CAROLYN

Group Travel 101: A Soloist Takes a Team Vacation in Africa

Africa, Travel Tips /

Group Travel 101: A Soloist Takes a Team Vacation in Africa About a year before Africa, I took a road trip with my friend Kathy, a writer and editor from Minnesota. We wanted to see Savannah, which we did between downpours. One day when we were holed up at the hotel during another storm, Kathy got an email about a possible trip to Africa. Would I like to do this? We figured we could room together – the road trip experiment was going well, even if my car did leak on the passenger side. Kathy’s smart, funny and a great traveler. She was tolerating me. I said, “Sure!” And then we waited. Travels with Lisa If you’ve read even a few of my posts, you know I mostly travel alone. I’m not inflexible because I do travel with and visit friends now and then. But in my entire adult life I’d never taken a group trip, except for short, small-group excursions. The Africa email came from Lisa Koon. She owns Panorama Travel in San Diego and would host the trip. Kathy had traveled with her before. She said that Lisa offers trips to a group of regular clients, her “usual suspects.” Most of them have traveled together often. Many are long-time friends and neighbors. Even people in the eventual Africa group who didn’t know each other would have friends in common. It sounded rather familial. I could do it. I have several posts about the Africa trip. This post is just to confess that yes, I’m an independent, I took a group trip, and I enjoyed it. Shows it doesn’t pay to be rigid. Our itinerary was creative and kept us running, probably on the theory that you can rest when you get home. I sure needed to. We covered a lot of distance, from Dubai to Cape Town, and had experiences that varied from pre-dawn safari start-offs on freezing Botswana mornings to a Cape Malay cooking class in Cape Town. Lisa and her contacts in Africa also remediated the unexpected – a hotel that burned (before we arrived, and no one hurt), a flight schedule change that upended hotel arrangements, luggage left behind by Air Namibia, and the other things I usually handle for myself. So I got to rest. Togetherness (I’m behind camera!) The “team” was about 17 of us, plus Lisa and daughter Monica who was along both for the trip and to help with logistics. There were old friends, cousins, a mother and daughter, sisters-in-law. As for Lisa herself – redoubtable, funny, multilingual and international. Most of the other travelers had knit into groups long before this trip, but I was absorbed into the collective. And one of the nice things about being with a group was that when four of us were without luggage and a change of clothes for three full days, we had more offers to share than we could accept. Kathy lent sunscreen, insect repellent, laundry soap, two tee shirts and a windbreaker. Others also offered clothes, and I borrowed some Skechers whose memory foam adapted to my feet right away. Will Candy ever be able to wear them or are they still crying for me? Together and alone I did one thing alone – I traveled solo to Dubai where I spent a day before the others arrived and I traveled home alone from Cape Town. That schedule suited me better. I enjoyed my solo flights and my day alone in Dubai, so I’m not giving up my independent ways. But the Africa trip was good, and every form of travel has positives. I like being alone, but I also enjoyed the congenial group. There’s a lot to learn from other travelers, and I laughed more than I do alone. It’s also fun having someone laugh at you when you get caught in interlocking mosquito nets. Without a roommate, who’d know? I did miss the direct engagement that I have with the itinerary and service providers and guides. But I wouldn’t have put together the same trip Lisa did with her experience and on-the-ground knowledge. So, yes. It was good, the perfect group experience for a confirmed independent. I look forward to more offerings by Lisa now that I’m a “usual suspect,” and maybe I’ll even meet up with Candy and her Skechers again.

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Traveling in the Rain: Into Every Life a Little Rain Must Fall . . .

Travel Tips /

Traveling in the Rain: Into Every Life a Little Rain Must Fall . . . If you are planning an outdoor adventure, you’ll know how to prepare, or you should. But a nice holiday that you envision to be sun-filled can turn out very gray. We’ve all had rainy travel days, but now and then it’s a rainy season. I’ve had some exceptionally rainy trips. How do you make it through, say, two wet weeks? Or more? How to Survive a Rainy Vacation when “The Rain it Raineth Every Day.” The first maxim is grin and bear it. Really. Otherwise it’s a total ruin, and do you want to tell your friends you had a lousy trip? I don’t. Beyond that, it’s a matter of equipment and choices. Equipment is your rain gear; choices are your activities. If you want to be outside, your equipment has to be adequate. Choices include cafés, restaurants, museums, churches, castles, tents – anything with a roof. Preparation I check the local weather in the run-up to departure. That’s obvious but it’s never a guarantee, is it. A favorite line I saw when planning a trip in Tasmania is, “be prepared for sudden and severe deterioration of the weather.” You could say this about many places. As for planning, when I’m out on rainy days at home, I project myself into a trip. What would make me comfortable in weather like this? Then, if it would make me comfortable, is it packable? I also ponder really wet past trips and what worked. Pouring in Sarlat-la-Canéda, France My six key things for rain Shoes. I’ve seen cute rain boots but don’t want to pack them unless I know I’m going to have a soggy trip. As for general travel shoes, I’ve had rainy weather success with suede Mephistos. I’m about to try some new Munro shoes with water resistant uppers. Both are good for walking and are dressy or cute enough for most travel entertainments. Be aware of shoes decorated with perforations. I have some cute ones but my feet get wet. That doesn’t mean I don’t pack them, but they’re not for heavy rain. Sandals. My vintage Clark’s Indigo sandals that have been around the world with me have served in the rain. My feet get wet but I can dry feet and shoes effectively, and the shoes weren’t so expensive that I agonize over them. Clark’s Wendy Laurel sandals are similar. You get wet, but they dry well enough. When it’s seriously hot and wet I’ve worn Crocs flip-flops (thongs). Boots. My ankle height Aquatalia boots go whenever it’ll be cool, rainy or snowy. Sometimes they go if it’s just forecast to be chilly. They never leak, but don’t shout “rain boot,” and can go anywhere. Water repellent. I’m not using any right now. When I lived in Minnesota, I massaged leather shoes with mink oil and sprayed suede shoes with water and stain repellent. Since moving away, I haven’t done any waterproofing. I no longer want to use the toxic, highly flammable chemicals in the sprays I’ve looked at. There are a couple of natural products that I plan to try but haven’t. Coats and Jackets Jacket or coat – with detachable hood if you can get it. I have a dark khaki three-quarter length coat with a zip-off hood. I only attach the hood if the weather requires. Another jacket I like for warmer rainy weather is a light-weight REI jacket, also with a detachable hood. My LL Bean H2Off raincoat’s great in the rain. Its hood doesn’t detach, but the hood’s black like the coat so looks decent enough to wear with dressier clothes. I’ve worn long raincoats that are useful in blowing rain, but I find that for the most part, all that fabric gets in my way. There are lots of raincoat choices. A friend has a stylish JJill raincoat that folds into a pocket. I like it. I always keep an eye out for other people’s raincoats to find new ones that have promise. Rainy in Kraków, Poland Travel Umbrella One of my prize possessions is an old Samsonite folding umbrella that is nearly weightless and folds up so little and flat that it’s easy to put in a purse or pocket. It’s a perfectly good-sized umbrella too. I bought two new ones in 2016 but the formerly metal parts are now plastic. While they are still light and small, I’ll see how they wear. Socks I like SmartWool winter and summer unless I’m in sandals. The SmartWool makes my feet cozy in wet weather, and the socks dry pretty fast. For light duty, I’m also using some microfiber no-show socks that wick moisture. Only they show in most of my shoes. Fabrics There is lots of advice about fabrics. Unless I plan to be sweating a lot (when I want a moisture-wicking fabric), my rain preferences are cotton, merino wool and cashmere, depending on the season. Merino wool comes in various weights and is good almost year round. Hats I have an old, black, large, wool beret that is good against light rain and generally excellent under an umbrella for any rain. (No one in France would actually wear this even though it was made there.) It also helps keeps my coif intact because humidity is a big problem for me. For cold rain and snow, especially if it’s windy, I use a knit hat. It looks really – not great. And it messes up the hair. But it keeps my ears warm. Rainy spring Monday in Melbourne, Australia

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Bird Island, North Carolina: Kindred Spirit Mailbox

Local Notes, US /

Bird Island, North Carolina: Kindred Spirit Mailbox Kindred Spirit Mailbox is a legendary place with its own Facebook page. But I’d never heard of it until one beautiful, February weekend on the North Carolina coast. The mailbox is a place where you can communicate with other chance passersby, people you’ll probably never know. It’s the kind of place you’d expect to find at the end of a long trail, on a far hilltop or an isolated beach. And that’s exactly the kind of place, on the shore of North Carolina’s last barrier island before the South Carolina border, where a friend took me to meet the Kindred Spirit. And although I’d never heard of it, the box has been there for four decades (replaced when storms periodically swept it to sea). North Carolina’s Our State Magazine estimates 100,000 people have visited. A lot of visits, but out of all the travelers on the planet, that’s not a lot after all. What is Kindred Spirit? A simple mailbox with hardware-store letters spelling Kindred Spirit and its red flag permanently raised. The mailbox is stocked with steno pads and pens, inviting all to share with other kindred spirits their innermost feelings or a simple “hello,” and leave the message in the box. Stand and write or sit on a nearby bench. Volunteers tend the box and gather up full tablets that they deliver to the University of North Carolina Wilmington where many are archived. There was an original Kindred Spirit, a woman who supposedly got the box started. Frank Nesmith, a 90-year-old who dated the spirit briefly years ago says her name was Claudia. Atlas Obscura says, According to most stories, the Kindred Spirit Mailbox was first erected after the Kindred Spirit saw a mirage of a mailbox on the shore during low tide. Although the vision wasn’t real, they were inspired to plant a mailbox with a communal notebook so that visitors could leave proof of their having been there. Use of the mailbox quickly caught on and visitors flocked to the island to sit on a nearby bench, look out over the water and write their own personal message inside the mailbox’s journal. The kindred spirit mailbox People seek it out. My friend said that outsiders drive around Sunset Beach thinking they’ll find it at the end of a street. That wouldn’t be worthy. You need to walk and it’s almost half a mile from the Sunset Beach pier. Getting there is intentional. And it’s important to read what others have written – the messages are communications to other kindred spirits. I read some that said simply it’s been a while, but I’m back. Another message was as natural as if the person were speaking to me. The writer started out talking about mundane household illnesses and then segued to “Parenting is tough. Teenagers suck. I know because I was one. I’m sorry mom.” The writer talked about herself and her daughter. “Let us find peace,” she concluded. Others praised the beauty of the place. I wrote something, but I didn’t open up – just told the Kindred Spirit that I hadn’t known about it before, also wrote about the beauty of the place and implored the other spirits to “Save our wild places!” I felt like a cheat. Some people are so personal. The walk to the box from Sunset Beach to the Bird Island state preserve is on wide, white sand beaches alongside high dunes (eroded badly by Hurricane Matthew), and just on the other side of dunes from over a thousand acres of creeks and salt marsh. It’s more or less connected to Sunset Beach, the way all of these watery barrier islands are sort of connected – or not. I was there on a 70-degree weekend in February. We walked on and on, seven and a half miles altogether that day, barefoot in the sand. Hard to see why this would fail to appeal, although you might want shoes. I said that driving to the box wouldn’t be worthy, so what do I think of the Kindred Spirit’s web site and Facebook page? You can even post messages. It’s OK. Even kindred spirits need to update. But to feel the real Kindred Spirit’s nearness, you have to be there, standing in the sand, the ocean wind blowing, sounds of the shore and the marsh around you. And then write. Trip date: February 2017

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Riding Alaska’s Dalton Highway: Ice Road Trucking Before the Freeze

US-Alaska /

Riding Alaska’s Dalton Highway: Ice Road Trucking Before the Freeze We got to be Ice Road Truckers fans at my house, driving the Dalton with every episode. But I never thought, “Wow! I want to do that!” Sometimes, we’d joke about going to Coldfoot, just to cross the Arctic Circle, not that I had any idea what Coldfoot was like, or why you’d want to get that far and just stop. On the other hand, the idea of those 400-plus miles from Fairbanks to Deadhorse and Prudhoe Bay tucked itself away waiting for the right trigger. Like most of my trips, this one just came to me. I went in August when autumn had come to the Dalton and it was frosty in the Arctic. See “Riding the Dalton Highway: introduction and practicalities” too! The Dalton Highway – Just My Cup of Labrador Tea! The Dalton Highway – the Haul Road – is not for people who close their eyes when they get scared, so I looked for the best way to get to Prudhoe Bay without having to drive myself. I booked a three-day, two-night ride with 1st Alaska Outdoor School. There were three of us passengers – me along with seasoned world travelers, caravaners and campers Ulrike and Bernhard from Germany – and Matthew our guide and driver, an old hand at driving the Haul Road who had also worked at the oil fields. Over four hundred miles each way of two-lane dirt and gravel, potholes, washboard and steep grades. Fifty mph at the fastest. And there’s the special mud. Our driver Matthew told us the state puts calcium chloride on the road in summer to keep down the dust, but when it rains – and we had some drizzle and rain – the calcium chloride turns the road into thick goo. It was like thick dun-colored cake batter and it stuck to everything it touched. Special Dalton mud The Dalton starts just under 90 miles north of Fairbanks, following the Alaska Pipeline, which is the road’s reason for existing. The road was built for pipeline construction and then to serve the oil fields. Except for the old gold mining town of Wiseman (population about 14) the couple of places you can sleep started out as man camps during pipeline construction. As you approach the Dalton, you see the sign HEAVY INDUSTRIAL TRAFFIC PROCEED WITH CAUTION. Then, ALL VEHICLES DRIVE WITH LIGHTS ON NEXT 425 MILES. There’s a pullout near the start, a photo op, and a place to mark your real beginning. A beautiful truck pulled in for a stop, all chrome and orange. We talked to the driver’s wife who was along on the trip to keep him company. It’s dangerous, takes all your attention, but gets boring making that 800-plus mile roundtrip day after day. On a steep haul a little farther along, the guardrail was smashed. Matthew said that four days earlier a truck had gone over the side. Driver was OK. Truck totaled. Wrecks happen and don’t always turn out as well for the driver. A mere 80 or so miles later we crossed the legendary Yukon River. We stopped at the riverbank camp (good to know: flush toilets) and walked down to the river. I put my hand in. Silty and cold. Wide and fast. This is it, the mighty Yukon. Before the bridge that now carries the pipeline and trucks, I understand that truckers drove down the bank on a steep road to a ferry. It doesn’t bear thinking about. Then, mountains, ridge after ridge into the distance. Birch trees. Chilly. We stopped at another pullout and met a man riding the Dalton on his Kawasaki. His riding partner’s bike had broken down – we had seen it going south on a pickup truck earlier. He talked to Ulrike and Bernhard about his German heritage and said he lives and works in Peru’s Amazon jungle. A man who relishes extremes. The Arctic Circle And finally, not yet half way to Deadhorse, the Arctic Circle – the most popular photo op on the Dalton, I expect – and then Coldfoot Camp. Sleeping at Coldfoot is possible. There’s the old man camp. But Ulrike, Bernhard and I spent the night in Wiseman after dinner at Coldfoot Arctic CircleCamp truck stop. Along the way we met a couple from Hong Kong who were in Alaska for a long stay and driving the Dalton themselves. There are so few places to stop that we saw them three times. The last time, we ate together at Coldfoot, feeling like old friends now. Wiseman. Wiseman (population about 14) had been a gold-mining town around turn of the 20th century. It had stores and a post office that opened in 1909 and closed in 1956. The old post office is half sunken into the ground, which happens when you warm the permafrost. Ulrike, Bernhard and I shared the 2-bedroom Koyukuk cabin. We made tea and shared provisions in the morning before heading back south a few miles for hot food at Coldfoot. There was no food ahead for us for 240 miles if we kept going north. In the Arctic Circle On to Deadhorse, Day 2 The Koyukuk River was speeding around tight curves in its shallow bed. Fog hung across the road that morning. Koyukuk, then towering rock formations, the pipeline with golden birch and dark spruce in the middle distance, mountains beyond. We entered “the world’s largest municipality,” the North Slope Borough, and stopped at a pullout at Chandalar Shelf, a long, tortured grade cut into a mountainside, to view the mountains and peer over the steep unguarded drop off. It looked like thousands of feet down to me. Could have been. While we were stopped, a single semi slowly climbed the mountain. We took pictures. Spoiler alert – it was the same truck I rode in the next day! Atigun Pass. If you watched Ice Road Truckers, you’ll remember the Atigun Pass. A cut

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Alaska’s Dalton Highway: Introduction and Practicalities

US-Alaska /

Alaska’s Dalton Highway: Introduction and Practicalities We got to be Ice Road Truckers fans at my house, driving the Dalton with every episode. But I never thought, “Wow! I want to do that!” Like most of my trips, this one just came to me. I was pondering a late summer trip to somewhere new and preferably remote. I’d been aurora viewing and dog mushing the previous winter, and Alaska came to mind again. So off I went in August when autumn had come to the Dalton and the Arctic was frosty. See my post about the trip! “Riding the Dalton Highway: ice road trucking before the freeze” What’s the Dalton like? Alaska.org says: “How remote is it up here? There are only three very small towns along the way. Often, the Trans-Alaska pipeline, which runs parallel to the road, is a driver’s only companion. And from the midpoint (the town of Coldfoot) to the end of the road (Deadhorse), you won’t find gas stations, restaurants, rest stops, or hotels—in fact, you won’t find services of any kind over this entire 240-mile stretch. In other words, if you love lonely roads, this is the drive for you.” An Alaska driving guide I found in our Wiseman lodge read, “The Dalton Highway is unique in its scenic beauty,Heavy industrial traffic wildlife and recreational opportunities, but it is also one of Alaska’s most remote, dangerous and challenging roads.” There’s no cell phone coverage. The rest stops may have outhouses (and the bushes are preferable). There’s no place for a snack. No medical facilities. And take the caution about industrial traffic to heart. This is the Haul Road. Every length of pipe, nail, canister of gas, load of fuel, hammer, acetylene torch, steel girder, pump, every bottle of Dawn, pair of gloves, can of soup, egg, leaf of lettuce and grain of salt – everything that’s used in Deadhorse and the Prudhoe Bay oil fields gets there by truck. Do not get in the way. Gifts of the Dalton The Dalton drive was spectacular. Soulful, really. The ride gave me the gifts of isolation and timelessness, something most of us don’t have much of. The Haul Road reminded me that going a distance can take patience. Over 800 miles on a muddy, gravel, washboarded road was more involved than a slow security line at the airport. We were off the grid, no cell coverage, no wifi. A CB radio. A satellite phone. I don’t need to be constantly connected but this was different. Not possible, and the relief of not being connected was liberating. My mind could wander where it pleased. The markers of time and distance passing were far apart. The quality of Arctic light was unfamiliar; the sun was in a different place and during our drive, sunlight was often watery, even milky, as if it were another world. Even my journal notes lost their anchor in time. Is this the only intersection on the Dalton? Make sure you read the sign closely When I got back to Fairbanks, a woman at my hotel reception said, “People come back and say ‘it’s a long drive,’ and ‘it’s not what I expected.’” A cab driver told me that she thought some people were disappointed by the Arctic Circle. “It isn’t much but a sign,” she told me they’d say. I wasn’t disappointed! I knew I was on the Haul Road. I was in the Arctic. But I don’t know that I expected anything in particular. Maybe it’s better to be wonderfully surprised. Dalton Practicalities Driving and sleeping (not simultaneously). If you want to drive the Dalton yourself, research the requirements for your vehicle and equipment. You’ll need to rent a vehicle designed for the Dalton. And make arrangements ahead for someplace to stay. There aren’t a lot of rooms out there. If you’d rather bike it, we saw motorcyclists, bicyclists and even a unicyclist along the way. If you’re biking or camping, I assume you know all about what to do in the wilderness. I hope so. I would be hopeless and have no advice. For a guide to milestones along the Dalton, see Alaska.org’s guide here. I chose to ride the Dalton with 1st Alaska Outdoor School. There were three passengers and a driver. The three of us passengers stayed at Uta’s Arctic Getaway the first night, sharing a two-bedroom cabin. There were extra beds downstairs, enough for a mob of travelers, a fully equipped bathroom and a kitchenette. On the way back, we stayed at Boreal Lodge, also in Wiseman. Here, we had sleeping rooms that opened to a porch, a shared bathroom and a common kitchen. There is also a separate bathroom “chalet” near the lodge. Both Uta’s and Boreal Lodge provided soap and towels. Uta’s also offers breakfast but we left too early. Arctic evening A few basic supplies. 1st Alaska Outdoor School sent snacks and water along in the van, but I wanted more and hadn’t taken enough of my own water, almonds and granola bars. Experienced caravaners and campers Ulrike and Bernhard brought fruit and nuts. They graciously shared. The company put hand sanitizer in the van, but I also took my own, along with plenty of pocket packs of tissues that were handy for those trips to the bushes. I wore my favorite Palladium boots, hiking socks and cords. For whatever reason, the mud didn’t leave permanent stains. Maybe I’m just a good laundress. It was chilly. A fleece and rain jacket were adequate although I also needed my knit hat at Prudhoe Bay. Wildlife. We saw a lot of birds, swans, Brandt geese and many other geese and waterfowl. Hawks, one sitting on a kill near the road. There were ptarmigan everywhere. The only moose we saw stood in a meadow near Wiseman and in the gloaming of that second night, we couldn’t even take pictures to prove it! We had marmot sightings, and saw what we thought were Arctic chipmunks or ground squirrels

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In Defense of Travel Breakfast!

Travel Tips /

In Defense of Travel Breakfast! Eat breakfast! Eat healthy! Eat efficiently! I read Smarter Travel online all the time. The writers have to make a lot of lists, and I read through them for those hacks that help me be a more efficient traveler. Now and then I find topics and products for follow-up. And some of the lists are humorous. I pass by a lot too. But I couldn’t blow by a list of biggest travel time wasters that included “Having Breakfast”! The item reads: “Waking up to a hotel breakfast might seem like a convenient way to start the day, but it can be a huge time suck. When you’ve got a packed itinerary ahead of you, there’s no time to be leisurely surveying the continental spread. Instead of the big breakfast, opt for something on the go. You can grab a pastry and a coffee at a local cafe and get a jumpstart on the day.” You’ve Got to Eat No, no, no! I never skip the breakfast spread. There are a couple of reasons. First, it’s nutritionally better to eat breakfast, and I like it anyway. Don’t skip a decent breakfast for a high-carb pastry and coffee. Second, nothing’s open yet when I’m at breakfast. I can eat and still get in an early walk before the crowds or be first in the queue when things open up. And a good breakfast gives me the stamina for that “packed itinerary”! Before I go on, it’s important to note that I’m talking about the breakfast spreads that are included with a room (or come with a slight extra charge). They can be big or simple. You arrive, someone checks your name on a list (or not), and you eat – no waiting for a check. A hotel restaurant breakfast is different. Now, in defense of Smarter Travel, they did say the breakfast “can be” a huge time suck. The key to the breakfast buffet is to eat efficiently! If you’re early like I am, enjoy looking at the spread and change up your menu daily. Or if you’re in a hurry, don’t peruse 100 or however many options. Target something you like – bread and cheese, eggs, tofu, whatever – eat, and go. My happy egg Get it to Go You can probably get the coffee to go, too. When I’ve been hurrying, I’ve taken a boiled egg or bread and cheese and left. The hotel breakfast buffet doesn’t have to take any longer than standing on line for all those carbs. And the good breakfast keeps me from having to eat again for a long time. Unless a lunch or dinner is part of the day’s plan – for example, traditional local meal, a special restaurant, a moment of down time – these can be my time suck meals. It’s when I might grab some takeaway. Everything on my “packed itinerary” is hopping now, and I don’t want to waste minutes unless the meal itself is the goal. The yogurt was the last course

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Prague in Winter

City Notes, Europe /

Prague in Winter I had been to summer Prague as a student when Golden Prague was the capital of communist Czechoslovakia. I’d walked in the green, sweet gardens and seen the city at its softest. Back then there were few tourists except from other communist countries, and seeing the sights, visiting coffee shops, drinking Czech beer were simple. They were dreary times, though, and a Czech-speaking friend traveling there called Prague the Golden City without the gold. Even so I found the city beautiful and mysterious, satisfying the Kafka in me. The Golden City Now the world has discovered Prague, and I understand that it’s packed in the nice months. So, I decided to make my return visit in late winter. Or you could say very early spring, late February into March. The good: I had quick access to all the major sights, and it was easy to get around walking and by tram. Apartment rental was cheaper than in the high season. Clubs, pubs and restaurants were open, and extra nice for their warmth and cheer. The not as good: I gave up the pretty gardens and a few sights that aren’t open in winter. The weather was mixed, with some bitter cloudy days and lovely sunny ones. It was usually cold but not intolerable. Just be prepared. Afternoon reflections It Was Never Lonely There are always tourists in Prague, strolling along with local people across Charles Bridge on cold, short afternoons, wrapped in puffy jackets. We tourists ascended Castle Hill and grouped up to watch the astronomical clock. But it wasn’t crowded. I stood alone in some magnificent places and generally had no trouble getting a restaurant table. I bought groceries, cooked at my apartment, ate out, went to the local Anglican church, and had two fine nights at the opera. I was also there for Masopust, the pre-Lenten festival (think run-up to Mardi Gras) that’s full of costumes, food, parades and events. That added texture to my winter wanderings. Staying there. I used TripAdvisor and other online sources to narrow down a list of likely places, and after more cross-checking, selected Prague City Apartments Residence Karolina. My apartment was close to the historic opera house and the river, walking distance to most major sites and just a short block from major tram lines. It must have been an elegant townhouse once – my foyer was enormous, as were my living room and eat-in kitchen. Some of the decorative plaster crown molding and rosettes remained, and there was a fine staircase to my apartment. The apartment was fully loaded with appliances, a concierge was available 24/7 (and they were efficient and friendly) and it’s not far from the My Národní department store, owned by Tesco, and with a Tesco supermarket downstairs. So I could have lived there indefinitely. Castle stairs in the afternoon Eating around. I did most of my meals at home courtesy of the big kitchen and proximity to Tesco. I ate out some, and had a nice lunch inside at the Lobcowicz Palace café while others ate bundled up on the slightly heated patio overlooking the city. The most fun was the Havelská Koruna restaurant. You can find it in the guidebooks. The inexpensive food was as good as I needed it to be. Go for the experience. A woman sat in a raised booth at the entrance and handed me a list ticket with her right hand while on the other side she toted up a departing guest’s bill with her left. As I went to each cafeteria-like station, no-nonsense servers ticked my choices on the list. The cashier adds it all when you leave, and it’s 500 crowns if you lose the ticket so hang on. The restaurant was full and I grabbed a small booth as a woman left. It pays to hover. Right away, a man asked if he could sit which he did and then hurried through his soup. As soon as looked ready to go, another man began to hover. Man #1 gathered his coat and hat, and man #2 slid into the booth. I finished my fish and cabbage before he finished his goulash, and handed over my place to another hoverer. As I left the restaurant, a woman stopped and asked me something. “Is it open? Is it good? Is it cheap?” Who knows exactly what she’d asked. But I guessed it was one of those questions. I said, “ano (yes)” and she went in. I made a second equally fun visit when I was the one who asked to sit with people. Top 10 and then some – no need to stay off the beaten track in winter. Grab your favorite guidebook and make your list. I stuck fairly close to mine because I could get to all of the top sights without crowds. Roam the streets and look at the beautiful buildings; climb the Old and New Castle steps if you’re able or take the tram; watch the castle guards in their fur-collared overcoats and commiserate with the guys who stand facing the setting sun’s glare. I saw the Old Town Square almost empty in early morning and lively later with mimes, buskers and umbrella-led groups, but not crowded. Watching the astronomical clock was easy. I revisited and lingered at all the major places I’d seen before, and looked for a list of places I’d made from a book of Prague photographs that I’d bought all those years ago. I also added on a few new sights (most all from the Lonely Planet guide to Prague & the Czech Republic). And if you’ve seen my post about shoes, I spent my first afternoon at the famous Czech shoe company Bat’a replacing old favorite traveling shoes that had decided this was the time to fall apart. Bat’a is even in the travel guides. Not bad for a shoe store. Of the top sights, only the Strahov Monastery was crowded when I went on a weekend.

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Amman to Petra: A stop at Mount Nebo, “Memorial of Moses”

Middle East /

Amman to Petra: A Stop at Mount Nebo, “Memorial of Moses” Ahmad, my driver and guide, was taking me from Amman, Jordan to Wadi Musa and Petra. It isn’t a long trip. We had several stops built in, including two grand spending opportunities (whatever the product or artifact was, “it’s cheaper here than at [fill in name of next stop]”), and Madaba, where I saw the ancient mosaic map of the Middle East in the Greek Orthodox church of St. George. I hired a guide at Madaba, a young Jordanian with a Dutch surname thanks to his Dutch grandfather. Next was Mount Nebo, where Moses stopped to look out to the Promised Land he would never reach. A Stop on the Way As we got close Mount Nebo, Ahmad asked if I minded him stopping for cigarettes and a coffee. He always asked (and he never smoked in the car). We stopped at a small shop on a sloping street of sand-colored cubical houses. Some parked cars along the street were draped with rugs instead of foil sunshades. Outside the store, under a sun shelter of long canes on a frame, there were Coca-Colas, plastic-wrapped cases of water bottles, beach balls, soccer balls, pretty decorative mats, straw sun hats, charcoal for grilling, plastic drink glasses, potted plants, Arabic dallahs (coffee pots) and a lot more. I didn’t always follow Ahmad into shops but I did here at the Panorama Mount Nebo. Three men were talking with Ahmad. They greeted me, and one offered us a taste of cloudy, straw-colored honey fresh from his garden. It was mild and good. Then they offered us Arabic coffee in china cups – I had a refill, too. But for the next round Ahmad got us Turkish coffee, cup type unrecorded. So there at the small store with the purple plastic table out front, the Jordan valley before us, haze concealing Jerusalem, I got my first taste of roadside Turkish coffee. From then on, I got Turkish coffee at every stop, no matter how hot the weather, no matter how many coffees I’d already had. Panorama Mt. Nebo Long after I’d eaten the honey at Panorama Mount Nebo, I remembered that two Jordanian physicians I’d met on the flight to Amman told me that I must eat only cooked food. They were emphatic. My gut wasn’t used to local foods, they said. But neither the honey nor tea I drank later from a family’s common cup made me ill. Mount Nebo I found the reference to Mount Nebo in Deuteronomy. Moses is instructed to climb and look, and there his days will end. As always Ahmad told me to take my time visiting. He would wait near the parking lot. I bought a ticket and headed up. I didn’t hire a guide this time because I’d read enough, I thought. It was over 100 degrees. A sad, blond street dog was inert in light shade. Ahead of me a man wearing sandals, a straw sun hat and a thigh-length garment that looked like a nightshirt walked with his guide. (He had nice legs. Showing off?) I was wearing long black pants, a black and white mosaic pattern tee shirt and large black and white scarf wrapped tight around my neck and shoulders. We both were clearly outsiders. Construction at the chapel on Mount Nebo cut me off from the ancient mosaics and elements of the Byzantine church that was once there. It also blocked my way to Giovanni Fantoni’s strange serpentine cross. Nothing seemed to be going on in the church at the moment though, so I slipped under the yellow tape to get a look inside and a better view of the cross. Instead I got a scolding from the nightshirt man’s guide. I didn’t really catch what he said, but it worked, and I abandoned my quest. Nearby I stopped at an olive tree planted by Pope John Paul II. All the Popes come here – Ahmad may have said that, or maybe I just thought it. Memorial of Moses In the end, unlike Moses, I didn’t see much of the Promised Land because of haze and blowing sand. My pictures are dusty looking. Selfies of me with the hazy valley behind, an inadvertent video which amused me and I kept, the sad dog, a tiny black plastic automatic weapon in the gutter. And the church was closed. So my visit to the Memorial of Moses was brief, but I am conscious that it was someplace of note. There are reasons Jordan calls itself “the other Holy Land.” Abandoned Ottoman Valley Town After Mount Nebo, dry grassy stretches, dry grassless stretches, Bedouin grazing sheep and goats on stubble and dry grass and watering them with tanker trucks. Ahmad said that since I was interested, he’d show me something. So we turned uphill on a back road where he presented me with an abandoned Ottoman valley town that still looked solid enough from where we stood. We drove further up the ridge to the amalgamated ruins, additions and reconstructions of Qal’at ash-Shawbak. Shawbak was a crusader castle built around 1100. It lasted only 75 years before it was taken by Saladin (Salah al-Din). It’s still impressive on its ridge but we didn’t look in. Ahmad promised me a better castle later. That was at Ajloun, and it was spectacular. Trip date: June 2015 Old Ottoman village

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The Petra by Night Experience

Middle East /

The Petra by Night Experience I’ve seen so many online comments about Petra by Night – love it or hate it, I guess. But I thought it was a special experience – just keep in mind that it’s a show, and not a nocturnal tour of Petra. You have to wonder what some people expect. A walk in the dark with luminarias and cell phones to light the way I was enjoying the drive from Mount Nebo toward Wadi Musa, the hilly town outside Petra. It came along sooner than I wanted it to. I hadn’t yet seen my hotel when my driver and guide Ahmad parked in front of two men sitting in plastic chairs by an open door. “What we are doing?” I asked. “Getting your tickets.” I couldn’t see a sign that said “tickets.” I handed over the cash. It looked pretty casual, but the tickets for Petra by Night and tomorrow in the daytime looked glossy and official, and my hotel just around the corner (the Mövenpick) was very nice. Ahmad went off until the next afternoon and I was alone at Petra. Petra, a UNESCO World Heritage Center, one of the treasures of the world. A treasure to Hollywood as well. You might have seen some sights of Petra in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. But don’t believe the movies about what’s behind the façades, because there’s actually not much at all. Petra by Night I chose to go to the Petra by Night experience at the strong recommendation of a friend who had lived several years in Jordan. If you are thinking about Petra by Night, it’s useful to keep in mind that it’s not a night tour of Petra. It’s a show. It’s theater. You sit on the sand in front of the shadowy great Treasury, Al Khazneh. There is a host/storyteller and there are performers. If by some unlikely chance you could see only Petra by Night or Petra in daytime, you would not have any trouble choosing day. But I think Petra by Night is worth doing. My hotel was only steps away from the entrance to Petra’s plaza of souvenir shops and refreshment stands, closed by the time I walked among them. I joined people already gathering formlessly near the ticket gate. Eventually we’d queue up and start as a group. The sky turned deep indigo. Lights appeared on the hillsides. It was refreshing now with the temperature ready to dip into double digits after another 100-degree day. Then the crowd began to form into a line near the turnstile. It was dark at last, and we were off. Petra luminarias The entrance to Petra is through a mile-long slot canyon, the Siq, reached by a longish, sloping gravel carriageway. The length of the carriageway and Siq was lined with luminarias, those paper bags weighted with sand and holding candles that scout troops sell around Christmas in the U.S. It was quiet except for intermittent talking and the crunch of the stony carriageway under all those feet. As we entered the Siq, the sound changed from crunch to echo. So my first impression of Petra was aural – not much was visible in the luminaria light (and the inevitable cell phone or flashlight). I’d read the guidebook and studied the Petra map. I knew the way. The long walk in the Siq was dark, mysterious and evocative of why the city was hidden for centuries. But I was beginning to wonder whether Petra by Night going to be mostly a long walk. Then suddenly around a corner the Siq gave into an open canyon in front of the Treasury, Al Khazneh, recognizable in the shadows, high as a 10-story building. Al Khazneh is what most people want to see, and it’s the perfect background for theater because it’s almost all façade. The rooms behind all that red sandstone grandeur are small and inconsequential. Here we were at last. The large group somehow got seated on rugs arranged in rows delineated by luminarias. A legion of fast walking people served us sweet tea. A cat walked by and sat near me, a silhouette against the glowing bags. In English, the host asked for quiet but the chatter continued especially among a large group that didn’t seem to speak English, much less Arabic. Or they didn’t care. And instead of just the luminarias, I was surrounded by 200 ongoing pinpricks of light as people took pictures of the darkness. A man recorded every step of a curly-haired blonde, aiming his phone at me. I had to shield my eyes from that one. In the midst of this, the show started with a supposed-to-be hidden Bedouin playing the flute (a shabbaba?). He was constantly illuminated by flashes. As the show progressed, a man sitting among the crowd played a rababa and sang a Bedouin song. He too was flashed upon. Rababa means “a bowed instrument.” It is probably the oldest stringed instrument existing. It’s good to give it a thoughtful listen, especially in its natural home, and closing my eyes helped me focus. Music done, Al Khazneh was illuminated and the host invited us to walk around and take photos. The powerful lights made harsh shadows and robbed Al Khazneh of color, but one after another families and groups gathered in the beams for photos. I managed a selfie and a few inadequate pictures of Al Khazneh. But photography wasn’t why I came at night. I was looking for some of the mystery. And then it was done. We took our long walk back through the Siq. By then I had lost some new friends from Mexico. (We found each other the next day.) When I exited the shopping plaza, a forlorn dog limped under the mercury-colored lights. Taxis waited a cul-de-sac and there was a chorus of “Taxi! Taxi!” from the drivers. But the Mövenpick was across the cul-de-sac, and it was nice to have only those few steps between

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St. John’s, Newfoundland: Out and About in Town

Canada /

St. John’s, Newfoundland: out and about in town St. John’s, Newfoundland, is the oldest city in North America. It’s farthest east, unless you count towns in Greenland. There have been ships in the harbor since the 1500s, probably earlier. The port was critical to North Atlantic convoys in World War II. Along with enjoying Newfoundland’s rugged beauty, there’s plenty to learn by staying a while in St. John’s. The Murray Premises Hotel is a National Historic Site on the waterfront, former warehouses that survived the great fires that you’ll learn about when you go. That sounded like a great reason to stay there. I found it to be a modern hotel that retains the character of its warehouse days, with old warehouse beams left visible. Some of the creaks are still there, too. Importantly to me, my room rate included breakfast, available only steps across a small second floor lobby from my room. The coffee and food choices were good, the staff congenial, and the room cozy. So even if it was a rainy cold day, which it was about half the time, I was fortified and ready. Most of the big hotel brands have a mid-range property in St. John’s and there is the usual assortment of B&Bs and vacation rentals. I went on an excursion with some women who were enjoying their stay in a pretty VRBO house up the hill. Good to know: A Lot of Uphill If you walk around St. John’s, you’ll be walking uphill a lot. Downtown St. John’s rises steeply from the harbor. It’s hard work to walk some of the streets, but you can find stairs here and there and footpaths through some neighborhoods. Crossing streets wasn’t bad. Drivers actually stopped without threatening pedestrians in zebra crossings. Still, I looked for quiet crossings with the fewest converging streets. Why tempt drivers coming from five directions, especially when two are downhill? Above all, wear good shoes. Also good to know: the great fires Nineteenth century fires periodically destroyed the congested, wooden city and harbor front. The Great Fire of 1892 destroyed two-thirds of the city and several ships. That fire started in a stable (does this remind anyone of the Chicago fire?) and burned most of downtown. Down on the harbor, the Murray Premises survived, as did the Catholic (now) Basilica of St. John the Baptist on top of the hill. Government buildings that were farther uphill beyond an undeveloped area survived. Guarding the harbor The Great Fire of 1892 figures into a lot of conversations today. Signs and plaques describe what was rebuilt after the fire and what survived. I walked uphill just about to the corner where the 1892 fire started, but didn’t see much except an ordinary street of small buildings. Not sure what I expected to see since there’s been plenty of time to rebuild. The Rooms – The Provincial Museum Don’t neglect The Rooms. Exhibits cover the diverse human and natural history of Newfoundland and Labrador, a unique, faraway, big place. There’s a lot for visitors to learn. I was going to miss the summer activities that were just about to get started, but I did get a feeling for the province in this modern, open building. I saved a visit to The Rooms for a rainy day and started at the top floor, working my way down. One special exhibition along with a series of events in 2016 commemorates the centennial of the World War I battle of Beaumont-Hamel. It was brutal, devastating, bloody. The Newfoundland Regiment was almost wiped out. When roll call was taken, only 68 men answered their names – 324 were killed, or missing and presumed dead and 386 were wounded. So many from a small place touched every family. The event is embedded in the province’s consciousness. As you look at the soldiers’ and nurses’ pictures, you see they look just like us. Not old fashioned. That’s just the clothes and maybe the haircuts. Look at their faces and think how appalling it all is. St John’s harbor Touring Around on Foot – Signal Hill and Quidi Vidi Village I was equipped with my list from TripAdvisor and eventually got maps of self-guided walking tours from the Visitor Center. My first day in St. John’s was sunny and I set out for Signal Hill, my longest walk and highest elevation. Signal Hill is on top of the cliffs that guard the north side of the harbor entrance. From Signal Hill you see clearly how narrow the entrance to St. John’s harbor is. Hence the entrance is called the Narrows. Makes sense. You can take a trail along the cliff face, or use sidewalks. I opted for sidewalks. Well, half way there I thought I was going to croak. And when I was sure I was almost there, I crested a hill and saw the rest of the climb ahead. So think about how you get there. Taxis and excursions are available. But if you’re game, try the cliffside trail, which I am sure is much more beautiful that the sidewalks. A woman at hotel reception told me that part of the trail is a narrow ledge with the water below. “But there’s a chain you can hold onto,” she continued. I decided not. Physically, OK, but mentally, no. Didn’t want to hold onto a chain and pussy-foot along the ledge. However, some nice people from New Jersey I met did that and they were fit and happy the next day. Now I’m sorry I didn’t try it. Colorful houses line the hillside Once on Signal Hill the views of the ocean and harbor are stunning. You’re looking out there into the North Atlantic, and you can feel that northern-ness. Cabot Tower on the hill offers a gift shop and small museum celebrating the earliest days of the wireless telegraph. Another first – St. John’s is where Italian inventor Guglielmo Marconi received the first transatlantic telegraph signal. Part way back down, there’s

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