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:
There are multiple comic book conventions that take place throughout the year, from MoCCA in the East Coast to APE in the West, but any true-blue comic book fan knows that when it comes to the con, you’re talking about unmistakably one: Comic-Con. Whether going by the name SDCC (San Diego Comic Con), CCI (Comic Con International), or just plain Comic-Con, this is the place to be.
Having grown from just being about comic books to featuring kid cartoons, hit TV series, and blockbuster movie previews, the con receives attendees from all over the world and reaches across demographics. And how. According to its website, last year saw a turn-out over 104,000 people crowd into the San Diego Convention Center over the course of four days: artists, actors, directors, exhibitors, and regulars alike. Comics will always be at Comic-Con’s very base and foundation, but really, if all you need is pure entertainment, head on down to the convention center every July for Comic-Con weekend.
Mind you, hotels fill up fast around these parts, and rooms don’t come cheap. When you consider that over 100,000 people attend the event, and that the organizers only hold at most a few hundred area hotel rooms at a discounted rate (with free shuttles to the con), you’re in for a fight if you attempt to look for a room close by a month before the con. Book months ahead of time where possible, and split the cost with friends. Whatever money you end up saving, spend it at the con—hey, you know it’s inevitable.
Don’t be afraid of looking for accommodations outside the main downtown area for a good rate—the trolley will be your good friend. Just make sure the place you choose is at least decent and reputable; safety comes first. You can find out more about the hotel in question through reviews from TripAdvisor and Expedia.
Speaking of transportation, where possible, use the city’s public transit system or walk. San Diego being a popular destination, most locations are usually within good reach of one another. If you happen to stay at a participating hotel, or within walking distance of one, you can get a free shuttle ride to the con just by wearing your Comic-Con badge. Avoid the stress of driving—even if parking fees don’t wind up gnawing insistently at your ankles, the traffic getting to the con center can be horrendous. Saturday is the peak day for such. I remember taking a shuttle regularly to the con last year — on Thursday, it was an easy 15-minute ride. On Saturday, it turned into a 45-minute wait due to the sheer volume of vehicles on the street.
This Thursday through Sunday is when hoardes of fans, artists, costumed folk, and the general public invade San Diego for this year’s ritual event. Whether this is their first time at Comic-Con or their seventh year straight, most have a rough checklist of what they want to see or get. A fresh Flight anthology, perhaps, or sitting in on a Stargate Q&A panel, or catching a sneak preview of an upcoming movie (viva le Stardust!).
If you’re going to Comic-Con, don’t forget this other checklist as well.
» Read the rest of It's Cool To Be Geek: Surviving Comic-Con ...
When my parents, who were in France visiting me, decided to sally forth and explore the countryside for a few days, I blithely waved them on their way without a second thought—entirely forgetting that our linguistic journey through France had consisted of them sporting deer-caught-in-the-headlights eyes whenever anyone spoke to them, followed by rapid pointing in my direction.
“You’ll be fine!” I said cheerfully as they threw their suitcases into the silver-gray Peugeot stickshift rental. “Everyone speaks English here—don’t worry!”
Oh, the ignominy. I’d broken Rule Number One of being a successful (read: polite) traveler: never assume that people speak your native language.
Examples of books you won’t be needing. |
Yes, a lot of people will speak it. But a lot more won’t. How quickly I had forgotten a previous trip to Barcelona, where I found myself in at the entrance to a small art gallery nestled within an ancient monastery, with nary an English speaker in sight, and no amount of arm-flapping could translate I bought my ticket, but I don’t know where it is—can I show you the receipt instead? (Not for lack of trying on my part!)
Boy, did I get it when the folks came back three days later.
How can a humble traveler communicate in a foreign country where she doesn’t know the language? Flashcards, thick and clumsy phrasebooks, and the universal language of arm-flapping aside?
The first time I went to New York City, I hated it.
It was a bitterly cold January. Jessica and I were staying with her cousins in Philadelphia, and after the hoo-ha of New Year’s had blown over, we decided a day-trip to New York was in order. I actually looked forward to it. Let’s put it this way: when you’re bouncing on the balls of your feet, you’re either trying to recover from poor arch support or you’re brimming with anticipation. My arch support was fine, so there you go.
Jessica particularly wanted to see the Statute of Liberty. I really had no inclination to see the Lady, to tell the truth. Okay, she carried a torch. And there was that toga. I still get a kick out of that bit in Ghostbusters II, when the team enlists Lady Liberty’s help to defeat Viggo and his river of slime:
“Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”
“Wonder what?
“What she’s got underneath that toga.”
Classic Venkman.
But other than that, it did not pique my interest at all. There were streets to walk! Shop windows to goggle at! Don’t make me go to a statue, for crying out loud!
We went to the statue. “For the view,” Jessica insisted cheerfully.
» Read the rest of Behind the Burnish of the Apple ...
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Shall I sing you a tale of great derring-do
When pickpockets three I did bravely subdue?
(Well, maybe “subdue” is a word too extreme,
But hear out the story; you’ll see what I mean!)
I was living abroad when, wholly by chance,
My brother’s glee club was on tour in France.
I packed up my things, met Father and Mum,
And drove to the north to have us some fun.
At Omaha Beach, where so many fell,
The glee club boys sang of faith and farewell.
Then onward through Caen and Sainte-Mère-Église
In weather so scorching, we prayed for a breeze.
And, then, off to Paris! La ville des lumières!
The Louvre, Eiffel Tower, and ladies so fair!
Since I knew the town, I worked with pride
Playing the role of translator and guide.
» Read the rest of Pickpockets, Beware! (or, My Subway Adventure) ...
“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 ...