Ever stumbled upon the perfect café, sequestered deep in the quietest corner of a buzzing city, and just had to share the secret? Ever wanted to be part of that secret? Travelistas Lynn Lau and Abby Bender combine their journalism and travel experiences to bring readers Notes From A Café: Travel stories from the deep end, a refreshing cure to the usual stodgy travel resources. Notes From A Café revolves around the love of travel, with articles covering countries from Belgium to Norway to Malaysia, along with tips and resources to fellow travelers interested in the non-touristy side of exploring the world.
Celebrating the joie de vivre of traipsing the globe, Lynn and Abby feature their stories and secrets under headings such as "Voyage Vignettes" (focusing on the thick and thin of personal travel accounts), "Foreign Foibles" (cultural gaffes and taboos), "Travel Tips" (a grab-bag of information and suggestions for travelers), and "Roaming Reviews" (frank guides on true must-see's and definite stay-away-from's).
A random selection of our articles:
In keeping with the theme of airlines and flying, I thought I’d tackle one of the biggest complaints any traveler deals with: flight delays that cause you to miss a connecting flight.
This is bad enough when you’re dealing with domestic flights, where a delayed connection can cause you to spend hours in unfamiliar airports. It’s maddening when it happens to a domestic flight that is supposed to then connect to your international flight — you know, to the destination that airline only flies to once every day. (Which happened to me.)
So, what is the best thing to do when this happens? Well, there’s really not much you can do, except get your flight rescheduled. And complain.
Yet, as it turns out, complaining (hold on for this shocking revelation) does not really do any good.
» Read the rest of Flight Delays: Stay Cheery! (Seriously) ...
Tomorrow I will be hopping onto a plane for Belgium, where I shall meet up with a good friend and indulge in as much chocolate and castles as possible. Considering I’ll be heading out of the country in 24 hours, you might understand my trepidation when I confess that I haven’t finished packing yet.
Granted, given my penchant for bringing only carry-on luggage, how much packing could I possibly do? It’s not as if I, say, have the option of stuffing a partridge and a pear tree into my wheelie. Then again, having a limit on luggage space leaves no room for error. That, ladies and gents, is the sticking point.
No matter what you do or don’t bring, however, or how much time you have to pack, there are a number of things that can help keep your head on straight before your trip. I know they do mine. In this first of the series, we see how being finicky can actually be a good thing.
» Read the rest of Travel Checklist #1: Keeping It Together ...
Click to see the whole set!
I slid up the ramp of the I-35 toll road, pausing briefly to catch the ticket the cheerful, blue-shirted man held out the window of the toll booth. My stomach gurgled, complaining about the Mickey D’s double cheeseburger I’d ingested half an hour prior. The underthigh of my right leg was cramping, and a dull ache knotted at the base of my neck unless I rolled my shoulders every three minutes or so, making me look like someone out of a Richard Simmons workout. Or a reject from a Ricky Martin music video.
Ah, road-tripping. That maddening, perilous, oh-so-traditional pastime of Labor Day weekend. Like a dutiful sister-slash-sister-in-law, I was headed to the heart of Kansas to visit my brother and his wife for the holiday.
The first CD I ever bought was Shawn Colvin’s A Few Small Repairs, which I listened faithfully to until I accidentally left it on the TGV to Paris. Track eight was a song called “Wichita Skyline,” and while I had not yet then been to the Great Plains, I was captivated by the wistfulness of the lyrics coupled with her throaty-yet-little-girlish voice.
And then I moved to the Great Plains, and took a road trip to Colorado, and as the flat, flat land unrolled on every side, I crunched myself into the back seat, horrified, expecting tumbleweeds to blow across the road at any second. Yes, what I had been forewarned about was true—driving across Kansas was about as exciting as watching toast being made.
» Read the rest of Wichita Skyline ...
“You’re fine,” said Paps from behind me. It was the fourth time I had halted in the last five minutes, and I stared in dismay at the steep jungle slope looming over us.
I didn’t tell him that it wasn’t the climb up that made me hesitate. It was the inevitable fall down that had my heart stopping.
Mind you, I’m not afraid of heights. I can sit right against the window in the Signature Room and peer straight down, loving how space-agey the city looks at night. And, growing up as an oil palm plantation girl, I was familiar with unpaved roads, biking down winding laterite paths that have no rails to protect the unfamiliar visitor (there have been a few instances where company cars and Land Rovers have gone off the edge in the rain).
However, in those instances, I knew I had sure footing when it was time to descend. There were things to hold on to, and footholds that you could at least stick a toe in. The path up Gunung Lambak that my father had chosen, however, guaranteed a rather sharp and pointy tumble down, no matter how steady-as-a-mountain-goat your feet might be. I couldn’t help thinking of my cousin, who had gone mountain-climbing years ago and had experienced such a fall. I quivered inside.
It was Paps’s idea to go hiking up Gunung Lambak, as a father-daughter moment since I was visiting home. Or rather, a father-children moment, since my brothers had come along as well. “Gunung” means “mountain,” while “lambak” means “heap.” So, in essence, its name translates into one heap of a mountain. Rather ironic, considering it’s just 510 meters high; I’d always thought of it as more of a hill, scarcely regarding something as a “mountain” unless it was in the four-digit level.
Woe to those who underestimate a mountain-wannabe.
» Read the rest of One Heap of a Mountain, It Is ...