Two weeks ago I went to a big lake in North Macedonia. But when I arrived at the water’s edge, I realised immediately that it was no ordinary lake. It was a hydropower reservoir.
This caught my attention. Why? Well, I have a confession to make. For more than a decade now, I have been living two work-lives: a hydropower life, and a travel life. Over time, these two paths have criss-crossed with a growing drumbeat. The time has come to recount my curious personal journey through the world of hydropower tourism.
Before we continue, what exactly is hydropower? You might be more familiar with the term “hydroelectricity”. Whichever way you say it, hydropower is the world’s oldest method of generating renewable electricity; in its most traditional form, you put a dam on a river, and when water is released it spins turbines, generating power. Solar and wind power get more public attention these days, but hydropower still produces more power today than any other renewable source in the world.
Working in hydropower was the touch paper that lit my passion for travel. And just as hydropower brought me to travel, travel has kept bringing me back to hydropower.
Like Matka Lake in North Macedonia, many of the world’s hydropower reservoirs are places of remarkable beauty that attract visitors from far and wide. When I got off that bus and realised this was actually an artificial reservoir created by a hydroelectric dam, it was not the first time I had unexpectedly visited a hydropower reservoir on my travels.
So, take a deep breath, as this will be a meandering tale as I recount the other times this has happened, and the varying nature of the hydropower projects I have encountered. The journey begins at one of the most famous places in the world.
Machu Picchu, the Inca Trail and hydroelectricity
It was in July 2017 when Lisa and I embarked on the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu, one of the Seven New Wonders of the World, and I thought I had left the world of hydropower behind me. I had just left my job at the International Hydropower Association, and we were less than two weeks into a year-long career break travelling the world.
The Inca Trail is a gruelling hike. Over four days, you cover some 43 kilometres at high altitude, with relentless ups and downs along the way. The downs are the worst; especially the part known as the “Gringo Killer” on day three, which involves descending 3,000 steps. By the time you arrive at the Sun Gate on the final morning and see that iconic view of the lost Incan citadel, you’ve really earned it.
On that final morning, as we made our way down to the ruins at the first light of day, the sounds of the jungle were only overpowered by the rush of the Urubamba River far below us. The rumble of the water seemed to be rising. “That’s the hydroelectric plant,” our guide said.
“That’s what?”, I thought. But it made sense. Since Machu Picchu was rediscovered in the early 20th century, it has become the central pillar of Peru’s growing tourism economy – and so infrastructure has been put in place to enable one-and-a-half million people to visit every year. Peering down, we could see the main source of power for the region; a hydroelectric dam on the Urubamba.
Hydropower provides nearly half of the energy supply in Peru. The plant at Machu Picchu, in the depths of the wilderness, powers much of the Cusco region and many of the communities in the high jungle. It has been a vital source of power for more than half a century, and after two refurbishments it now provides around 200 megawatts of generating capacity.
Unexpectedly, this was not our final glimpse of the plant. After taking our time to explore the famous ruins, our guide broke the news that the main train back to Cusco had been cancelled due to a public sector strike, and we were going to need to hike another 10 kilometres on our weary legs in order to get back to the city.
Where to? We hiked along the railway line to the hydropower station, where a minibus was waiting for us. And so our Inca Trail ended on the doorstep of the jungle’s power house.
Cabra Corral: irrigating Argentina’s arid lands
A month after completing the Inca Trail, we arrived in the city of Salta in north-west Argentina, a launchpad for exploring ancient rocky canyons and valleys, and the Cafayate wine region. With public transport scarce and infrequent, we hired a car for a few days to explore at our own pace.
The drive from Salta to Cafayate takes about four hours and passes through the spectacular red-rock landscape of Quebrada de las Conchas, the ‘Gorge of the Sea Shells’. We had packed a picnic for the journey, and, with the gorge still far ahead and our stomachs rumbling, we took a look at the map to find a scenic place to stop. Spying a large blue form just off the highway, we pulled off course and detoured towards what appeared to be a lake.
Pulling over on a grassy bank, we were soon looking out upon over 100 square kilometres of tranquil water stretching out to sloping hills in the distance, punctuated with blooming pink cherry blossoms. This was no ordinary lake; we were inadvertently picnicking on the shores of Cabra Corral, the largest man-made hydraulic structure in north-west Argentina.
Cabra Corral is a reservoir that was created by a hydropower dam, constructed in the 1960s. But like most hydropower projects, it provides much more than electricity. In addition to powering the nearby cities of Salta and Tucumán, the reservoir also provides irrigation for more than a hundred thousand hectares of land in nearby provinces, in a region that is dry, hot and arid. And – as we were discovering first-hand – it creates a draw for tourism.
The waters of Cabra Corral are popular for fishing, sailing, rafting and extreme sports, while the pathways around it attract hikers and horse-riders. The dam itself facilitates one of the most enthralling activities; every weekend, people flock here to bungee-jump from the 93-metre-high structure, with breathtaking views across the water.
We were simply happy to enjoy the scenic view as we munched through our supply of freshly baked empanadas. With dusty roads ahead of us, it would be our last glimpse of water for quite some time.
Itaipu: an engineering feat that brought nations together
I knew about Itaipu before we set off on our travels. Anyone who works in hydropower is familiar with Itaipu; straddling the border of Brazil and Paraguay, it was the world’s largest power plant when it first opened in 1984, and is still the third-largest today.
We had not been planning to go anywhere near Itaipu, though. So how did we end up there? Bizarrely, and unfortunately, it began with a robbery in Buenos Aires.
Within minutes of stepping off a night bus in Argentina’s capital, we were relieved of all our valuables in a distraction theft. It was a nightmare scenario that nearly ended our adventure. But, thanks to incredible support from our family, friends, hostel staff and the British Embassy, we had new passports in our hands just two weeks later.
The next challenge was to replace our cameras and laptops. Electronics are prohibitively expensive in Argentina, far beyond what our modest travel budget could afford. Coming to the rescue again, the manager of our hostel told us about Ciudad del Este. This noisy city, just across the border in Paraguay, is somewhat of a mecca for cheap electronics.
Looking at the map, we figured that we could combine a quick trip to Ciudad del Este with a bucket-list visit to Iguazu Falls, another of South America’s most iconic tourist attractions. Looking even closer, we saw that Ciudad del Este was just a few kilometres away from Itaipu. So there we were, crossing the International Friendship Bridge by foot from Brazil to spend two days in Paraguay; one buying electronics, and the other visiting a hydropower plant.
Itaipu is not only an incredible feat of engineering; it is also a story of two nations coming together. The history of relations between Brazil and Paraguay is marked with conflict and border disputes. But today, quite literally, they share power.
The Itaipu hydroelectric dam has created a new bond between the two countries. Colossal in scale, it provides around 15% of Brazil’s energy supply, and around 80% of Paraguay’s. It hasn’t always been a smooth journey; at times there has been contention over tariffs and the dynamic of the power-sharing agreement. But Itaipu has played a major role in fostering a positive and constructive bilateral relationship.
On the Paraguay side of Itaipu, you can take free tours of the complex. We arrived at the visitors’ centre where we were invited to watch a video about the dam’s history and construction, before taking a sightseeing bus ride around the power plant.
It was a surreal moment to witness a phenomenon in person that had been an ever-present in my work-life from half a planet’s distance.
Lago Corbara: powering the green heart of Italy
My next coincidental visit to a hydroelectric plant came 18 months after the Itaipu encounter, despite having travelling through many more hydropower-endowed regions of the world in the intervening time. Well settled back at home in the UK after our year on the road, we took a two-week trip to Italy in April 2019 that included a seven-day road trip around Umbria, the “green heart of Italy”.
Our plan was simple: hop around campsites in the Umbrian countryside while visiting as many wineries as we could. We hired a cute little Smart car and our first stop was at Camping Il Falcone, a lush hillside camping ground near the ancient town of Orvieto.
The campsite was perched high above a deep blue body of water surrounded by green fields, woodland and rolling vineyards. When we drove down the hill and past the water’s edge the next day, we saw the giveaway sign that this was, once again, not a natural lake: it was contained by a majestic hydropower dam.
The water body we were driving past was Lago di Corbara, a reservoir built as part of the Terni Hydropower Complex, providing a combined 527 megawatts of power capacity through a cascading series of 16 dams. When constructed in 1963 its principle aim was power production, but another great benefit soon emerged. The reservoir has proved crucial in preventing flooding downstream in Rome, thanks to its ability to control the flow of water into the Tiber Basin.
Lago di Corbara also provides irrigation for the surrounding fields and vineyards; many of the wineries we visited that week were reliant on it. And, like Cabra Corral in Argentina, it provides an environment for recreational pursuits like fishing and hiking.
On that first evening, we wandered from the campsite up to the medieval village of Civitella del Lago. From a high vantage point on the village’s stony walls, we could admire the reservoir blending seamlessly into the Umbrian landscape as the sun set behind it.
Brno Reservoir: water supply for Czechia’s second city
Now we fast-forward to September 2022, with the unwelcome interlude of a pandemic having prevented further unexpected hydropower encounters in the meantime. Lisa and I headed to Brno, the second most populous city in Czechia after Prague, to attend the Traverse conference for travel content creators.
Traverse is always a lot of fun, not least because it includes various free “midweek experiences” for attendees to try out local visitor experiences. Naturally, we signed up for a few of these, including a “Sailing Trip on Brno Lake”. You probably know by now where this is heading.
Our sailing boat cruised across a vast expanse of water that narrowed into a meandering river. Up ahead, orange turrets protruded above the treeline on the horizon, and we docked here to take a closer look. This was Veveří Castle, an 800-year-old castle, among the oldest in the Moravia region.
It wasn’t until the return trip on the boat that I noticed the true nature of the “lake”. Gazing across the scenes of swimmers, canoeists and sailors making the most of the mild September climate, there stood the unmistakable form of a dam.
Brno Reservoir was created by the construction of the Kníničky dam during 1936–40, just as war was escalating in Europe. In the post-war years, the reservoir and its hydropower dam enabled the reconstruction of the city through the provision of drinking water and energy for industry and infrastructure redevelopment.
This is a case where power production was not the primary purpose of the project. The 250-hectare reservoir was built to provide drinking water to the entire city of Brno and its surrounding area. But, taking the opportunity, the hydropower plant was added in 1941, providing 3.1 megawatts of power capacity to complement its water supply benefits.
But our experience of Brno Reservoir was the same as how many residents of the nearby communities know it; as a place of recreation. Once every year it is also the stage for Ignis Brunensis, a two-week international firework festival that sees teams from around the world launch displays from the crest of the dam, reflecting across the waterfront.
Kotor: the hydropower plant that isn’t a hydropower plant
Last year I turned 40, a milestone that Lisa and I marked with a week-long trip to the romantic old town of Kotor in Montenegro. When I heard about a hike called the “Ladder of Kotor”, which involves climbing from the town up to the Krstac Pass nearly a kilometre above, there was little doubt what we would be doing on my actual birthday.
The hike ascends 70 switchbacks up the mountainside and culminates with a breathtaking view over the Bay of Kotor from the top. When you look up instructions about the route, you will invariably be advised to begin the trail at a decommissioned hydroelectric power station. Sure enough, there it was on Google Maps: “Old Hydroelectric Power Plant”.
When we arrived at the dilapidated station building, something seemed out of place to me; there was no obvious hydroelectric structure, just an old power house. Later, when I tried to find any details about a hydropower plant having operated here, all I found were dead ends.
The answer came to me from the local tourism board in an email: “The building you are referring to is an old thermal power plant and it was built in 1948. And for the next few years it was the main source of power here. But when hydroelectric power plants started in Montenegro, in 1950, this one was shut and I am afraid we do not have any further information about it.”
Google Maps was wrong! This was never a hydroelectric plant. Why have I kept this in the story, then?
The reality that this was actually a thermal power plant speaks to another quality that hydropower brings to the places that build it. Hydropower, which neatly complements other renewable energy sources, can cut down reliance on fossil-fuelled power. And this challenge is more relevant in today’s world than ever before.
Zhinvali: the reservoir with a submerged ancient church
In mid-winter earlier this year we headed to a freezing but beautiful Tbilisi, the capital of Georgia, on a ten-day trip for the latest Traverse conference. On this occasion the midweek experiences included an excursion to the slopes of Mount Kazbegi, a few kilometres away from the country’s border with Russia.
This is a long round trip with various scenic stop-offs along the way, as you weave and climb steadily into the snow-capped Caucasus range. A friend and colleague of mine from the hydropower world had tipped me off to look to the right of the road as we exited Tbilisi. Sure enough, as we sped out of the city, on the far bank of the Kura River there stood the Zahesi hydropower plant, which, built in 1927, is one of the oldest in Georgia. This was a taster for things to come another 70 kilometres along the road.
Most organised trips to Kazbegi, or to the ski resort of Gudauri in the same direction, make a stop at the Zhinvali hydropower reservoir. Ours did too, and so we found ourselves with a sense of déjà vu, looking out onto a scene of calm water surrounded by mountains and forests.
Built in the mid-1980s and much bigger in scale than Zahesi, Zhinvali is a 130-megawatt power plant. Its 11.5 square kilometre reservoir supplies half of the population of Tbilisi with drinking water, as well as irrigation for the wider Samgori region.
It must be said that hydropower projects can have negative effects if they are not sited, planned and built in the right way. Zhinvali, which was constructed during the Soviet era, was a controversial project and, despite its multiple benefits to the surrounding region, it also provides an example of how hydropower can be harmful if not developed sustainably.
To create a reservoir, you need to flood a large area of land, which alters the local ecosystem (this is true of any reservoir, not only those that are created for hydropower). In the case of Zhinvali, parts of the flooding area were inhabited, and so buildings were destroyed and communities were relocated so the project could proceed. The area also included a 12th-century church and an important archaeological site. When the dam was impounded and the reservoir created, the church became submerged; today, it is visible for six months of every year when the water recedes.
Seeing a controversial project first-hand reminded me that it is not just the travel opportunities that have kept me motivated to stay involved in hydropower over the last decade; the organisation I have primarily worked with has a mission to make sure it is developed in the best way possible, to minismise those drawbacks and maximise the benefits.
And at Zhinvali, you can see plenty of the positives. Not only is it a source of power and water management for the region, but it is a place of adventure. Wild stargazing campsites are dotted around the water’s edge. The Aragvi River feeding into the reservoir is perfect for rafting, kayaking and zip-lining. And passing tourists like us can just step out and enjoy the view.
Matka Canyon: nature blending with infrastructure
And now we are back to where this story began: two weeks ago, arriving at a lake in North Macedonia.
I was in the country to see a friend who had recently moved to the capital city, Skopje. It was 42°C that day, and our bus to the Matka Canyon was sweltering, with no air con. In a moment of comical torment, we passed a fan shop while stuck in traffic, and it was almost a relief to step out into the beating sunshine at the water’s edge. Finding some shade under a tree, I glanced up the river to see the 29-metre-high dam that revealed Matka Lake’s true form.
The Matka Canyon is one of North Macedonia’s most visited places, but while most tourists come for boat rides and cave exploration, few hear about its role in providing water and energy infrastructure to the local area. At the canyon’s heart is a sleepy reservoir that was constructed in the 1930s for power production. Considered a major construction feat of its time, when the dam first opened its gates in 1938, its lead architect Miladin Pećinar stood on top of the crest and shouted “If the dam goes, let the man who designed it go with it!”.
Like the other hydropower reservoirs I have chanced upon, Matka Lake has brought qualities far beyond power production. The dam has helped to avert disaster, protecting the capital city Skopje from the effects of major floods in 1962 and 1979. And the reservoir also provides irrigation services for many of the surrounding villages. In the last decade, an educational and exhibition centre has opened at the site.
There is an air of mystery to the reservoir at Matka Canyon. Its true depth is unknown, and hidden beneath it lies one of the deepest underwater cave networks in Europe. Elite scuba divers are drawn here by the allure of exploring the unexplored.
We took a gentle boat ride out on the reservoir’s waters, marvelling at the rocky towers paving the way either side, and catching glimpses of rare butterflies and frolicking deer on the banks. Eventually our boat moored near the mouth of an accessible cave. The temperature plunges dramatically once you enter the cave mouth, bringing an energising relief from the heat. We descended further with our group, stopping here and there to admire the stalactites, stalagmites and eerie reflections in the cave pools.
The coexistence of nature and man-made infrastructure is fascinating to see. By altering ecosystems, artificial lakes and dam barriers have an impact on biodiversity, another challenge of hydropower development. But modern developers are addressing this with innovative techniques, such as bypass systems for migratory fish, and there can also be positive impacts of creating a new aquatic habitat.
Providing for humanity’s needs while protecting our natural environment is a delicate balance. Nowhere is this more profound than in the curious world of hydropower.
My two paths converge again: a closing note
My trip to North Macedonia coincided with my latest stint of work in hydropower – this time on a part-time, consultancy basis, which I’ve been doing for three years now – coming to a close, as I wrapped up my latest contract. But if history provides any clues, I suspect my dual pathways of travel and hydropower may well meet again.
The four years I spent working full-time in hydropower from 2013 to 2017 were my first real taste of adventurous exploration; the job took me to Brazil, China, Ethiopia, Uganda, Iceland and Sweden, among other places..
I cannot stress enough: if you follow a career path that allows you to travel, the rewards are boundless. And you might find the opportunity in the most unlikely places. When I applied for a job at a hydroelectric industry body over a decade ago, I had no idea about the world I would be stepping into; a world that would become a constant undercurrent to my life.
Taking a sabbatical from work to travel can be a life-changing experience. Taking regular workations can keep your travel passion well fed. But work is still going to dominate a huge proportion of your life. If you can do work that involves travel on the job, then you are on a different plane entirely.
A quick author’s note. I took all the photos you have seen here, but the style and quality has evolved as they were taken over several years. Sadly I lost my photos of the hydroelectric plant at Machu Picchu, as my camera was stolen a few weeks later before I had a chance to back up all my travel shots – a few were salvaged, such as the bridge photo near the dam.