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:
Most people, when they go overseas, tally the fantastic things they have accomplished during their stay. Such as how many chateaux they have visited, how much fondue they’ve eaten, or how many tchochkies they’ve purchased for Aunt Bessie.
Me, I tally pickpockets. Specifically, how many pickpockets I’ve beaten up. Don’t let my pretty face fool you—to date, I’ve come in contact with five pickpockets and beaten up all of them.
Actually, I’ve only beaten up two pickpockets. Well, really, I’ve only “beaten up” one. And I didn’t really do the “beating” part, because my black-belted beauty-queen friend was the one who threw the punch. But when my dad was mobbed by a gang of three pickpockets on the Paris metro, I stepped on one’s foot and hit him with an umbrella. Which half-counts.
Pickpockets happen. They happen whether you’re in Paris, London, Madrid, and anyplace in between. And, while every traveler has been warned at least five times to “keep your passport close!” and “split up your money in case your purse gets snatched!”, a lot of us come from nice neighborhoods in a country where the public pickpocket population is pretty … petite.
Yes, it is smart to have a money belt, passport pack, and all those other lovely contraptions that you can staple and glue to your skin to keep your valuables as close as possible. And always be sure to have copies of your passport stored in separate places—and distribute your credit cards, travelers checks, and cash into different pockets or bags to “diversify” your wealth and lessen the risk of losing everything.
But have you noticed that the native citizens of these countries don’t wear money belts? How do they keep from getting robbed blind every five minutes?
» Read the rest of How to Not Get Your Pocket Picked (and what to do if it happens) ...
Perhaps it’s because I spent the past two months breathing, sleeping, and dreaming the brilliantly satirical, hysterical, Tony-award winning musical Urinetown. Or perhaps it’s because I drink enough coffee daily to drown a horse. Whatever the reason, when I sat down to write this week’s update, my thoughts immediately turned to the topic of restrooms. Specifically, European restrooms. Even more specifically, pay toilets.
Oh, yes, you’ve heard of them. It’s hard not to. They’re a worldwide rage, an everyone’s-doing-it phenomenon, like Coach purses or skinny jeans tucked into boots (only not quite as glamorous). They’re the you’ll-never-believe-it groans spewed from just-returned-from-abroad American travelers. They’re the don’t-merit-their-own-bullet-point in your handy-dandy travel guide that quickly morphs into a now-I’m-stuck-with-a-distended-bladder-and-no-spare-change of many a traveler’s trip.
Not only are they ubiquitous, they’re discombobulating. What traveler hasn’t been momentarily intimidated before the little vest-wearing toilet maven, seated primly behind her little plate of change? Who glares at you while you dig through your pockets to find the correct fee? And then hands you a fistful of toilet paper after you’ve handed over your cash?
It seems so very foreign to charge for something as natural as using the restroom. Then again, you pay to eat, which is yet another natural function. Some would argue that, in principle, it’s the same mentality. Which is a logic I don’t agree with, even though water costs a truckload more in Europe than it does in the States. Whatever the logic, the fact remains: while in Europe, you will more than likely have to pay to pee.
» Read the rest of It’s a Privilege to Pee ...
Centre Belge de la Bande Dessinée Rue des Sables 20 1000 Bruxelles +32 (0)2 / 219.19.80 http://www.cbbd.be |
It’s always seemed to me that European comics have a more tangible “feel” to them, in comparison with American comics. Not that it’s any surprise—after all, here comics are called the Ninth Art, lauded and studied in its own right. In Brussels, comic shops abound with gorgeous graphics and visceral images, not as something for “nerds” but as something to be marveled at for its artistry.
Well, I have to admit I’m a little biased, myself. . . .
Nevertheless, it goes without saying that the Centre Belge de la Bande Dessinée—Brussels’s very own Comic Strip Art Museum—was a definite must-see for Tonje and I when we invaded the city last week. Stepping in, we were greeted by a red-and-white rocket from Hergé’s Tintin: Destination Moon, while a five-foot-tall Asterix model beamed from inside a glass case.
» Read the rest of Centre Belge de la Bande Dessinée ...
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To travel is to expect much of the places you visit; to move to one of these places is to expect much of yourself.
— Mark Jenkins, “Leap Year”, The Best American Travel Writing 2005
My whole life, I’ve always been going. Just going. Sometimes it’s a small distance — growing up in an oil palm plantation, the mere act of grocery shopping required a family-planned excursion to town. Sometimes it spans oceans — at age 19, I hopped off a plane onto US soil and stuck around since.
I’ve been traveling since before I can even remember. Literally — my brothers and I were born in three opposite ends of the country. By the time I was in primary school, my family were making regular weekend trips to Singapore. Every year until I departed for college, we joined other families on three-day ventures to various destinations, chattering on tour buses while some brave soul with a microphone in front attempted to keep order.
People have asked if I ever get homesick for Malaysia. No, not really. I may get a really intense hankering for mutton soup, spicy rendang, mihun goreng, and especially roti canai with some good chicken curry — hey, what can I say? Food is key — but the truth is, I’m so accustomed to traveling that I couldn’t imagine anything else. In fact, “anything else” would equal cabin fever. One of the most agonizing years of my life was when I was not able to travel at all. Now that drove me stark raving mad.
Of course, that doesn’t mean it was any less of an enterprise for this Malaysian girl to get used to brutal Midwestern winters. We’re talking born and bred in the tropics, after all.
But now it’s time to move on again, and this time, it’s even further north. Yes, the irony of that strikes me too. I will be pulling up stakes, packing all my worldly belongings, and moving to Vancouver, Canada.
The last time I made such a major life move was ten years ago. I’ve accumulated quite a whole lot since then, both in terms of physical belongings and actual experiences. As time goes by, I’ll be sharing my adventures, tips on the process, and learned lessons on such a move. Watch for ‘em.
Because traveling isn’t always something short-term and limited; sometimes it’s a way of life.