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:
Keeping in theme with Abby’s article, one handy tool to make sure you know where you’re going is the ever-simple pen and paper.
Keep the slimmest pocket-sized notebook handy for when you’re at the Metro/RER station, trying to buy train tickets, or when you absolutely, positively need directions and the only person you can communicate with alternates between made-up sign language and wry laughter. If you know the bare basics of the language, but for some reason suffer a mental short-circuit or can’t find the precise word you need, remember, the language barrier needn’t be an obstacle. It can be a starting point.
» Read the rest of Oh, And You Can Doodle With Them During Dull Moments, Too ...
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?
If I could keep but one memory of the Abbey of Pontlevoy, it would be this:
» Read the rest of Elysium Fields ...
This week, we feature an article by guest writer Emily Ding, who traveled to Stromboli, Italy. Emily notes of Stromboli: “‘Bigger than my body,’ John Mayer sang. Indeed. It was an exhilarating feeling, like standing on top of the world. Originally written on June 12, 2006 and edited for clarity upon return.”
I’m currently lazing around on Stromboli island, which is one of the islands of the Aeolian group above the Sicilian mainland. My two travelmates (Jo + CH) and I, we’ve been trying to kill time the whole day, pretty unsuccessfully. We’ve been in Stromboli since yesterday and we’ve basically seen most of everything we needed to see, but because the cheapest option to Naples is a 10 pm ferry tonight (which will get us there in the morning) we have to spend a whole day here, doing just about nothing. It’s rather painstaking, to be honest. It’s such a small town that we’ve walked the same route at least three times, and seen the same people over and over, even gone to the same café twice.
I bet all of the residents are gossiping about “those three Japanese kids.” Though of course we’re not Japanese, but everyone thinks we are.
» Read the rest of Scaling Stromboli, by Emily Ding ...
It was one of those gloomy days in Paris where the wet clings your clothes to your skin and the opaque sky presses upon you so closely, you feel that if you lifted your hand, you would brush the clouds with your fingertips. Jennifer and I had come to la ville des lumières on business, but we had come to the Rue de Buci solely for pleasure.
Rough stone storefronts spired above on either side of the thin, twisting street, and held aloft the canopy of dull pewter sky. Beneath the buttresses of vibrantly colored shop awnings, the bustle of the gastronomical trade swirled. Baguettes flowed from the doorway of the boulangerie. A vendor held aloft a rope of onions, white and lumpy as freshwater pearls.
The heart of Paris may technically be the Ile de la Cité, or symbolically the Eiffel Tower, but the Rue de Buci – nestled between the metro stops of Mabillon and Saint Germain des Près – is the city’s embodiment the French love affair with food.
Amorino Photo from www.amorino.fr |
I’d first stumbled upon this street when visiting a friend earlier that year. “I’ll take you to the best ice cream boutique in all of France!” she had boasted. After a winding dance through the subway and a handful of curlicued streets, I found myself under the angel-strewn awning of Amorino, where I learned that, yes, heaven is a place on earth, and it contains over twenty different flavors of Italian gelato. And, by the time I’d finished my cup (runneth over with chocolate, sweet cream, and strawberry gelato), I’d been seduced by the Rue de Buci – the sounds, the smells, but above all, the wares.
» Read the rest of Rue de Buci ...