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:
Earlier this month, Tonje and I invaded—er, visited—Brussels, the capital of Belgium, and the capital of Europe, for that matter. When my co-worker first heard about our plans, her initial reaction was a puzzled, “What’s in Belgium?”
“Chocolate,” her husband supplied. “Belgian chocolate.”
“Oooh.” She nodded in understanding. “That’s right.”
It isn’t a major tourist destination, for sure. While getting ready for our trip, I’d scanned the local bookstore’s travel section. There were only four or five guidebooks that named a Belgian city, and out of those, only three contained anything substantial. Most guidebooks on Belgium will list a combination of any three of its cities—Brussels, Bruges Ghent, Antwerp, Waterloo—complete with maps. The reason for this is that, well, frankly, the place isn’t that huge. You can cover a lot of ground on foot, and these cities aren’t more than an hour’s train ride away from each other.
Nor is the country as jam-packed with tourist sights as its other European neighbors, so you should definitely know ahead of time what you intend to do and see in Belgium. Otherwise, you might wind up like the baffled lady who stopped us at the train station, just as we were to catch the next ride to the airport, and asked the loaded question of, “What is there to do here?”
Whether you’re planning an excursion to Brussels yourself, or are intending only a short stop before continuing on your way to Paris or Amsterdam, here are seven things you should know about this capital of the European Union.
» Read the rest of Seven Things You Should Know About Brussels ...
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) ...
If you’re visiting Vancouver and the sheer sense of city life starts to wear you down after a while, flee up north for a soothing retreat. That is to say, enjoy a good deal of repose — and green — at the Capilano Suspension Bridge.
It’s not something you can indulge in every day, certainly — admission rates are at least CAD$25, depending on the season — but it’s definitely a must-see, and you should certainly enjoy it at least once while you’re in the area (and if you live within Greater Vancouver, well, you really have no excuse not to go a few more times).
» Read the rest of A Little More Sway: Vancouver's Capilano Suspension Bridge ...
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 ...
The window of my room, out of which I often hung various dripping items of clothing. |
Once I decided to live abroad, I set out to do the research. The Bell-curve emotional roller coasters that you’ll ride during your stay. The myriad of cultural and gastronomical differences. Culture shock – and the hush-hush unspoken-of reverse-culture-shock upon re-entry. I read the books. I talked to those who had been there. I took notes and trained, and, when it was time to go, I was ready for everything and anything.
Except laundry.
After the first week, and one day awaking and finding no clean socks in my drawer, I girded my loins for the inevitable task of doing laundry (something I am not good at even in my home country).
And, as it turns out, when doing laundry in a foreign country, make certain you first have a Ph.D. In physics.
» Read the rest of Laundry Lessons ...