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:
So you’ve got your toiletries all packed and ready to be checked in, but what do you do when you need moisturizer on the plane itself?
TSA guidelines require that all carry-on gels and liquids fit in a quart-sized zip-top baggie. I confess, I used to fill this baggie to the brim, resulting in one airport security agent fondling it quite closely. What can I say? One needs hand-sanitizer, lip balm, eye-drops, and skin moisturizer, among other things, if one doesn’t want to end up dehydrated from that recycled air on planes. And let’s faced it, though they may be travel-sized, those containers still contain bulk.
But I’ve found a way to slim down that plastic baggie! For my upcoming international flight, I gathered the sample packs of skin-care products I had accummulated in the past. People, you know what I mean. These are sample packs you find at cosmetic counters, at your local community pharmacy, even at places like Whole Foods on occasion. You invariably grab one or two, and either use it immediately or toss it into a drawer.
Well, if you’ve saved a bunch of these, now is your time to use ‘em. Simply dropped them into the baggie. They use up far less volume than a travel-sized container, meaning you can use the extra space for other liquid/gel products you’d like to bring. And the samples can be easily discarded once they’ve done their job. Each sample usually contains two or three uses’ worth, so even tossing three into your baggie will be more than enough for your in-flight needs.
An opportunity to travel light yet sensibly? I’ll take it!
With a major road trip coming up, I know I’m going to need plenty of liquids to keep me going. Something hot and toasty in the morning would especially do the trick. But considering my schedule — a four-day drive all the way across the country — it’s neither feasible for my time nor my wallet to have to stop at multiple coffee shops along the way. Not to mention I don’t even drink coffee, so it can be hit-or-miss finding a coffee shop that provides good tea!
Regular beverage cups only hold so much liquid, and I’ve found they don’t retain their heat that long either. I decided to invest in a thermos bottle, and what better one than the original Thermos? I got myself the Thermos Nissan stainless steel vacuum insulated bottle, and was delighted (and am still enamored) to find out that the raves and reviews are indeed true. Your favorite hot beverage, poured in during the morning, remains boiling hot even through the evening. Or, conversely, your ice-cold drinks remain crisp all along your hot summer journeys. Wonderful!
One might argue that a beverage cup allows you to sip while you’re behind the wheel, but really, when you’re on a road trip, you don’t want to break your budget on little things such as this. Having an effective, easy-to-clean bottle means I just have to fill it up once; I don’t have to spend money on overpriced drinks every few hours, especially when they go lukewarm quick as a snap. Plus, its being stainless steel means it’s environmentally friendly and safe to reuse without risk of leaching!
I would much rather take breaks on the road, unwinding with a hot cuppa before a lovely view, than duck into a rest-stop coffee shop all the time. And, well, who wouldn’t?
Tip: For regular water containers, chose reusable bottles that have “PE” marked in the bottom, such as The Planet Bottle. “PE” stands for “polythylene,” which is the safe non-leaching kind of plastic (certainly safer than Nalgene’s polycarbonate). Another way you can tell if it’s a PE bottle is if it’s slightly soft when you squeeze it. It should give in a little; polycarbonate bottles are rock hard.
Happy hydration!
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!
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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.”
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“You’re fine,” said Paps from behind me. It was the fourth time I had halted in the last five minutes, and I stared in dismay at the steep jungle slope looming over us.
I didn’t tell him that it wasn’t the climb up that made me hesitate. It was the inevitable fall down that had my heart stopping.
Mind you, I’m not afraid of heights. I can sit right against the window in the Signature Room and peer straight down, loving how space-agey the city looks at night. And, growing up as an oil palm plantation girl, I was familiar with unpaved roads, biking down winding laterite paths that have no rails to protect the unfamiliar visitor (there have been a few instances where company cars and Land Rovers have gone off the edge in the rain).
However, in those instances, I knew I had sure footing when it was time to descend. There were things to hold on to, and footholds that you could at least stick a toe in. The path up Gunung Lambak that my father had chosen, however, guaranteed a rather sharp and pointy tumble down, no matter how steady-as-a-mountain-goat your feet might be. I couldn’t help thinking of my cousin, who had gone mountain-climbing years ago and had experienced such a fall. I quivered inside.
It was Paps’s idea to go hiking up Gunung Lambak, as a father-daughter moment since I was visiting home. Or rather, a father-children moment, since my brothers had come along as well. “Gunung” means “mountain,” while “lambak” means “heap.” So, in essence, its name translates into one heap of a mountain. Rather ironic, considering it’s just 510 meters high; I’d always thought of it as more of a hill, scarcely regarding something as a “mountain” unless it was in the four-digit level.
Woe to those who underestimate a mountain-wannabe.
» Read the rest of One Heap of a Mountain, It Is ...