the stars as natural flashlights at night.

The island’s pebble beach is dotted with natural arches and bizarre colorful houses that are built inside mushroom-shaped rocks.

Alicudi’s older residents enjoy spinning spooky tales of flying witches and ghost donkeys.

Aldo Di Nora, who moved to Alicudi years ago from northern Italy and now runs Casa Ibiscus resort, is very aware of how fortunate he is to live in such a secluded and protected place.

“Social distancing is not an issue. The only moment when little crowds can form is when people meet at Alicudi’s harbor to jump on the ferry boats,” Di Nora says.

“I follow the news of the tragic events happening in Italy and across the world and I am grateful to be living in such a wonderful place, surrounded by peace and zero risk of contagion.”

The pandemic’s economic effect on the tourism industry has still been devastating.

The world’s seventh most popular tourist destination, Mexico’s economy has grown to depend on what amounted in 2019 to about $25 billion in income from 45 million international visitors, according to estimates from the National Tourism Business Council (CNET) and a center for tourism research at Universidad Anáhuac.

Mexico saw international tourism income in 2020 sliced to less than half that of 2019, according to those figures. And 2021 isn’t looking much better.

Mexico’s international tourism income dropped by more than half in 2020. Here, people enjoy the beach in Cancun in October 2020.

Pedro Pardo/AFP via Getty Images

“I guess Mexico has been doing what it can do,” said birdwatching guide Alex Martínez Rodríguez, but he said he doesn’t feel that the populist government is acting in the best interest of the people.

“They did the thing where we were avoiding crowds, keeping people in their houses and doing lockdowns, but that doesn’t work because the economy is a little bit different in Mexico,” said Martínez Rodríguez, who typically guides at least five tours per week in and around Puerto Vallarta. Now, he’s guiding two or three per month.

“We in Mexico know that we cannot rely on the government; we have to do things for ourselves,” he says.

A handicrafts vendor puts hats on display at the archaeological site of Teotihuacan on September 10, 2020.

Claudio Cruz/AFP via Getty Images

Keeping business moving

In April 2020, Mexico made it clear that it would not be closing its borders, and indeed airports never restricted flights. Land crossing points were ordered to ban nonessential travel, but many travelers with a US or Canada-plated RV in the Baja California Peninsula have reported that the measure was arbitrarily enforced.

As far as national tourism goes, Mexican President Andrés Manuel López Obrador had been on a campaign to end long holiday weekends in Mexico, encouraging the celebration of significant events on the actual calendar date. But the plan was rescinded in May 2020 to bolster national tourism during Covid-19 because of economic concerns for tourist sites.

A vendor waits for tourists at Teotihuacan, one of Mexico’s top tourist attractions, on September 10, 2020.

Claudio Cruz/AFP via Getty Images

Enrique de la Madrid, former Mexican tourism secretary, said in a recent interview on “Es la Hora de Opinar,” a Mexican TV program, that “poverty also kills, not just coronavirus.”

De la Madrid argues that members of the tourism sector, including hotel workers and taxi drivers, should be among those receiving early vaccinations that the government is currently administering to essential workers and the elderly. In December, Mexico was the first country in Latin America to launch its coronavirus vaccination campaign.

“We have to help the sectors that move the economy, if not, the economy will not move and it is a social tragedy of terrible dimensions,” de la Madrid said.

‘Nothing compares’

Martínez Rodríguez, the birdwatching guide, said he has never witnessed such economic devastation in his 20 years in the tourism business.

“Not the world recession, not H1N1, nothing compares,” he says. “It will take three or four years for us to come out of this.”

Involved in conservation efforts to protect wild macaws in the region, he says another concern is that along Mexico’s coastline where development has been rampant, the majority of financial backing for conservation efforts comes from the entrance fees paid by tourists. As those fees dry up, it could mean catastrophic effects in the long term.

“You cannot blame people for canceling their trips,” he says. “Obviously people are doing what they are told and are doing everything they can to preserve their health.”

Tulum’s archaeological ruins are a tourist draw on Mexico’s Yucatan Peninsula. American and Canadian travel restrictions are eating into 2021’s tourism high season.

Rodrigo Arangua/AFP via Getty Images

Mexican officials balked at the decision.

Yet Canada has gone ahead with the suspension, making the 2021 outlook all the more dire.

Mexican tourism officials report that Canada’s cancellations alone would mean a loss of around $782 million dollars during the three-month period.

The flight suspension by Canadian airlines followed the implementation in late January of a new negative testing requirement for travelers returning to the United States — a measure that is likely to discourage some American travelers from venturing to Mexico.

The historic town of Izamal is pictured on December 19, 2020.

Rodrigo Arangua/AFP via Getty Images

More devastation for tourism

In Huatulco, a low-key vacation town on Oaxaca’s coast, the impact of Canada’s flight suspension has been taking a toll. Ron Williams, owner of Las Palmas Villas & Casitas, says business has been down by about 80% over the past year.

“This is devastating for Huatulco,” Williams says. “Canadian tourism has been slow since the beginning of Covid-19, but at least the Canadians that owned winter homes here were still coming and that created a lifeline for small businesses, but now even homeowners have decided not to stay due to the flight situation.”

Guests are canceling even more so now because of perceived hassles related to new testing for returning travelers headed to the US and Canada, as well as stringent and expensive post-travel regulations in Canada.

In Huatulco, as in many foreign travel destinations in Mexico, healthcare providers have rushed to meet the demand of 24-hour turnaround for PCR tests so that tourists can arrange testing at their accommodations for extra convenience.

For those who are willing to make the trip, Williams offers suggestions for how to travel safely and peacefully, including hiring private chefs rather than dining out, and choosing warm destinations to visit where much of life is lived outdoors.

Williams said he will continue to pay his employees their normal salary as long as he can to support them and the local economy, though many Mexican workers aren’t as fortunate.

From stores to restaurants to tour groups and hotels, millions of people have been laid off or are underemployed, with little support from the Mexican government.

People visit the National Museum of Anthropology in Mexico City on November 14, 2020.

Claudio Cruz/AFP via Getty Images

Balancing lives and livelihoods

Nuria Girones, a former tour guide in Mexico City, says she found herself without work immediately as the pandemic spread. She has since had to diversify her income sources. Even so, she believes that Mexico is too lax in its regulations and has not found an adequate balance between protecting local health and local livelihoods.

“Like any other country, it is improvising with all possible resources in the face of an unprecedented situation that changes every week,” Girones said.

Even if she had the opportunity to give tours, she says she wouldn’t because “we have not yet passed the crisis, cooperation is needed from all sectors, even from tourists.”

“We are also observing since last year that the consequences of not taking this crisis seriously will lengthen the time without income,” Girones said. “My work stopped completely since the end of February 2020, for a few months I decided to wait for it to pass. I imagine that many of us did the same. Finally, I accepted that this might not change for some years.”

Tourists swim in the Cenote Suytun in Valladolid, Yucatan state, on December 15, 2020.

Rodrigo Arangua/AFP via Getty Images

Tensions among travelers and locals

And there’s tension with foreign property owners who have more economic security than some of the locals they live among.

A business owner in Baja California Sur, speaking on condition of anonymity because of fears of community backlash, said the tension between the desires of some foreign residents and locals is high. It’s a tension that highlights the economic disparity between Mexico and the wealthier Canada and United States.

“There are Americans that own second homes here and are strongly requesting that no more tourists come, but meanwhile the businesses are suffering,” said the business owner, who needs every bit of income. “Many places have gone out of business, and others remain open trying to earn what little money there is coming in.”

Settling into the height of the second winter tourism season ravaged by Covid-19, the interests of health vs. economic welfare continue their tussle, in many cases highlighting visitors’ privilege and a lack of choice for locals who depend on tourism for their survival.

(CNN) — It was an ordinary Friday for Susanna Stevens-Johnson. She woke up in snowy Mountain Village, on the Yukon Delta in Alaska, and checked her Facebook account.

A Yup’ik Alaskan who grew up in and around Mountain Village, Stevens-Johnson was intrigued. She clicked the link and read how German creative director Jennifer Skupin found a box of slides at a Dutch flea market back in 2008, digitized them, and discovered stunning shots taken across the then-newly inaugurated US state.

Skupin tried to identify people in the photos at the time, but had no luck. Over a decade later, she’d rediscovered the slides languishing in her closet.

After a quick glance through the gallery, Stevens-Johnson moved her attention to a sewing project, lining a down jacket with velveteen for her granddaughter.

It was only later, when her husband Peter came home and she told him about the article, that curiosity prompted her to take another look.

Stevens-Johnson clicked through the images, marveling as she recognized landscapes, old classmates, neighbors and friends. Many of the people in the photos are Yup’ik, part of Alaska’s indigenous community.

Then she saw it. Her sister Marcia, instantly recognizable. Stevens-Johnson took a sharp intake of breath.

“I said, ‘Well if she’s in the picture, I’ve got to be in there somewhere.'”

She continued clicking through. Sure enough, two photos later, there she was — pictured alongside Marcia, two other childhood friends, Irene Moses and Augusta Alstrom-Lang, and an older family friend called Agnes Eirvak-Devlin.

“I practically jumped off the couch and I exclaimed to Peter, ‘This is me!’ And I showed him the photo and he said, ‘Yeah, that is you.’ So, I was really excited.”

Clicking back to the previous image, Stevens-Johnson realized she was also in that first photo with Marcia. Her head is bowed, so she’s less immediately identifiable.

“I’m probably playing with the tip of my scarf because I was very shy then and I didn’t like being photographed.”

Stevens-Johnson, a graduate of the University of Alaska who taught elementary school for over three decades, was around 10 years old when these two photos were taken. She’ll be 71 this year.

She sent the photo to her family and to Augusta Alstrom-Lang’s daughter, and then spent hours combing through the Google Drive, adding comments and relishing this unexpected trip through time.

That Sunday marked the one-year anniversary of Stevens-Johnsons’ mother’s death, but the discovery of the photographs helped her through the day.

“It just kind of made the whole weekend real happy.”

Capturing a moment

Susanna Stevens-Johnson, pictured center today, recognized herself and her sister Marcia Pete in the rediscovered photos.

Susanna Stevens-Johnson/Jennifer Skupin

Jennifer Skupin’s Google Drive was inundated with messages within hours of the CNN story publishing.

“I believe that’s my aunt,” read one comment. “That’s my grandmother,” said another.

Walkie Charles, an associate professor of Yup’ik, the language of the Yup’ik people, at the University of Alaska Fairbanks, stumbled across the photos on Facebook.

The 63-year-old is pictured in the collection aged 3, wearing a check jacket, alongside his sister, Mary Keyes.

The location of the photo, scrawled on the back of the slide, is pinpointed as Kwiguk, a village that Charles says was relocated downriver in 1964 due to threat of erosion, becoming Emmonak.

Clicking through the Google Drive was an emotional experience for Charles, as he saw faces of people who have since passed away.

“We don’t have any photos of my brother when he was little, or even when he was older,” says Charles. “And so that captured our hearts so, so dearly.”

Charles was speaking to CNN Travel from his office at the University of Alaska Fairbanks. Also on the video call was Jennifer Skupin, finder of the photos.

“Jennifer, it was meant to be that you found this,” says Charles. “Little did you know that that story that was contained in these slides would be so emotionally charged, they would shake a part of the world that you have never even heard of.”

The photos, says Charles, offer the younger generation of Yup’ik people a glimpse of their communities in days past. Color photography was rare in the 1950s and 60s and the photographs are high quality.

“You could almost touch these people,” says Charles.

Alaska became a state in 1959. The photos in the collection were taken on the cusp of, and just after, statehood.

Charles says another important detail regarding the photos’ context is the 1918 Spanish flu pandemic, which took a deadly toll on Alaska’s rural villages.

“My generation are the children of the survivors,” says Charles. His own grandparents, on both sides, died during the outbreak.

The community was also impacted by Tuberculosis in the mid-20th century. Some of the photos appear to show a drive for TB testing and vaccinations.

Walkie Charles found a photo of him and his sister in the collection.

JR Anchetta, University of Alaska Fairbanks/Jennifer Skupin

“These photos present the resilience of the survivors and the hope for the new generation to move forward with a new vision, new sense of life, and a lust for challenge,” says Charles.

“Most of the stories/histories were taken away by the pandemic and TB epidemic, but these photos show the beginning of a new story.”

In Yup’ik culture, when someone in the community dies, their soul is passed on to a recently born baby. This newborn also takes the name of the deceased elder.

This adds another layer of meaning to the photographs for many, says Charles.

“For this generation, to see those older photos of older people and say, ‘I’m named after this person, I have never had a photo, I’ve never seen a photo of this person.’ It’s finally connecting.”

Charles says he recognizes some 100 people in the slides, around half of whom have since died. He’s commented on many of the photos on Skupin’s Google Drive with names, information and locations.

The mid-1970s were a turning point in Alaska’s recognition of its indigenous people, language and culture, says Charles.

During his career, Charles worked as a teacher, elementary education curriculum writer and now works at the University of Alaska, where he received his PhD.

“I head the Yup’ik Eskimo program,” he says. “It’s the only bachelor’s degree program in the world in an indigenous language.”

“And it all started in Kwiguk. It all started in in Emmonak. And it all started from those photos.”

Delightful discovery

Abby Augustine is in the photos, alongside her mother and sisters. In the center she’s pictured with her sister Emily Crane today.

Abby Augustine/Jennifer Skupin

Abby Augustine, who was just a baby in the early 1960s, is pictured in two photos in the collection. She’s being held by her mother, surrounded by her three sisters, Mary Richmond, Agnes Hoffman and Emily Crane. Like Walkie Charles, Augustine was born in Kwiguk and grew up in Emmonak.

Discovering the photos was a delight, Augustine tells CNN Travel. Her mother has since passed away, and seeing the photo was “like she visited us.”

“My daughter is super delighted to see a baby picture of me as we barely had any,” she adds.

“They’re all in black and white or a little bit tattered. And to see this in color, and in such, crisp clearness compared to the ones we have. It’s like an eye opener.”

Augustine also stumbled across the CNN Travel story on Facebook.

“I didn’t expect much while I was scrolling through the pictures, and then I started recognizing a few pictures from our area. And I was like, ‘Oh, how nice.’ And then kept scrolling. And then I ran across our photo.”

Augustine was in shock. She was sure it was her family, but she didn’t want to get ahead of herself — what if she was wrong?

She sent the first photo to her sister Mary, who is also in the picture, and was a little older at the time.

“Is this us?” asked Abby Augustine.

“I think so,” Mary said.

But, just to be sure, they also sent it to Agnes, their oldest sister, who is dressed in pink in the photo.

Agnes agreed. It was their family.

There are two versions of the photo in the collection; one is a little more close-up, with baby Abby smiling.

The photo, Augustine says, looks like it was taken in the summer. She reckons her father and brothers were out fishing for king salmon, and that’s why they’re not present.

Another photo in the collection might be Augustine’s uncle, Evan Nanuq Benedict. She’s not sure, but it definitely looks like him.

Augustine is pleased to see photographs in the collection celebrating the Yup’ik culture and traditions, from ice fishing to traditional dances.

“We still practice Eskimo dancing, by the way, traditional Eskimo dancing, so that was beautiful to see,” she says.

Like Charles and Stevens-Johnson, Augustine worked as an educator. She’s passionate about maintaining the Yup’ik language.

Reading the original CNN Travel story, Augustine was intrigued by the mystery surrounding the photographer’s identity.

“I got real curious,” she says.

A teacher friend of Augustine’s got in touch with her when the photos went live. This friend’s father traveled a lot and was a keen photographer, so the friend wondered if her dad might have taken the photos. This family were based in Alaska, but later moved to the Netherlands.

As for Walkie Charles, he’s unsure who the photographer was.

“It was only outsiders who, back then, had photos, or cameras, and so it was very rare for us to capture those special moments,” he says.

But Stevens-Johnson, who was 10 years old at the time, says she recalls the photographer, who would’ve stood out as an unexpected visitor to rural Alaska.

“If he was walking around the village taking photos, of course, we children in the village, we would follow anyone who came to the village.”

Mystery photographer

In one of the photographs of Stevens-Johnson — the one she didn’t immediately recognize, where her head is bent down — there’s a KLM bag in the corner of the image.

Jacques Condor, 91, who lived in Anchorage in the late ’50s and early 1960s, thinks this is the key to the story.

“These photos are not a mystery to me,” he says.

Condor, who is half Native American and half French Canadian, was assistant director of Greater Anchorage Incorporated in the late 1950s and early 1960s.

In the late 1950s, Alaska became, “the air crossroads of the world” as Condor puts it.

He points to the opening shot in the collection, of Amsterdam Schiphol Airport and recalls “airlines from Italy, France, Netherlands, Germany, Japan stopping over between London and Asia by way of Anchorage.”

Condor and his colleagues befriended many of the airline crews.

“They would stay with us and we’d go salmon fishing.”

He met his flight attendant wife, who was Japanese, during this period.

One year, Condor asked major airlines to nominate an employee to represent their country in one of his pageants and says Dutch carrier KLM sent a chief flight attendant called Marie Louise Crefcoeur, who he thinks may have been the photographer.

“She traveled all over the state as far, as she could go, along with other members of the KLM crew that she enthusiastically encouraged to travel,” he tells.

Condor befriended Crefcouer, hosting her at his house and joining some of excursions around Alaska. She was a keen photographer, he recalls.

Condor also thinks recognizes Crefcouer in a few of the pictures, including one of a woman crouching in snow, holding what appears to be a blue, white-rimmed KLM bag. Crefcouer gave him such a bag, says Condor.

“To the best of my memory of people, faces and places from events that happened 60-plus years ago, that is Marie Louise,” he says.

KLM told CNN it was unable to confirm the claim.

While the photographer’s identity remains unknown, for Jennifer Skupin, her project has been a success.

“It’s become quite secondary, who the photographer is, although it’s still very interesting to find out,” she tells CNN Travel.

“I think I feel now more connected to the people who recognize themselves.”

Almost a month after the article was first published, the Google Drive continues to get new comments, with individuals recognizing loved ones for the first time.

For the people in the photos, the rediscovered collection has even greater importance in present circumstances.

“It’s brought people together. Especially during this time where we cannot see each other,” says Charles. His voice cracks, and he takes a moment to compose himself.

“I haven’t seen my family since the pandemic began. This is bringing family together, bringing community together in ways that we otherwise would not be able to.”

Hong Kong (CNN) — Surrounded by photos, maps and other documents, 45-year-old photographer Simon Wan Chi-Chung is planning his next great Hong Kong adventure.

This is no weekend getaway. He’s going to climb every peak in Hong Kong — in one trip.

It won’t be his first try, either. He’s made the attempt several times over the last two decades.

There isn’t a single, definitive list stating the exact number of peaks in Hong Kong. So Wan has drafted his own route based on various sources as well as his own research of official Hong Kong topography maps.

But his condition didn’t improve, the added days of hiking and camping only exacerbating the pain in his ankle.

“I was young and arrogant, wanting to prove that I could do everything and ended up hurting myself,” Wan tells CNN Travel.

Simon Wan Chi-Chung, artist and photographer, is now planning his next great Hong Kong adventure.

Maggie Wong/CNN

But an encounter with a fellow hiker — an older man he met earlier that morning — gave him a new perspective. As the two acquaintances made it to the peak, they saw the rolling hills in front of them.

“This ‘Day 9 uncle’ gasped when he heard about my mission to climb all of Hong Kong’s peaks,” recalls Wan.

“He gave me his slice of bread and said, ‘young man, you’re going to need this more than I do.’ He grabbed an orange from his bag and repeated, ‘You need this more.’ It was such a simple gesture. But I stopped feeling pity for myself. I let go of my arrogance and felt humbled by the mountains.”

With a heavy heart and a swollen ankle, he decided to press pause on the journey. Wan went home to nurse his foot for three weeks, then finished climbing the rest of the 148 peaks on his list a few weeks later.

It was one of his most memorable encounters and one of the reasons he’s devoted to Hong Kong’s natural world.

“On the hills, people are more likely to talk and connect,” says Wan.

“You won’t have that experience in the city. Nature makes people feel comfortable and secure.”

‘Hong Kong is a city hidden within wilderness’

Wan prefers to work with film. He used a panorama camera for his expedition in 2003.

Simon Wan Chi-Chung

In addition to its 148 hills, Hong Kong is also home to more than 100 island clusters made up of over 250 individual islands. Wan claims to be one of the few people to have visited every one of them, saying he’s always wanted to become an adventurer.

Having spent years studying in the UK, Wan realized he didn’t know Hong Kong’s landscape very well.

An idea hit him: “Why not explore every single hill in my own backyard? And why not do that in one go?”

Carrying a bivvy bag and a film camera, Wan embarked on a series of “expeditions.” Ten years after his first trek through Hong Kong’s mountains in 2003, he repeated the journey in 2013.

Rather than set up a tent, Wan slept in a bivvy bag during his quests to visit all of Hong Kong’s peaks.

Simon Wan Chi-Chung

But this time, he was under a tighter schedule so he opted to only tackle the peaks that were at least 300 meters tall.

Trekking 26 to 30 kilometers, or 11 to 12 hours, per day, he reached 134 peaks in 19 days, camping in different parts of Hong Kong along the way.

He titled the works from these trips “Post Urbanisation.”

Then, in 2015, he voyaged to 107 uninhabited island clusters, traveling by canoe, in 11 days. “These were ‘hills’ I hadn’t climbed as well,” he says.

“These days, you know about the place before getting on a plane — you’ve booked a hotel, seen photos online, or even know what restaurants to book before leaving your home. In these journeys, I’ve been to places I’d never heard of and villages I’d never seen. You wouldn’t find much information about some places online.

“It turns out, I don’t need to visit Mount Everest or a foreign country to find that excitement and happiness of explorations and adventures.”

“On the hills, people are more likely to talk and connect,” says Wan.

Simon Wan Chi-Chung

Mountain and island names unfamiliar to most Hong Kongers roll off Wan’s tongue as he retells anecdotes from his trips.

He says he learned the history of Ap Chau, a rugged island in the northeastern part of Hong Kong, during an impromptu tour from a persistent retired villager who found Wan sleeping at the pier one morning.

He visited the memorial plate for Quentin Roosevelt II, Theodore Roosevelt’s grandson, on Basalt Island, where Roosevelt was killed in a plane crash in 1948. It’s a part of the city’s history not written in many textbooks.

“It may be an old adage, but Hong Kong’s nature is unique for its convenience,” says Wan. “No matter where you are, there is always a hill behind you. You don’t have to plan anything or ask for a day off. You can just go at lunch.

“People say there is great wilderness within Hong Kong. I say it is the other way around — Hong Kong is a city hidden within the wilderness.”

Wan has plenty of advice for those wanting to start exploring Hong Kong’s wild spaces as well.

“Whether you’re a waterfall climber or a leisure walker, there is a route for you,” he says enthusiastically. “Most of the hiking trails are well-paved with signs and facilities along the way — so it really is for everyone.”

A stone’s throw away from the popular Victoria Peak (or The Peak), it offers a quick taste of Hong Kong’s natural beauty but is right next to a vibrant business center.

Mount High West is only a stone’s throw from popular tourist destination The Peak.

Simon Wan Chi-Chung

Meanwhile, Lion Rock Hill, on Hong Kong’s Kowloon side, gives “an unbeatable view of Kowloon,” with trails suitable for every type of hiker.

Nature as an emotional platform

Capturing the beauty of Hong Kong’s natural side is more than just a photo assignment for Wan. It’s an outlet for him to express his emotions as well.

While going through a painful divorce in 2011, he says he hiked up a different mountain each day he couldn’t see his then two-year-old son.

“I’d take a photo towards the direction of where he was,” says Wan. “Maybe he’d happen to look my way at that moment. Then, we’d be looking at each other. I’ve one copy of the journey at the Heritage Museum and I’ve one copy here for my son, so he’d know that I never gave up on him.”

On his 2013 hike around Hong Kong, as well as his island-hopping trip in 2015, he used a Holga — a made-in-Hong Kong film camera with limited functionality.

Wan used a Hong Kong-designed Holga camera on some of his trips.

Simon Wan Chi-Chung

“I knew before my trips that the Holga camera wouldn’t be able to yield ideal results,” Wan explains.

“But I wanted to use the camera as a metaphor for myself. I’d persevere and I wouldn’t change as an artist. At the same time, I acknowledge that the environment is something I couldn’t control so I had to let go.”

Wan’s next Hong Kong hill expedition will happen this summer.

“I hate Hong Kong’s summer — it’s humid and hot and festered with typhoons. But I want to make the journey as challenging and memorable as possible so I’ll remember deeply how unique Hong Kong’s summer is,” says Wan.

“Some people get wasted when they need to release their emotions. I go into the mountains during my ups and downs. I think there is no difference. I love my home — I love this land. That’s why I am so devoted to this project. I think I will spend my lifetime doing this if I can.”