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:
So you’re going to be stuck in a plane for several hours, where the dry, stagnant air sucks the moisture right out of you. It doesn’t help that recent airline regulations limit the amount of liquids and moisturizer you can bring aboard. I don’t know about you, but whenever I’m in a plane for long periods of time, my skin turns positively gray. So what’s a traveler with sensitive skin to do?
Include Burt’s Bees Carrot Seed Oil Complexion Mist in your carry-on, that’s what. You may only be allowed to bring a quart-sized bag of liquids, but a good mister is absolutely worth the space. And with 100% all-natural ingredients such as rose oil, carrot seed oil, and patchouli oil, this particular mister gets a big thumb’s up. Just give a shake and acouple of good spritzes whenever your skin starts to feel drawn and tight, and you’ll find yourself remarkably refreshed.
Its website description says the Carrot Seed Oil Complexion Mist is specially designed for “mature” skin, but don’t let that deter you if you consider yourself young-at-heart. Carrot seed oil has amazing properties, including relieving stress and rejuvenating skin. Indeed, its anti-inflammatory nature is known to help treat dry skin, rashes, and dermatitis. An all-natural way to relieve eczema? Count me in!
If you’re old-school by nature, Burt’s Bees also offers the complexion mist in lavendar. The best part is, a mister is not restricted to just plane travel. Weary after a long drive with the air-conditioner on full-blast? Spritz on! Dull eyes after hours in front of the computer screen? Spritz on!
If you’re shopping for other kinds of misters, remember to avoid anything with alcohol in its contents. Alcohol-based products are bad for the skin, and terribly drying, which is the last thing you need when you’re on the go. Read the ingredients carefully before buying.
If you’re the crafty type, you can make your own complexion mist. Just be sure you know what you’re doing, as working with essential oils needs careful attention. For a lot of oils, pure equals extremely potent, and that can sometimes counter-intuitively harm the skin. You’ll have to dilute carefully measured doses with distilled water. Your local aromatherapist can be a big help in showing you how to make a mist that’s tailored specially for your needs.
A Travel Tip about soothing dehydrated skin would not be complete without a reminder to drink lots of water. So chug the H20 — just because you’re on the move doesn’t mean you shouldn’t look fresh and fabulous, so fill ‘er up!
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) ...
One powerful site in Paris is also one of its most unassuming, at least from the outside. A passer-by might easily overlook the small patch of land partially hidden by hedges as he or she hurries off to Notre Dame, which is a mere stone’s throw away. But the Mémorial de la Déportation, located at the edge of Ile de la Cité, is far more compelling than one could expect.
The memorial, dedicated to French victims and survivors of the Holocaust, actually lies at a lower level, down some steps from the little park above. I had arrived during the lunch-break hour, so I waited at the park for the memorial to reopen. I initially wasn’t even sure I was at the right place, despite having read the small sign by the even smaller gate. I had expected to find a skinny black brick building, inside of which would be lined with pictures of the Holocaust and some placards of history. With its lovely, serene view of blue skies and the surrounding Seine, this park above—and whatever waited below—was at odds with that image.
Just before the steps is a signboard for visitors, describing the history and purpose of the memorial. I read it as I waited. A row of triangles, consisting of various styles and color, lined the bottom of the sign. One has to be truly stoic of heart not to feel a lump in the throat on reading the meaning of each triangle, and to whom each symbol is sewn on to: German Jews, French Jews, homosexuals, stateles persons, gypsies, Jehovah’s Witnesses, anti-socials, “deviants”. . . .
Those who don’t, according to some definition, “belong.”
» Read the rest of Mémorial de la Déportation ...
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 ...
“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 ...