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) ...
Photo by Seow Yin
The next time you go on a trip, hold off on booking that hotel. Instead, give a bed & breakfast a try. You might find yourself becoming a fan and opting for B&Bs at every opportunity.
Hearing the term “bed & breakfast” brings to mind quaint, old-fashioned images: lush, ivyed houses abounding with leaf awnings and candy-cane wallpaper, owned by a stay-at-home host. And every morning, a group of traveling strangers gather in the dining room to break bread and converse over coffee and orange juice.
Well, that’s certainly a 1950s TV moment. Images change with time and needs, and so has the B&B.
» Read the rest of No Sleeping In: Ins and Outs of A Bed & Breakfast ...
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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) ...
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 ...
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.