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:
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) ...
“I don’t have to do anything, do I?” Tonje wrote. We were going to Brussels for a week, and one couldn’t miss the note of trepidation in her e-mail.
“Nope,” I replied, inserting a little wink, “I’ll take care of it.” The consequent relief on her end was unmistakable.
Traveling to a new destination is exciting and all, but the thought of having to actually plan what to do and when is enough to dissuade most people from forming an itinerary. “We’re just there to have fun,” they protest with an airy wave of the hand. “We don’t want to have schedules.“
True, it doesn’t do to have constricting deadlines — you don’t want to feel you’re on an organized tour bus, after all. However, having even a skeleton-frame outline will save you headache on your trip, be that headache a small twinge (endless back-and-forths on “so what do you want to do?” “I don’t know. What do you want to do?”) or a whopper (winding up on the other side of the city after the last train has left).
You don’t have to make a huge “divide and conquer” battle plan. One quick, easy way that I use to rough out my itinerary is to divide a small piece of paper into two columns: Must See on the left and Good to See on the right. The left column is for places and things that get you excited and you simply can’t miss out on (ergo the title, “Must See”). The right column is for things that sound interesting or places that strike your fancy, but not so high on the priority list.
When you’re reading guidebooks or websites on your intended destination, and happen to come across a description of a sight or location that sparks your interest, note it down in either of the two columns. Obviously, you leave out anything you don’t care about or ranks too low on your priority list.
How do you tell the difference between a Must See and a Good to See? A Must See gets you excited and telling people, “I can’t miss out on that!” A Good to See sets off the mental thought, “That’ll be good to see,” i.e., “Wouldn’t mind missing it if we don’t have time, but still, would be lovely to go.”
I’d mentioned before to list these on a small piece of paper. The reason is so that you can be quite discerning in your choices, and won’t be tempted to overburden your travel with excessive things-to-do.
Once you have your lists done, you can start grouping them by location. That way, it can be a simple walk to get from place to place, and your trips by bus, subway, or the metro are vastly reduced. The main focus of each group should be the Must See’s, so don’t have three Good to See’s to one Must See in any group. When I went to Paris, I arranged my places of interest according to arrondissement, and it was a great deal more relaxing and organized knowing that even if one of those places turned out not to be interesting at all, I can just stroll over to the next item on my list and the afternoon wouldn’t be a total bust.
Happy planning!
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 ...
I stepped off the train into a Christmas card. Or as my fellow passengers on the train to Siegen would say, “eine Weihnachtskarte,” or that’s what they would have said, were they not glaring into the feather-light snowflakes tumbling out of the dusk and frosting the quay.
Before I had boarded the train for my Christmas vacation (Weihnachtsferien) in Germany, Tobi had informed me that while there would be snow in Siegenland, it always fell steadily, never too quickly, and always in an amount that was manageable. How very German, I thought, for in my mind, Germans and Germany were the epitome of the engineering philosophy, marvels in regimentation, beer, and leiderhosen.
And, also, Christmas. After all, most of the beloved aspects of an American Christmas – Christmas trees, Saint Nick, and the Christmas Pickle (well, beloved in my family, at least) – originated in Germany. When Tobi had recommended that I spend my Christmas abroad with his family, I agreed immediately. Seeing as my bloodline is almost half German, I thought it only fitting.
From Paris to Köln on the TGV, and then from Köln to Siegen, I imagined the welcome that would await me once I arrived in the land of my ancestors: Tobi waving merrily as the train pulled in to a station frosted in a picture-perfect dusting of snow while a brass band played Stille Nacht in the background.
The snow was definitely there to greet me, but not Tobi. I clutched my duffel bag and tried to look coolly Parisian while all around me rose, not the sound of Franz Gruber’s famous melody, but the buzz of the rich, buttercream-thick, absolutely incomprehensible German language. Fortunately, Tobi appeared almost immediately, his father in tow.
“It has snowed about a foot,” Tobi said, bundling me into the VW. “All the highways were blocked. It is a crisis.”
» Read the rest of Weihnachten nach Siegen ...
Oh, the humanity.
When I lived in France and sat down to luxurious dinners of foie gras, fresh herbed salad, aged cheeses, and to-die-for desserts, sometimes I would sit back, close my eyes, and think … I could really go for some chicken tenders.
No matter how cultured I try to act or what affectations I put on (or how much I really, really like chevre or a chilled Vouvray), I’m a corn-fed Midwestern girl at heart. And, even though gastronomical adventures through another country are exciting, sometimes all you want is a taste of home.
Both fortunately and unfortunately, my plight was all-too-easily assuaged. Throughout my travels, I noticed an assortment of “American” restaurants sewn into the tapestry of the European landscape. McDonalds. Starbucks. Pizza Hut. I think I even saw a Chili’s in Switzerland.
Yes, I am ashamed to admit it, but tho’ the spirit is willing, the flesh is all too weak. I succumbed to my most base desires from time to time … and would pick up a quarter-pounder with cheese from ol’ Mickey D’s.
Guess what, folks? Eating at these “American restaurants” reminds you why you didn’t miss the food in the first place.
And never did I realize this so sharply than I did in my recent trip to Germany, where, against all better judgment, I took a detour from the beer gardens, wiener schnitzel, and bratwurst to visit the Heidelberg Hard Rock Café.
» Read the rest of Just Say No to Heidelberg’s Hard Rock Café ...