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:
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?
“You are here all alone?” the young man staffing the funicular ticket booth asked me.
When I nodded, he made a face that all Europeans know how to make from birth: sadly pursed lips, head tilted a smidge to the side, eyes slightly lidded and looking askance at me.
“It is sad to travel alone. It is best to have someone to share the experience with. And Heidelberg, alone …” He slid me my ticket and winked. “Next time you are here, come find me. I will take you out and show you the town.”
I glowed as I traipsed up the steps, reveling at how nice Germans were and how lovely the boys could be, and wasn’t it grand to be a fabulous young thing on a trip?
As I settled myself into the funicular caboose, my thoughts turned from meeting up with the nice young man (which I might have done, had I not been leaving the town that afternoon) to the subject of traveling alone. Before I’d left for my trip, friends had exclaimed: (1) “Won’t you be afraid to travel alone?” or (2) “Won’t you be awfully lonely?”
To which I always responded (1) no and (2) definitely no.
I’ve hardly ever felt lonely while traveling alone. I revel in the freedom of waking when I want, seeing the sights I want, getting lost and backtracking again and again whenever I want. To stand and gaze at a shop window for five minutes at a time, or flurry through the passageways of celebrated art museums and stopping at what I want to see, without having to acquiesce to group tastes.
No, the only times I’m lonely when traveling by myself are mealtimes.
Not so much during lunch – lunches are hasty meals by nature. I often find myself skipping lunches altogether while traveling. It’s easy to grab a sandwich or an ice cream if hunger bites too deeply, and I can see and accomplish so much more when I don’t have to stop for an hour or two in the afternoon.
Dinner, however, is a different ballgame. Evening meals are intrinsically social events, great family repasts where all gather around the table to celebrate after a long, hard day and savor the evening, gastronomically and communally.
Let’s face it: if you’re eating dinner alone, the societal expectations of camaraderie and companionship make you feel like a pariah.
» Read the rest of Eating For One: How to Dine Alone ...
One Sunday, as we were rumbling down the road in the red Peugeot on our way back home from the Amboise open-air market, Jennifer turned around and asked: “Hey … do you guys want to stop and see the Chanteloup Pagoda?”
I knew most of the hundreds of châteaux of the Loire Valley, but I had never heard of a French pagoda. Visions suddenly filled my head of dragon-emblazoned silk banners streaming from Gothic turrets, and manicured topiaries flanked by delicate, blooming cherry trees, and I knew I had to go see it.
As it turns out, the “Pagode de Chanteloup,” or the Chanteloup Pagoda, was built upon the remains of the château de Chanteloup, which belonged to the Duc de Choiseul, minster to Louis XV. Said Duke eventually offended the king in some way, shape, or form, as was wont to happen in those days, and Dukey found himself exiled to Chanteloup from 1770 to 1774. But his friends remained loyal to him, and in 1775, he directed his architect, Le Camus, to build the pagoda in honor of them.
(I’m assuming that the king had died, which made it possible for the Duke to build the pagoda and not get his head chopped off, but my guidebook falls short at this point.)
We pulled up to the deserted parking lot, parked the Peugeot, and tumbled out of the car, ready to take a quick trip to the Far East. But, horror of horrors, we discovered that the gate surrounding the park was chained shut … and the pagoda was closed for the season.
» Read the rest of Breaking and Entering ...
You don’t have to visit museums or art galleries in order to get a feel for the local culture. Sometimes all it takes is a trip to the market to find a true representation of the people and their lifestyles. An afternoon stroll through a pasar (market) in rustic Kota Bahru was a prime example of this, as I found out.
Onward, to the pictorial tour!
» Read the rest of A Stroll Through A Pasar ...
It looks as if Ryanair will be taking it’s low-cost, no-frills, minimal-enjoyment airlines to the transatlantic skies.
On April 12, CEO Michael O’Leary pledged to launch low-cost shuttle service from the UK to six different Stateside destinations. (Read a press release somewhat relating to the announcement here [and please note the missed space in the headline], or go here for a more in-depth overview.)
Hey, I’m all for low fares. But I must wonder … would it be more comfortable for me to grab a seat on Ryanair’s big puddle-jumping sardine can, or should I just sneak into the baggage hold during my next overseas flight?
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