Travel Tales and Wander "Lust"

ON HIATUS

2010-03-05T14:47:00.000-08:00

If you've stumbled across this blog because of a comment I left, please note I rarely write in or check this blog anymore. My main blog - the one I've had going for four years - is found HERE.

That said, if you are looking for travel info, please feel free to peruse the archives.

If you are looking for New Zealand information, please note that my other blog (the one here) will have plenty of New Zealand-focused posts during the month of March, so please visit :)

(note to Spammers - you suck balls. Comment moderation is officially on)

Staying in...Twizel, NZ

2010-01-04T20:42:00.000-08:00

If for some reason you happen to find yourself in Twizel (a more affordable base for exploring Mt. Cook, doing a LOTR tour, etc), you should look no further than to book a night or two at the delightful Gladstone Cottage.

Your hosts Margaret and Peter (and dog Kharla) will give you a warm welcome (even if they aren't there, they'll write on the chalkboard for you) and drop off a scrumptious breakfast basket for the morning.

The cottage has wonderul leather couches and recliners in the modern living room, complete with DVD player, flat-screen TV and Sky cable. The comfy, cozy bedrooms sleep two people each and you even get a chance to do laundry in the spacious, heated-floor bathroom. The kitchen is full-equipped, making you feel inclined to go to the local (and new) Four Square grocery store and make your own food for a change.

Outside you have a quaint porch in which to relax with a bottle of wine and watch the sun set over the nearby Ben Ohau mountain ranges. And once it gets dark, be sure to go for a wander on the grass - the nightsky is Mackenzie Country is famous for its clarity. Indeed, I swear I've never seen so many stars in my whole life.

If you get tired of cooking but don't want to stretch your wallet anymore than you have to, the Thai restuarant in Twizel's "mall" has an amazing lunch menu where any of their scrumptious and authentic meals are $10 or less. Be sure to order a quenching Singha beer to go along with it!

Gladstone Cottage
Margaret and Peter Hands
32 North West Arch
PO Box 72
Twizel, 8773
New Zealand
+64 3 435 0527
$140 per night

New Zealand

2009-11-02T15:08:00.000-08:00

I leave in 19 days. EEK.

Suffice to say, I won't be writing here UNTIL I actually get to New Zealand. Yup, gonna try and update while I'm over there so be sure to check back with this blog AND my other blog.

Speaking of other blog, having a few awesome contests going on right now for a whole bunch of swag and gift cards. Check em out HERE.

The Otago Penninsula, New Zealand

2009-10-08T11:52:00.000-07:00

The gorgeous Otago Penninsula, located along the lengthy, narrow Otago Harbour and near the University city of Dunedin, is one of New Zealand's most underrated jewels.

Volcanic in origin, it forms one wall of the collapsed crater that now forms Otago Harbour. The peninsula lies due east of Otago Harbour and runs parallel to the mainland for 30 km. Its maximum width is 12 km. It is joined to the mainland at the south-west end by a narrow isthmus a little over one kilometre in width.

The suburbs of Dunedin encroach onto the western end of the peninsula, but for the majority of its length it is sparsely populated and occupied by steep open pasture. The peninsula is home to many species of wildlife, notably seabirds, and ecotourism is an increasingly important part of its economy.

When I was touring New Zealand, I made an effort to fit this wonderful place into my plans. I was excited to see sea lions, penguins and the famed albatross on the Elm Lodge Wildlife Tour. This small tour group was the perfect way to experience all the beauty and grandeur that the penninsula had to offer.

First stop on our journey was just to admire the gorgeousness of the harbour. The first photo I took was the photo that would soon sum up everything about New Zealand. I think it's one of my favourite photos, ever.

(as usual, click on pictures to englarge them)

Next we stopped by a beach where I got to see a penguin...in a box. I don't know where the photo of it went but I assure you it was a penguin in a box. The box was placed there by the Department of Conservation to provide safe nesting places for the blue penguin.

Anyway, our guide lifted up the lid and low and behold, a teeny tiny blue penguin peered up at us.

As if to outdo the penguin, we looked over to the bay where an enthusiastic sea lion provided entertained us with charades.

Here he is being a "torpedo":

Here he is being a "shark":

And here he is doing "yoga":

After the sea lion antics, we visited the Northern Royal Albatross colony, where the mighty albatross come into nest. This is the mainland colony for the albatross in the world.

These mighty birds might look small in these pictures but rest assured these are massive birds that weigh up to 19lbs and have a wingspan of nearly 10 feet! They live to be 40 years old on average and are considered in a "vulnerable" state, though kept off the endangered list thanks to colonies such as this one.

Aside from the albatross - such a stunning sight to see, by the way - the cliffs also housed various other birds, like these gannets:

After we saw the albatross, we drove four-by-four style across some farmers sheep paddock, heading towards a gloriously lit cliff and beach below.

At the beach we came across another sea lion, this one rather close up and "sleeping" - we were safe as long as we didn't get between him and the ocean. Though I think we did!

The main attraction here was the Yellow-eyed penguins that came ashore at dusk every night. Imagine our delight when these mighty birds waddled on shore, like tuxedoed men wearing yellow carnival masks.

And then we saw the sight that could only been seen in New Zealand. An intersection where penguins meet sheep:

If anyone is heading to New Zealand, a tour of the Otago Penninsula is a must-do.

Hiking the Franz Josef Glacier, NZ

2009-09-23T14:15:00.000-07:00

Another must-do/must-see experience in New Zealand is to go for a hike, or tramp as they call it down under.

New Zealand is world-reknowned for their tramping routes and have a variety of different walks to take, from one day to a week. While I've only done a few short walks (and am gearing up to do the Tongariro Crossing, one of the best walks in the world), one of the most memorable tramps took place on a glacier.

On the Wild West Coast of the South Island, the Franz Josef and Fox Glaciers slowly seep down from their lofty births, down towards the sea and the temperate rainforest of the coast. With 20km seperating the Franz Josef and Fox Glaciers, these are part of only three glaciers*** on earth which come so close to reaching the coastline. Because of this proximity, it makes these glaciers very easy for adventurers to explore.

I signed up with a half-day guided hike which was well worth the money. After strapping on crampons and getting equipped with pick axes and poles, we made our way across scrappy morain and glacial run-off alongside verdant cliffs and flowing waterfalls, to the edge of the mighty icey beast.

Up close, the glacier was massive and awe-inspiring. The terminus loomed up high above us, alternating between dirty crusts and ice-blue crevasses. I was suddenly glad I paid attention in my favourite class in high school - Earth Science - as I still retained a lot of knowledge about glaciers (which I thought would be useless!).

Click to englarge to see funny warning sign

Walking on the glacier was an amazing feeling, having all that *very slowly moving* ice beneath you. Though I was a bit shakey even with my spikey crampons on my feet and a pole to support me, it was thrilling to be able to enter crevasses, climb up ledges of ice and even go through ice holes.

The best part was taking stock of the situation and seeing how far we had really come - the view from the top was amazing, and even though it wasn't sunny like the REAL top of the glacier appeared to be, the contrast between white ice and green rainforest was amazing.

YAY ME!

And now, a little bit of info about the glacier, thanks to Wikipedia: "The glacier is currently 12 km long and terminates 19 km from the Tasman Sea. Fed by a 20 sqm large snowfield at high altitude, it exhibits a cyclic pattern of advance and retreat, driven by differences between the volume of meltwater at the foot of the glacier and volume of snowfall feeding the névé. Due to strong snowfall it is one of the few glaciers in New Zealand which is still growing as of 2007, while others, mostly on the eastern side of the Southern Alps, have been shrinking heavily, a process attributed to global warming.

Having retreated several kilometres between the 1940s and 1980s, the glacier entered an advancing phase in 1984 and at times has advanced at the phenomenal (by glacial standards) rate of 70 cm a day. The flow rate is about 10 times that of typical glaciers. Over the longer term, the glacier has retreated since the last ice age, and it is believed that it extended into the sea some 10,000 to 15,000 years ago.

This cyclic behaviour is well illustrated by a postage stamp issued in 1946, depicting the view from St James Anglican Church. The church was built in 1931, with a panoramic altar window to take advantage of its location. By 1954, the glacier had disappeared from view from the church, but it reappeared in 1997. This is due to the highly variable conditions on the snowfield, which take around 5-6 years before they result in changes in the terminus location."

*** I believe I have actually been to the "other" glacier out of the three on Earth that come so close to the sea, the Jostedal Glacier in Norway. I didn't climb that one though. Been there, done that! :P

Exploring the coast of Abel Tasman National Park

2009-09-15T11:13:00.000-07:00

My kayak glided across the warm, clear waters which throbbed beneath the potent sun in aquamarine waves. To my left, a tiny blue penguin popped up and swam beside me for a few moments before turning translucent as it slipped under the water and piloted towards rocky islets; on my right were grey granite cliffs topped with rambuncious emerald vegetation and flanked by shimmering yellow beaches of the purest sand.

Tropical waters? Bleached beaches? Penguins?

Where the hell was I?

Abel Tasman National Park is one of the most visited parks in New Zealand, and with good reason. Located in the aptly-named Golden Bay, north of the wonderful hamlet/city of Nelson (which I have been honoured to have visited FOUR times this decade), Abel Tasman National Park encompasses only 225.3 square kilometres, which makes it one of the country's smallest national parks, but - man - have they packed so much beauty into one tight little package. Though most people come to this most gorgeous gem to tramp its famous track, which traverses podocarp forests, clean streams and sandy beaches, others choose to explore the park from the water, via kayaking.

My kayaking experience was with Kiwi Kayaks, one of the many quality companies operating out of Motueka and Maharua, the two towns closest to the park. As of this moment, almost all kayaking operators are conglomerating under one roof to be known as Abel Tasman Kayaking.

Like many good companies offer, I was picked up by bus in Nelson on a sleepy November morning (6:30AM to be exact). With the sun already strong in the wee hours, I knew it was going to be an epic day for exploring the park.

After we stopped in Motueka to pick up more people, we made our way to the coast, to Marahua where we watched the kayaks being hauled off a trailer and on to the golden beach. Because the kayaks had to be tandem and I was alone, I was paired with a fellow backpacker who thankfully had stronger arms than me.

Not that I needed them - kayaking was a breeze. We paddled lazily up the coast, stopping in at sandbars and small islands before beaching ourselves and having a healthy lunch on the silky sands. This was paradise.

Most kayaking tours offer full, half and overnight options and though I cheaped out and went for the most inexpensive version (half day at around $110) I felt I got my money's worth. The gorgeously warm weather helped, as did our affable hosts Steve and Lori (Lori who lived in Vancouver in a previous life) and the stupendous scenery and wildlife that surrounded us with every paddle.

We saw dolphins leaping (my camera wasn't fast enough to capture anything but a splash) off our bows, penguins scooting beside us (wish I could find THAT picture), giant sea birds soaring past, seals playing nearby, and even a wedding held out among a far reaching sand bar.

I firmly believe this park is a must-see for anyone visiting New Zealand - indeed for Kiwis themselves. Whether you kayak or walk, it will truly be a day (or two) that is forever seared in your mind. I remember smiling a LOT that day, and that's something everyone needs to do more often.

Fraser Island - PART II

2009-09-13T20:42:00.000-07:00

Why MORE Fraser Island? Well, because as I just found a lot more photographs that might do more justice to the place than the ones in the previous post ;) Anyway, if you haven't read the post before this, I suggest you do so now, just so you get a sense of things :) - CLICK ON PICS TO ENLARGE

A better look at the beach, which is surrounded by....

Red cliffs...

and shipwrecks....

Time for sand-boarding!!

...afterwards, rinse off the sand in tide pools of water - called champagne pools - which are a warm alternative to swimming in the open ocean - not only would the rough rip tides get you, but there is a very large quantity of Tiger Sharks patrolling the area...we could even see them from the beach!

Of course, you can always combine sandboarding WITH swimming at Lake Wabby

Then explore nearby creeks, such as Eli Creek where you can walk to one point and then float all the way down

Or just go to a normal lake - preferably when it's sunny out

There's always the pool at the Kingfisher Resort, don't forget...

Afterwards, you hope back on that 4X4 bus -

- to see tall trees

- and Kookaburas (who WILL steal your sanwhich out of your hand, btw)

-as well as more Goana lizards

Then it's time for nightlife at the hotel

Before you leave by ferry the next day...

Fraser Island, Australia

2009-09-10T14:15:00.000-07:00

Click on pics to view better

OKaaaay. Bit of a deviation from New Zealand as you and I both know that Australia and New Zealand could not be more different. However, I can't access my NZ pics today (will do so on the weekend) so I thought that at least the two countries are more or less near each other and won't really take away from "New Zealand Month." Even if it does...tough titties.

Pardon the scanned photographs but these were taken before I possesed a digital camera (or really knew anyone that HAD one), back in the day that I was 18/19 years old. It's from my photo album...glad I included captions. These aren't even half of the gorgeous, cool pics I took that day but to be honest I have so many photos all over the place, this will have to do!

Fraser Island is one of the places you MUST go when you visit Australia and judging by the popularity, it seems everyone heeds that call. In fact, I don't know many backpackers who don't go to Fraser Island. Right of passage, you see. Plus it's a designated World Heritage Site for its awesomeness.

Fraser Island is a large sand dune of an island, accessible by passenger ferry outside the nondescript town of Hervey Bay. The whole island is, yes, sand and while there are no roads, those who rent 4x4 vehicles can have a hell of a fun time navigating and camping throughout the island.

I, however, was traveling alone (as I usually do) and couldn't muster up enough strangers to do it independently so I went with a backpacker's tour group...and was glad I did.

Kingfisher Tours does a wonderful job, hosting backpackers in its cramped but clean dorms and treating them to wonderful dinners and lunches each day in its resort (oh and booze and partying). During the day, expeditions are lead out on a huge 4x4 bus.

What can you expect on Fraser Island?

*Sand

*Lakes

*More Lakes (including Lake MacKenzie, so clear and freshwater that you can stare straight down to the bottom...amazing)

*Goanna lizards

*Dingoes (for realz)

*Sand dunes (where you go sandboarding INTO Lake Wabby)

*Booze

*Kookaburas (evil things)

*wild horses (didn't see any)

*Champagne pools

*Tiger sharks

*Shipwrecks

*Rain - just kidding, of course it DID rain almost the entire time we were there. Ah, me and my luck!

Dingoes do eat babies

Goanna Lizards are mighty cool, and nosy!

Most awesome lake ever

Sand boarding, in the rain, down into this lake

Lost in the dunes

Back at the bar

Many storms on Fraser Islands many beaches

More dingoes

Heaven....which is why I look so cracked out

The Banks Penninsula, New Zealand

2009-09-04T12:29:00.001-07:00

Have you ever driven past a place, or stood on a country road in some remote part of the country (any country) and thought: "I could hide out here...I could live here for the rest of my life and no one would ever find me?"

click on pics to enlarge

These thoughts often come to me when I feel the globe of the Earth beneath my feet, in my mind's eye can see exactly where I am on a map and realize I am just tucked away in this tiny place on this awesomely huge planet. The next thought that follows is usually: "If I'm ever on the run from the law, this is where I will come."

New Zealand is full of these places and sadly if I ever do rob a bank (to pay off my fashion debt, no doubt), I guess I won't be hard to find since I am posting this.

Anyway, I digress. The Banks Penninsula on New Zealand's South Island is one of those places.

The facts:

The Banks Penninsula sticks out like a spiral from the nearby city of Christchurch, formed eons ago by two volcanic outbursts. It is a gorgeous, stunning and hilly place, accesible by winding roads amidst farms, forests and flowing fields of velvet tussock grass. Punctuating these undulating mounds are many vibrantly blue bays, creating the perfect marriage of land and sea.

The town:

The main town in the area is Akaroa, which is a little bit of France squeezed into the volcanic bay. The French had their eye on New Zealand and hope to colonize it like they did to many South Pacific islands but the British beat them to it first. For this I am grateful... part of New Zealand's charm is it's affable British culture and linguistic ease. However, the French still managed to walk away - sorta - with Akaroa. The town was settled by the French and to this day still bears street names in the language, such as Rue Brittan and Rue Jolie. The town is speckled with wonderful historic buildings and many cafes dot the blindingly azure waters of Akaroa Harbour.

The harbour

French paintings

Street Spirit

Where to stay:

I stayed at the glorious Le Bons Bay Backpackers. This splendid jewel is perched on the spine of a volcanic finger and overlooks the remote and scenic Le Bons Bay.

Le Bons Bay Backpackers

Views of the valley aside, this place is well worth the effort to get to (they will pick you up when you arrange ahead of time but the local taxi is also a lot of fun). You can choose to stay in the gorgeous farmhouse or you can have your own quaint cabin to yourself.

My cabin at Le Bons Bay Backpackers

Every night for a minimal fee, you can take part in the home-cooked meal that the hostel provides - this is wholly recommended as it is fresh, organic and so damn tasty. You all sit around the table too, like a family and it's the perfect way to get to know your fellow travellers. Make sure to bring wine too, though generosity also flows at this place.

Because you are in a very remote area with no access to town, you are (wonderfully) limited with activities. Take advantage of this and read all the books in the library or hang out among the wild grounds.

Reading in one of their many special places

Or go for a walk up nearby roads and soak up the pastoral goodness around you.

Farmland

Fields of Gold

Tussock

One of the best things to do, however, is to sign up for their daily wildlife tour. It costs a mere $35 and the owner takes a handful of people down to Le Bons Bay for a boat tour - putting the boat in the water by tractor, the true Kiwi way.

The trip is amazing...you glide past high craggy cliffs filled with nesting/resting birds and sea lions and then go out to the mouth of the harbour where the wild waves from the South Pacific rush up against the boat. Admist all this turmoil, more times than not, you will see pods of hectors dolphins playing amongst you. Hector's dolphins are endemic to the coastal regions of New Zealand and among the world's smallest. Too cute! Some places in Akaroa actually take you out to swim with these playful pals.

Tractor + Boat

Gannets

Sea lion resting

Tiny fins

Can you see it?

Hector's Dolphin

I have found memories of being out in the boat and feeling the power of the swells coming in, thinking: "There is nothing but ocean between here and Chile" - it was a very profound feeling, punctuated later that night when I saw the lights from a deep-sea shrimp boat bobbing out at sea, a muted shine in the inky blackness of the night sea and sky. I've never felt so remote, like I was literally *this* close to falling off the face of the planet.

How to get there:

Whether you take a car or a bus from Christchurch (www.akaroashuttle.co.nz), the drive along Summit Rd, the lip of the orginal volanic crater, will be one of the highlights of your trip!

September is New Zealand (and Australia) Month

2009-08-28T12:58:00.000-07:00

Yeah...while I am planning my trip to NZ for Nov/Dec I am aware of how far off the actual dates are. But that doesn't stop me at all from starting my planning now...why, cuz it's fun damnit! I am in my ElEmEnT!

Anyhoo, as I am scouring my travel books and remembering all of the trips I took while I lived in New Zealand (let's not forget the month I spent in NZ, three years before I lived there), I can't help but want to share with you all the wonderful discoveries I was blessed enough to experience.

Yes, I have posted a bit about NZ on this blog, but this time I wanna post the minute details, those places I went to for a day, which I vaguely remember but I have this great picture and oh yes, more things are coming back to me - those kind of places! Also the bigger places and the awesome stuff I was able to do...swimming with dolphins, watching penguins mingle with sheep, hiking in glaciers, horseback riding in LOTR territories, even visiting the set of the film!

This will be a great way to overdraw from my memory bank and get even more psyched for my upcoming adventures, getting me to focus more on doing the stuff I haven't done - or just relive the memories of the scenes past. I will also be posting stories and guides to certain areas of Australia...especially since I JUST found my journal and a bunch of photographs from that tim.

I've decided I am just gonna start from the top of the North Island of NZ and make my way down as the month goes on.

So, to start:

Cape Reigna

Cape Reigna is located at the very tip of the northernmost finger on the north island. It's just very north.

It's also an amazing and special place where the churning South Pacific Ocean slams against the wily Tasman Sea.

I only had a few weeks left in New Zealand when I decided I needed to do one last trip. I had been in the country for well over a year and hadn't set foot into the "Northland," aside from a few random beach journeys into the outermost reaches of Auckland city.

My plan was to explore the much-hyped Bay of Islands - basking in the rays of the late summer sun - and then catch a bus tour up to The Cape to witness the northernmost point and to frolic merrily on the golden fine sands of 90-mile beach.

Clearly, it didn't occur me to me that it might rain the entire time I was celebrating my last hurrah.

And that's what it did.

The first day, I flew up to Kerikeri for the sake of time. It didn't take very long in that tiny plane and I promptly grabbed a shuttle heading to Pahia, the main town of the Bay of Islands.

It wasn't at all what I expected and that's probably because nothing really seems right when it's raining, especially in a place in which every photo shows gorgeous blue waters, green headlands, golden sand and azure skies. Instead it was just a small, beachside town done up in various shades of grey.

At least the hostel I was staying at was nice:

Cap'n Bob's Beachouse

The owners were very nice and the hostel itself had wonderful views from the delightful decks and common areas upstairs. The bathroom area was rather large, with shower stalls (if I recall correctly) but the backyard had wonderful spots amid tropical greenery for socializing. The dorms themselves were spacious, modern and clean.

It's located a little bit out of the main centre of town (and when I mean little bit, I mean like 10-15 min walk, no biggie). But it's very close to a supermarket, as well as Waitangi, home of the Waitangi Treaty Grounds. This place is full of cultural icons from the colonial-style treaty house to its detailed whare (spiritual house) and imposing waka (war canoe). This of course was the place where the Treaty of Waitangi was signed on February 6, 1840, between the UK and the NZ Maori's. The three flags - UK, Maori and NZ - that wave proudly above this spot are stoic reminders.

It's one of those places you have to visit in New Zealand, if not just to get a glimpse into the history of this amazing yet turbulent land.

That said, I never went there. For the life of me I can't remember why. I guess after having New Zealand history drilled into my head at school, I figured I knew enough. Either that or the rain had put a damper on my spirits.

It's amazing how much stuff you forget over the course of 6 years - I'll admit I had fuzzy ideas of where I was staying in Pahia and actually had to look at pictures of the various backpackers online to remember where exactly it was that I stayed. Now, I know, Cap'n Bobs, and on that note, Pahia has PLENTY of backpackers and hostels to go around.

The bus trip: "Magic offers a great 1 day tour to Cape Reinga called 'Northern Exposure' - This is one of the most action packed and diverse day trips on offer throughout the country. Travel north from Paihia through land significant to the Maori people and rich in native Kauri forest, shown magnificently in the Kauri Kingdom. Get your blood pumping by sliding down the mighty sand dunes on a boogie board and travel to Cape Reinga, where the view of the Tasman Sea and Pacific Ocean crossing is spectacular.

The specially designed coach will drive along Te Paki Stream and Ninety-mile Beach before passing through some of the picturesque small towns in the area, and enjoying New Zealand’s best fish and chips!"

And so, I awoke super early, tip-toeing past sleeping backpackers and caught the bus to Cape Reigna. The buses all depart from the Mariners building outside the Paihia wharf, which wasn't a far walk from the hostel.

The bus adventure was fun, but being a single traveler I felt slightly out of place with all the pairs on the bus. Either way, it was a very long trip (literally all day) which felt even longer because we were followed by a rain cloud throughout the journey.

Our first stop was to walk amongst the giant Kauri trees, which were once widely harvested for their gum. While I had seen these stoic trees before, they still managed to impress me. As did the jungles of New Zealand's only native palm tree, the nikau.

Afterwards we cruised further northward, past sleepy fishing villages and pastoral farms which linger in my head like fragments of a dream. Eventually, when we couldn't go any more North, we had reached the Cape.

This is what it looks like on a nice day:

And this what we got to see:

As disappointing as it was to see the Cape in all its stormy glory (I admit, it was kind of moving and powerful), it was even more of a let-down to reach our next destination...Ninety Mile Beach (which is actually NOT ninety miles but I digress).

This is what it looks like when its nice out:

And this is what it looked like when our bus cruised onto the wet sands:

It was neat to drive along the beach, though I had already done this a few years ago on Fraser Island in Australia, and the expanse of this sand was massive. But honestly...who likes the beach in the rain? No one strayed very far from the bus and before long we were bound for our next destination.

Sand boarding!

For the life of me I don't remember why I didn't partake in the fun that is taking to a boogie board and sliding down massive sand dunes, but I had a feeling it had something to do with me not wanting to get wet. Either way, it was fun to watch - wish I had been more adventurous! I also had done something on Fraser Island (again) which ironically was also in the rain, so I wasn't too put out. Me + beach = rain, apparently.

The rain stuck around the remainder of the trip back - I have ambiguous memories of stopping at some barn/cafe for some sort of meal and listening to Avril Lavigne's "Complicated" on the bus radio (hey, it was March 2004!).

Of course, the last day I had in Paihia (was due to fly out that afternoon), it was nice and sunny. I spent a nice hour or two sunning myself beneath a pohutakawa tree on the beach in front of the hostel. Ahhhh, hopefully THIS time when I go up to NZ's Northland for a quick road trip with my bestie, the weather gods will be as nice as they were on that last day!

Typically Me

2009-08-25T10:33:00.000-07:00

This is lifted from a post I did on my other blog 3 years ago, but I figured it was too good (or sad, depending how you look at it) not to share with everyone. Plus, more screw-ups have happened in three years and it's wrong not to update it:

As you all know by now, I am an experienced world traveler. What you may not know is that being an experienced world traveler does not mean you are any good at it. In fact, most of the valuable "experience" I have received while traveling was due to some negative situation that could have only occured because I am such a fucking moron. Don't believe me? See below.

Case(s) in point:

*In Auckland, NZ, many years ago, I went to a Singles Party I had won because I called up the local radio station and bitched about New Zealand men. Prior to this party I got loaded beyond relief, as did Kiwi and her brother. Kiwi got so loaded that she smartly stayed behind at puked at home while her brother and I reveled in debauchary. Did I mention that I had my passport with me? That I drunkly knocked my bag under the table? That after searching half-assedly and blindly for my passport and purse contents for about 5 seconds, I gave up and proceeded to go "Meh. It'll turn up." Well, it didn't. And I had the exciting task of trying to get a new passport while in another country. Fun, fun.

*Also in New Zealand...I got viciously drugged one night at a club and lost my cell phone. Even though I never stepped foot in a cab that night, it turned up in one a week later.

*New Zealand AGAIN: My mother and were traveling on a bus to the ferry station, heading over to the South Island. We were seated near the back of the bus. Behind us was a sketchy man who did not look like he could afford to take the ferry anywere. After I got of the bus and gathered my things, I realized I left my Louis Vuitton purse (a fake thank God, but new nonetheless) on the seat. And then the man bolted past us with my purse. We barely had time to board the ferry, let alone catch him. Purse, gone. Wallet with money and credit cards gone. New makeup, gone (Boo hoo hoo).

*Australia; Airlie Beach - Whilst leaning against a wall in reading a newspaper and grinning at Russel Crowe's win for Gladiator that I witnessed on the Academy Awards show the night before, I notice a sketchy man (yes another sketchy man) hovering about. Freaked, I take off down the road, only to leave my wallet behind. Thankfully, this man was actually an angel in disguise and I got my wallet back, money and everything intact.

*Australia, Townsville - I purposely sleep at the backpackers above the bus station so I won't miss my greyhound bus the next morning, which I have already paid for. I go down to the station early and wander off into a gift shop. I wonder when they are going to call my bus to board. Eventually I wander up to the counter and inquire about the bus leaving for Katherine (yesh, it's about 24 hours away by bus. Yesh I am nuts). The man behind the counter tells me that the bus left 10 minutes ago.
I'm about to freak. I'm about to cry.

But this other angel in disguise tells me to get in his car and we can catch him. While the other clerk at the desk is radioing the bus to stop, I jump in his ute with my backpack and we race against time. Five minutes later we catch up to the greyhound which is pulled over on the side of the highway on the outskirts of town. I thank the man profusely and chagrined as hell, get on the bus. I think a few people clapped.

*Going to Disneyland - Poor Kiwi. How much of my insanity have you witnessed? This was no exception. I bought tickets to Disneyland online and they were shipped to my house. We were set to fly to LA in a week.

The time comes, we go to the airport. I have my plane tickets in hand. Kiwi asks "Got the tickets" I wave them at her.

Later, in the cab over, she asks again, "You sure you have the tickets?" "Yes!" I yell at her. Can't she see? I'm not a complete moron.

A wee bit later we are lining up to check-in.

"Got the tickets?"

"FUCK!" I cry and cram the tickets in her hand.

"No, not the plane tickets. The Disneyland tickets."

FUCK.

So I find a cab, tell him my story, he drives off like a rocket and gets me home to get my tickets and back to the airport, all in the nick of time.

*Mexico, Cabo San Lucas - You know the story. I arrive at the airport with no money, no way of getting to the hotel, no way of knowing where my parents are and no way of getting in contact with them. Sigh. Again, thank GOD for Angels among us (as cheesey as that may sound).

*Mexico - A few years ago I flew back from Puerto Vallarta by myself. It took awhile since ALL the computers in the terminal were down and tickets had to be issued manually. Which meant we would have to recheck in at LAX (the stop before Vancouver). Thank God for that because, guess what I did? I left my plane ticket from LA to Vancouver in the seat pocket of the plane. Yup. Thankfully because the last checkin was done manually, the ticket was void and they were going to issue me a new one anyway. Sigh.

(As I am typing this and more and more instances flood my head...I'm amazed people let me travel at all. Amazed and ashamed.)

*Norway - Staying at my aunts, I leave a pair of black pants in her closet. I go away for a few days and come back. She didn't know the pants were mine and gave them to the poor. Now this seems laughable BUT THEY WERE MY FAVOURITE PANTS IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD! Do you know how hard it is for me to find good pants? Needless to say, I think I cried and my aunt felt really really bad. Oh and bought me a new pair.

*France; Cannes - I have a hostel room all to myself. But despite this, I am still cautious of others (I'm a careful traveler, :P) so I hide my leg wallet, with passport inside, under my mattress. Next day I check out and head over to this island before I catch the night train later that evening. While I'm sunning myself on the island's rocky shores I realize "Fuck me, my passport is still under the bed!" Or at least I hoped it was still there. It was.

*France; Menton - I run out of money. I spend an arduous day searching the town for a money exchange place or a bank that will allow me to extract money from my visa. Never find one...there isn't one. Not in Menton, not in Ventimiglia, Italy (next store) and not in Monaco (next door, otherside). Spend a few days having a nervous breakdown and not understand why I don't have money. Realize I was taking money from the wrong account.

*France; Carcassone - I run out of money. Again. This time it was no accident. Funds that were to be transfered are delayed because of a Canadian holiday. So I arrive at the backpackers, broke and penniless. Luckily the people were super swell, gave me free food, lent me money and even gave me a bottle of champagne upon arrival.

*Germany; Koln - I stay at my friend T's house before I am to take the train to Brussels and then the Eurostar to London (which I was 2 seconds from missing because my train to Brussels was late. It was me and some Indian family running through the terminal while Eurostar employees on the sides cheer us on "Hurry up! You're gonna miss it! It's pulling away from the station! You have 1 minute! The doors are closing! No refunds!").

But I did make the train. Only I didn't have everything with me. You see, a few days later while I was leaving London for the Gatwick airport, I realize I do not have my Air Transat ticket.

Oh well, I think to myself. I'm in the computer.

So I get to the check-in counter and yes, I am in the computer. I even have a seat assigned. But I still need the paper ticket. FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! I don't know why exactly I need the ticket but I do, so says the snotty bitch at the counter.

So she gives me my options. Either buy a new ticket right there. Or dont go home. I explain that I don't have any money, let alone the 300 quid (over $600!!!) to buy the ticket. She basically says tough luck. Tough luck or I can use a credit card number. "Any number," she says, encouraging fraud. Luckily I memorized my dad's Visa number off the top of my head and away I went.

Paid for a ticket I already paid for.

I was just so grateful to get out of there though, especially since the London Bombings happened 4 days later.

* The day before I leave to Paris and Scotland for Xmas trip, I can't find my passport. I rip out my apartment, crying, kicking and screaming until I start retracing my steps.

The last time I used my passport was two weeks before when I came back from Mexico (see above). I recall putting my passport in the seat pocket and then remember the magazine I was reading at the time.

I find the people magazine with Prince William on the cover and shake it frantically to have the passport plop out and on to the floor.

* A year later, I JUST return home off a flight from Palm Springs. I pull into my driveway to see our family friend standing there, barking at me "WHERE is your passport?!"

"What do you mean where is my passport?" I say, "right here." I reach into my bag. Can't find it.

I am quickly led into the house where he plays me back a message on the answering machine. It's from the person that cleans the plane that I just got off of an hour ago, and would you believe it, he found my passport in the seat pocket. Oh me oh my.

* Going to Disneyland - NO this time I had the tickets AND my passport, but lo and behold, I have forgotten to check when it expires.

In the cab, 530 AM, 5 minutes from the airport and I see that it expired SIX MONTHS AGO. I don't know whether to scream or cry, I just keep looking at the passport and willing it to change, for this to be a bad dream. But it's not a dream, it's just plain bad.

However I go to the counter and though they changed the rules just a wee bit before (that you have to have a passport to enter the US by air) the ticket agent double checks with US customs for me. US customs decides to let me enter the country with expired passport and by issuing me a free visa (after sticking me in that glass waiting room for awhile). I don't know if it's luck or my tears or the fact that I was going to Disneyland but they let me in.

And then coming back into Canada, our customs agent just says "Oh we let people in without passports all the time. I'm suprised they bothered to give you a visa."

* To further prove that these rules are meant to be broken, a few weeks ago my camping trip's location was rearranged. To the States, Point Roberts to be exact.

(Point Roberts has a mainly unpatroled border - you may know this now because of the Jenkins case in which he killed that model/stripper Jasmine Fiore - you know the case all over the news and TMZ).

Anyway that's fine and dandy. Point Roberts borders on my town - ie it takes 2 minutes to drive to the border. However, though it is August and my passport has now been expired for almost a year, I still haven't gotten it renewed and ever since June 9th, you need a passport to cross the border by car.

Yep, it's happening ALL OVER AGAIN! And once again, I go to the border without a passport (but with a receipt that I did in fact apply for one and pay for it two days before) and once again they let me in after giving me a lecture.

Something tells me though that after this whole murder fugitive hoopla around the Point Bob Border Crossing that I was extremely lucky I went camping THAT weekend and not last weekend!

Once again...just my luck.

Now that I'm off to New Zealand for a month on November 20th, I can't wait to have more crazy-ass stories to share with you all!!!

******

Lyon - the Paris alternative

2009-08-20T14:56:00.000-07:00

This is originally published on my NEW online fashion/travel store here.

Paris might have the Seine River, the Eiffel Tower and the Notre Dame but Lyon, France has two fabulous waterways, the Rhône and Saône rivers, the statuesque Tour du Crédit Lyonnais and the stunning pious delights of the Notre-Dame de Fourvière and Saint-Jean Cathedral. Not to mention all the pre-requisite patisseries, cobblestone streets, charming nightlife and, of course, oodles of culinary delights. After all, Lyon is the gastronomy (culinary) capital of France.

Lyon is nestled in the mountainous Rhône-Alpes region, located 470 km from Paris and 320 km from Marseille, its location between the two cities allows it to be a major centre of business. Lyon forms the second-largest metropolitan area in France after that of Paris, with the population of its urban area estimated to be nearly two million.

But amidst all those people, you will find a city that hasn't forgotten its history, its charms...or how to eat!
Sights:
The Saint-Jean Cathedral, seat of the Archbishop of Lyon

Bartholdi Fountain at the Place des Terreaux

The Notre-Dame de Fourvière Basilica

Why is the church thanking Mary? Well, the Basilica of Notre-Dame de Fourvière is dedicated to the Virgin Mary, who is said to have saved the city of Lyon from the plague in 1643. A small church was erected in gratitude, to which the gilded statue of the Virgin was added in the mid-nineteenth century, to mark its bicentennial. Each year in early December, Lyon thanks the Virgin for saving the city by lighting candles throughout the city, in what is called the Fête des Lumières.

The basilica has a very prominent location on the top of Fourvière hill, which overlooks the city. This same hill is where the Roman forum of Trajan, the forum vetus, was located (along with the Roman Theatre) and has one amazing view. To get to the top of the hill, you have to ride the Ficelle, the world's first funicular train.

The Roman-era Theatre on the Fourvière hill

Traboules

Passageways - called traboules - are abundant in the Saint-Jean and the Croix-Rousse areas of the city. Though many of them have been turned into private courtyards, these narrow passageways pass through buildings and link the streets either side. These mysterious streets were designated an UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1998.

Gastronomy
Located in this area, and among the old cobblestone streets of the enigmatic Old Town, are scores of wonderful restaurants called bouchons. Bouchons are usually convivial restaurants serving primarily local dishes, and local wines. My first night in Lyon - blinded by jetlag - I snacked on escargots. They were local, fresh and cooked to perfection. My jetlag judgement won on that matter.

Traditional local dishes include saucisson de Lyon (sausage), andouillette, coq au vin, esox (pike) quenelle, gras double (tripe cooked with onions), salade lyonnaise (lettuce with bacon, croutons and a poached egg), marrons glacés and cardoon au gratin.

Speaking of local delicasies...Voila! La macarron!

And hot mulled wine, sold on the street was a perfect accompaniment.

You can literally spend weeks walking around Lyon, eating your way through the city....it has cute, tucked away restaurants that only locals know about (and gives away free shots of chesnut liquer!)...

...and many entertaining bars, such as The Wallace, the only Scottish bar in Lyon. The locals love this place, if not for its extensive array of Scotch....

...you can also pick up many local eats at the Saturday market, held along the Saône river.

Whatever you choose to do in Lyon, you'll find a French city steeped in culture, braised in history and sprinkled with latin sensibilities.

And like it's classic layout and return to simplicities, so is the fashion and style inspired by Lyon. To purchase my clothing items for a true Lyonnais feel, please click here.

The Lion of Lyon (Lyon is french for Lion, d'accord?)

Stay Safe, Stay Stylish

2009-08-17T15:00:00.000-07:00

You've heard the horror stories. Tourists in Barcelona being knifed for all their belongings, a man accosted by street urchins in Milan and having his passport nicked from inside his front pocket, a woman on the night train from Prague to Warsaw, having her money belt removed from her while she slept.

Makes you wonder how on Earth you really can keep your important documents safe while traveling.

Well, money belts are a good start. They are a hell of a lot better than keeping important items in your purse, backpack or wallet. But one of the problems with them is that thieves now know where to look. They know you've got one around your waist or on on your belt.

The second problem with money belts is the fact that they are just plain ugly.

When I travel I try hard not to look like a tourist and the first step towards that is to stay fashionable. Look good, wear clothes that you would wear at home, don't fall into the tourist trap and start wearing baggy shorts with big pockets.

And don't have a money belt rising out of your low-riding jeans or sticking up under your clingy dress.

Have this instead:

This is a leg wallet from Cactus Creek. It follows the same principle as the money belt, only it fits around different places on your leg. It's adjustable with comfy velcro straps, so you can wear it on you calf if wearing pants; your knee if wearing a skirt or your thigh if wearing shorts. Best of all, it's got special fabric that wicks sweat away, it's sleek so it doesn't show under clothes, and it's comfortable, so that you forget you are even wearing it. Leg wallets aren't the first thing that is going to pop into a pontential criminal's mind, so it's safe and it's big enough to keep a few credit cards, extra money, plane tickets and your passport.

I wore it for three months straight and it was a lifesaver. Even when I was paranoid about my bags being rifled through or my purse being stolen, I knew that everything I really needed was on my leg and out of sight.

Like I said before, the number one tip to avoiding being a victim of crime and getting a better cultural experience is to blend in with the locals.

Which means, NO FANNY PACKS.

Seriously. Don't do it. They are ugly, so "soccer mom" and an easy peasy target for thieves. Why don't you just wear an American Flag shirt and sandals with socks while you are at it?

"But I don't want to carry around a regular purse. I might get robbed."

Sure. But you carry around a regular purse in your own home city, right? What makes you think you are going to be targeted in Amsterdam? Oh right. The Fanny Pack or Day-Packs. Look around the people in your home city. It's easy to spot the tourist, isn't it? That's why the criminals are going after them and not you.

But I understand that while traveling you don't have the securities of home and are more likely to be carrying items that are irreplaceble.

The solution? The leg wallet, which I posted about below, and a bag that not only looks stylish but will make you feel more secure.

Messenger bags are in at the moment and you can get them anywhere (Old Navy, H&M, etc). Look for ones with a thicker strap so it doesn't put too much pressure on your shoulders (and doesn't cause that ugly line of seperation on your chest). Make sure you wear it across your chest, with the front of the bag facing forward, close to your hands for safe keeping. This way, your bag is less likely to get pick-pocketed and by wearing it across your chest, it becomes hard for someone to run past you and gab your bag (without dragging you along with it). Most messenger bags come complete with lots of secure pockets too and are quite roomy, so they make excellent companions for traveling.

Best of all, a messenger bag doesn't scream tourist. And if you buy the right one, it may just say "Ooh, la la. Je suis Parisian."

Ew.

Ah. That's better

Paekakariki, NZ

2009-08-14T01:41:00.000-07:00

Paekakariki, New Zealand, is located on the Kapiti coast on the southwest side of the North Island, just a short and scenic train ride from Wellington, the country's capital.

Because Wellington lacks good budget accommodations, Paekakariki is an excellent choice, do to its close proximity to the city, its abundance of beaches, parks and activities and a warm and wonderful backpackers.

If you are planning to visit the gorgeous and culturally thriving city of Wellington, I highly recommend you stay in Paekak (as the locals call it) if not just for a night or two.

A most famous landmark

2009-08-10T05:07:00.000-07:00

I'm tired. I have my reasons. I hope to not be so tired one day but until then I apologize for being slack with this blog - and my other blog (WHICH BTW, I am having ANOTHER GIVEAWAY! Please click here to enter :)

Until I get in the blogging spirit though, I shall leave you with a simple post about a not so simple thing: La Tour Eiffel.

Though it's been documented and photographed to death, there is nothing so inherintly photogenic, so completley iconic as the Eiffel Tower.

Because of it's symbolism, it's cultural embodiment, it's world wide recognition, when you finally do see the tower up close and personal, you feel like you've been there before. Yet at the same time there is a magnetism and mystery that draws you to it and pushes it beyond being just another famous building.

Yes, France's most famous landmark (and Freudian phallic symbol) is everything you expect it to be (if not maybe a bit smaller than you had thought). It is the one thing that, upon viewing with your own eyes as you stand on the Champ de Mars or Trocedero, makes you say "I guess this would be Paris."

Behold La Tour Eifell in all it's glory, at night and day, in summer and winter, these are my favouite photos that I have taken of this enchanting beacon:

For history and more information than I could possibly type up, visit here.

Picton, NZ

2009-08-06T06:24:00.000-07:00

Picton, New Zealand is most famous for being a lot of visitor's first glimpse of the South Island, as it is the stomping grounds for further journeys into the South Island and across the Cook Straight by ferry or plane . That being said, a lot of people only pass through Picton, or stay for a quick night. But Picton is more than just being a transportation hub. It's also an inviting town with miles of activities along the scenic Marlborough sounds.
Because Picton can be a busy place, there are a lot of hostels to accommodate that. The most popular is The Villa, with its white wash appearance, cozy spa and free apple crumble, while Bayview Backpackers is great for those looking for something more quiet and secluded. Of course, the only problem with seclusion is that it's aways out of town but there is a wonderful walking route that will grace you with some of the best views of the sound.
If you would actually like to stay on the sound, there are plenty of unique backpackers and guesthouses that take the word "secluded" to a new level.
Accesible only by water taxi, The Lochmara Lodge is an eco-lover's paradise and gorgeous. Equally private, The Nikau Cottages offer an even more personable stay, while the acclaimed Mahana Homestead earns nothing but relaxing smiles and rave reviews.

Don't forget! Last day to enter my Rice and Beans Vintage $50 gift card giveaway!! Click here on my fashion blog to enter!

Nelson, NZ

2009-07-30T02:04:00.000-07:00

As usual, click to englarge the photos :P

Nelson, New Zealand is one of my favourite places in all of New Zealand. Located on the Northern tip of the South Island, Nelson is blessed with lots of sunshine, friendly folksy folk and a close proximity to a range of attractions and activities. The justly popular Abel Tasman National Park is a short hop away, as is the stunning Nelson Lakes National Park, the Wild West Coast and various tramps, tracks and walks. An added bonus is the fact that Nelson has a plethora of quality accomodations, from staying in one man's humble and welcoming abode (Tramper's Rest), a quaint and personable backpackers (The Green Monkey), a partying and popular hostel (Paradiso) or a soothing and charming women's hostel (Hecate House). Venture further into Nelson Lakes and you can stay at the convenient and friendly Yellow House.
Regardless of where you stay, Nelson is more than worth a stop. In fact, be prepared to spend a lot of time and earn a lot of memories here.

I'm having a giveaway starting Friday, July 31st to Friday August 7th on my fashion blog Anywhere But Here - win a $50 gift certificate to Rice and Beans Vintage :)

Seatoun, Wellington, NZ

2009-07-27T01:36:00.000-07:00

Seatoun is a seaside suburb of Wellington, about 20 minutes away from the city. My sister Linda and her Kiwi husband Hamish lived there for awhile, as he worked at the Film Studios in Miramar, the next town over. He was the key grip for Lord of the Rings, which saw him working all over New Zealand for a number of years. While living in a tiny, beachside house, they had the privilage of being the next bay over from their good friend Peter Jackson. While I never saw Peter while staying visiting them, we did to tour the LOTR set, which was amazing...we even got to touch all the costumes and watch them film a battle scene with a lot of Orcs.

There is no accommodation in Seatoun that I know of, although there are bound to be a few bed and breakfasts. Your best bet is to stay in Wellington at the Cambridge Hotel, which has clean and modern dorms. Wellington is my favourite city in all of New Zealand, and I've probably been there about 5 or 6 times. The city itself is worth several posts, which I will do if I ever get my photographs scanned (this were my pre-digital days). But, whatever you do, do NOT stay at the hostel across from the Railway Station. We walked out after 5 minutes. Trust me.

Oh and I JUST bought my tickets to New Zealand - Nov-28-Dec 20th - I'm coming back home, baby! It's been far too long - let the planning commence!

Kaikoura, NZ

2009-07-23T07:44:00.000-07:00

A most magical place - I've been here twice and it never ceases to impress. So excited to return a third time this December.

Please click on photos to englarge and appreciate better.

In Kaikoura, I recommend: Sunrise Lodge for location, hospitality, privacy and coziness, Dusky Lodge for an upbeat, stylish and youthful feel or Cray Cottage for its rave reviews (for those who love peace and quiet).

While in Kaikoura, enjoy a looooong (think 5 hours) walk around the Kaikoura penninsula, watching for sea lions, seals, birds and free-roaming sheep. Or do what made Kaikoura famous and take part in Dolphin Swimming, Whale Watching or Seal Swimming. And whether its the marine activities or the rain that comes off from the South Pacific Ocean, be prepared to get wet. It's worth it.

PS check out my fashion blog Anywhere But Here to see my feature in Self Magazine :)

Sightseeing: The Salton Sea, Palm Springs, CA

2009-07-20T13:24:00.000-07:00

Yes, I know what you are thinking. The terms "sea" and "Palm Springs" don't really go together, because, let's face it, Palm Springs is in the desert. Actually, Palm Springs is pretty much the desert.

Yet, in the middle of all this cactus-strewn sand lies the largest "lake" in California. Marked with a high salinity level (and why it's considered a "sea"), the Salton sea is known as "California's crown jewel of avian biodiversity" and perhaps was, at one time, the most productive fishery in the world.

Now the Sea is slowly dying from pollution, a rise in salinity and a shrinking shoreline. This is a great loss considering how important the sea is with regards to wetlands wildlife, endangered birds and the local economy. There is, however, a huge movement taking place in which the California government hopes to restore the lake to its original glory. The process may take up to 40 years, but it is neccesary in order for the natural wonder to survive.

The Salton Sea is located 20 minutes south of Palm Springs, off of Highway 111. When making the journey down to this unique place, be sure to stop off at one of the numerous date farms on the side of the road and indulge in a Date Shake. It's to die for.

For more information on how you can help The Salton Sea please visit here.

Wanna date?

Sightseeing: The Brandenburg Gate in Berlin, Germany.

2009-07-07T07:20:00.000-07:00

While the Berlin Wall seems like a distant memory, you can still find other important historical reminders throughout this fantastic city. The Brandenburg Gate is not only the symbol of Berlin (now that the wall has been taken down) but was once an actual gateway into the city (and is the only gate to remain standing).
Built as a sign of peace in 1791 by Friedrich Wilhelm II , the Brandenburg Gate has a vibrant history. After Napolean conqured Berlin, the gate became a sign of his power. Later, as the Nazis came into play, the gate was used to symbolize their power. As the Cold War started and Germany was split in two, the gate became closed off as the Berlin wall fell into place. American's placed the following sign on the gate, in numerous languages for all to read: "End of the Free World. You are leaving the American Zone."

By the time the Wall was finally torn down, the Brandenburg Gate took on a new symbol: Liberty.The gate is great attraction for Berlin. Not only does it keep history alive by reminding us of its violent, stormy and evolving paths but it is also a great introduction to the city of Berlin.

Aside from the usual lot of tourists found strolling about the area (busiest around mid-day) locals frequent it as well, which makes for great local color and people watching. So stroll around, pull up a park bench, crack open a beer (just doing as the locals do!) and observe the city of Berlin at its finest.

PS please see my other blog Anywhere But Here for your chance to win a new Forever 21 summer dress - easy!

Venice in Black and White

2009-07-03T07:31:00.000-07:00

Inspired by this beautiful post by Garance Dore, I decided to post my favourite pictures I took in Venice, converted to Black and White. Such a timeless place.

Wanderlusting in Vancouver, BC - take a second look

2009-07-01T17:22:00.000-07:00

In the spirit of Canada Day....

I've realized that many of you don't know much about the city itself, where I live and what it is like. And that living here, I never think to appreciate this place with new eyes, see it for the first time the way the tourists do (I know, there is hostel down the street from me and I see gaga-eyed foreigners everywhere I walk).

It's happened a few times, upon returning from a year and a bit stint in Auckland, NZ, I was yearning to see the North Shore mountains. After three-months vagabonding around Europe, I couldn't wait to wear my foreign outfits on my hometown beach. But now, in the midst of summer and sunshine, I need to remind myself that I live HERE:

Vancouver, which has been rated the Top Ten Most Liveable City in the WORLD, for the last decade or whatever, on several top ten lists. It's even been NUMBER ONE more than a few times. Can YOUR city claim that (PS please shut up you Sydneysiders, Aucklanders and everyone in Switzerland - we know you made the lists too :P) Bill Clinton even declared it one of the most beautiful cities he has seen.

Of course, we have our share of problems. With its popularity, Vancouver has the highest housing prices in the country (for example, a modest one-bedroom downtown is going to set me and my boyfriend back around $300,000 - I'm selling my 430 sq. foot tiny studio for $200,000!). We also have the worst drug and problems in all of North America (no seriously, look it up). And traffic can be a real bitch sometimes.

But overall, I wouldn't want to live anywhere else. OK, I would, but just for a few years becaus I know I would ALWAYS come back to Vancouver, Sea to Sky City.

Plus the Winter Olympics in 2010. Come on!

View from the top of Whistler Mountain, Best Ski Resort in North America and only 2 hour drive away

Even in November, the city can take your breath away (my apartment is just a little to the right)

View from my roof deck facing North

View from apartment facing South/West

The ocean is everywhere! (note city way in the background)

Stanley Park is one of the biggest parks in North America and an easy stroll away from me - perfect way to spend a summer day

The beach is a one-minute walk from my place

Warmest place in Canada - palm trees, you see!

How can you say no to this every night?

I love having our boat so close by

Stunning in Winter - view from top of Grouse Mountain, looking down on part of the city - Peter Jokan photography

Calming in Autumn - Stanley Park Seawall, Peter Jokan

Cherry Blossomtastic in Spring

The nearby Gulf Islands provide refuge in Summer

Beautiful day...

Or night

I encourage YOU to find the beauty in your city!

Scottish Food

2009-06-29T17:12:00.000-07:00

When people think of Scottish food (or even British, for that matter), they don't automatically think "yum."

At least, that's what I was expecting when I arrived in Bonnie Scotland a while back. But, like usual, I was wrong. While I admit the thought of Haggis didn't fill me with culinary anticipation, I was adventurous enough to try it and guess what? It tastes like chicken. Ok, it doesn't but it did remind me of a nicely spiced and savoury meatloaf. So there you go.

I first had proper haggis at the last meal my ex-boyfriend's parents had made us before we left. In the picture above, the haggis is the ground beefy looking things to the left and right of the ham and pinapple. The haggis to the right was actually vegetarian, which sounded more appetizing but seemed slightly redundant. It also didn't taste as good.

To go with our meal of haggis and ham, we started with a traditional soup called Cullen Skink. It's a delicious, creamy fish soup, reminiscent of clam chowder, but with a smokey twist. And a stupid name.

To make matters even more tasty, we got to dip Balmoral Bread (expensive but melt-in-your-mouth) into the warm dish.

Another great thing about Scottish food - and what reminded me a lot of New Zealand - was the abundance of tasty meat pies. Not only could you purchase these tasty morsels at any gas station, deli or cafe, but they came in all sorts of flavours.

Another type of meat pie is the Scotch Pie, which is prolific at any football match. I had my Scotch pie with a side of chippies (fries), a forkful of deep-fried haggis and one powerful pickled onion. The typical Scottish take-away meal.

One thing I didn't have, but have tried in Canada, is the Deep-Fried Mars Bar. Sounds like a heart attack on a plate, and let me tell you it is. Might explain why Scotland has such a high heart disease risk. But, oh, it's worth it.

Scots love a lot of sweets, the most famous of these being their beloved Shortbread biscuits, found in shops all over the world.

I was more found of the salty snacks such as these Hula Hoops crisps...

...and Pickled Onion Monster Munch...

And Branston Pickle, spread on everything, especially salty Aberdeen buns (I have a jar sitting in my fridge right now, though I prefer the "small chunk" version).

To wash all of that down, you should reach for a nice cold Tennents, the beer which is known as The Pride of Scotland. I can see where they are coming from too, although I am a sucker for most things "beer."

Last but not least, there is a most famous symbol of Scotland: Irn Bru. This soft drink is sold everywhere, has miraculous hangover-curing properties (or so it goes, since my hangovers are usually beyond cure), gives you energy galore and tastes like orangey bubble gum. It also prides itself as having 32 different and "secret" flavours in each bottle.

According to Wikipedia: "When McDonald's restaurants first opened for trading in Glasgow they did not serve Irn-Bru. This was seen as an insult by some Scots, and a campaign to correct this oversight was launched. After many of their restaurants were picketed, McDonalds relented and began to stock Irn-Bru alongside their other soft drinks."

Just goes to show that the Scots aren't just passionate about life, but about their food and drink too!

PS - I'm going to be doing a giveaway for a Forever 21 dress on my other blog - yep, I have another blog Anywhere But Here, a fashion-oriented one which is updated more than this one.

Salt Spring Island Market - in pictures

2009-06-25T09:25:00.000-07:00

I spent last weekend on glorious Salt Spring Island, a holiday haunt that I have been coming to for over 20 years now (wow, that makes me sound old!). Salt Spring is the largest of the BC Gulf Islands and, in my opinion, is the best. It is immensely popular, especially in summer, which must annoy the locals, but it still offers the best of both worlds. There are numerous B&B's scattered throughout the hilly island, as well as hotels, vacation rentals and a hostel. We stay at the outstation of the Royal Vancouver Yacht Club...we just sail our boat over, hook it up to the dock and enjoy all the anemities of the island lifestyle.

Aside from sailing your boat over, you can take a float plane or the BC Ferries. There are two ferry terminals on the island, one at Long Harbour (where our boat is) and another at Vesuvius Bay and Fulford Harbour.

There are many things to do on the island and I have done them all. Climb or visit Mount Maxwell, go horseback riding, visit the sheep paddocks (Salt Spring Island lamb is on par with New Zealand lamb - SO GOOD!), go kayaking, go snorkeling, rent a boat, go fishing, crabbing, go swimming in the ocean or in the lakes, go on a self-guided drive of all the artist enclaves (studios abound on this island).

Speaking of artists, in liu of driving around to each studio, the best way to sample them is to go to the Market, held every Saturday from April to October. We actually bought a kitten here one year, lol:

~Bliss ~

2009-06-22T22:45:00.000-07:00

The secluded Isle de Marguerite, just off the coast of Cannes, France.

Snapshots: Florø, Norway

2009-06-21T14:56:00.000-07:00

My cousin lives in the self-proclaimed western-most town in Norway and I had the honour of visiting her one year. Not only was this town friendly and gorgeous but it was about as Norwegian as you can get. I hope to visit again (as well as see the rest of my immediate family) when I head to Sweden/Norway/Finland in 2010.

FRANCE -- Menton: cheap and stylish on the Riviera

2009-06-19T10:24:00.000-07:00

A tile painting of Menton, located in the Hotel du Belgique

Located on the border with Italy, Menton is the first French destination many travelers encounter, however it is also one of the most overlooked. Most people are in a rush to get to Nice, Monaco and Cannes and zip right past this seaside town. They obviously don't know what they are missing.

Do as the locals do

More popular with French and Italian vacationing families, Menton has stayed out of the over-priced tourist riff-raff that effects most of the Cote D'Azur. Here you can stroll amongst it's many gardens (Menton is known as the "Garden Town" and it's 30,000 residents take pride in the many botanical gardens and greenery scattered amonst the town's craggy cliffside) or lie on a clean and uncrowded pebble beach.

There is a plethora of quality restaurants (I particularly liked Cafe de Paris, where the waiter brought me free vin rose on my second visit...must have taken pity on a solo, female traveler), most of which line the promenade du Soleil. Because Menton is so close to Italy, you'll find most restuarants do both French and Italian foods. The bustling pedestrian street in the vieille ville , rue St-Michel, also has numerous cafes and eateries, all ripe for people watching. Rue St-Michel also offers specialty shops featuring provencal postcards, yellow linen and lavender soap, as well as brand-name stores. And to show that Menton isn't too far off the map, they also have a McDonalds (with a McCanada burger that I found most intriguing).
Le Plage du Menton

Of course, you can't come to the Riviera without expecting to go to the beach and Menton has that in spades. From the rocky Italian border, all the way towards Monaco, the beaches at Menton are clean, spacious, and best of all, free. Grab an umbrella and prepare to spend the day lazing on shore covered in Monoi Tahiti oil or floating in the clear, azure waters. And if that ever starts to get boring, there is always the Musee Jean Cocteau, or the Menton Casino.
The Museum by the sea

Accomodation in Menton can seem daunting at first to budget travelers. There is only one hostel, Auberge de Jeunesse, and its quite aways out of town. But why pay money for a hostel when you can get a private room in a quaint hotel for the same amount? Although I've heard good things about Hotel Richelieu, I can honestly recommend the Hotel du Belgique. Despite having zero cash, knowing beginners French and being hungry, the owner of the hotel welcomed me with open arms, fed me in the hotel's onsite restaurant (a surefire way to feel French) and, most importantly, listened to me bitch and whine about the lack of currency exchanges in town (apparently there is only one and, no, I never found it), the transit strike (no trains for 3 days) and the heaviness of my backpack. He also spoke perfect English (though humoured me with my attempts at French).

It helped that the hotel itself was exactly what I wanted. Sure the room was cramped, but at $30 there was no complaining. It was homey and neat, the clean bathrooms and showers were right down the hall, I had a TV and a sink (and a bidet, in which I washed my dirty feet)right in the room, and my shuttered windows opened onto a balcony. OK, so it was just an outside area where the maid stored her cart. Still, that didn't prevent me from climbing through the window with a jar of olives and a bottle of rose wine and enjoying the view of Menton below.

Sunset over the mountainside rooftops of Menton

So, if you are planning a trip to the South of France, but want to stay in a place that is not only affordable but as un-touristed as the Riviera gets, take the train to Menton (2 hrs from Genoa, Italy, 11 minutes from Monaco, 35 minutes from Nice). And because Monaco is minutes away, it makes a great alternative to staying in the principality.

A typical Provencal-style house in the Vieille Ville

Above and right, the Hotel Du Belgique

This makes me happy

2009-06-18T12:57:00.000-07:00

a good book - sunshine - fresh olives - cold glass of beer - heat - private cottage in Spain - sound of waves crashing on the beach - laundry drying in the sun - my camera

Koln, Germany

2009-06-17T00:07:00.000-07:00

Located on the spanning and sinewy banks of the Rhine River, Koln (or Cologne) is a vibrant German city, rich with centuries of influential and grave history and a youthful and promising new culture. It was founded by the Romans in 38 BC, and though it has close to a million people, it keeps a welcoming, small-town feel.

Of course one of its main attractions is the glorious Koln Cathedral. During world war II, Koln was bombarded with 262 air raids by the Allies, which destroyed most of the city...except for the cathedral. Though some say it missed destruction by sheer luck, many German's believe that the airbombers couldn't bring themselves to desimate such a meaningful and historic structure.

It is a Gothic church, which is quite evident from its stunning architecture. It started in 1248, and completed in 1880 and is now known as a World Heritage site; it houses the Shrine of the Three Holy Kings that supposedly contains the relics of the Three Magi. For amazing views of the city and the Rhine, you can climb to the top of the Cathedral, like I did...well almost. My fear of heights prevented me from going all the way up...I was a few steps short (don't ask how that made a difference).

Koln has some amazing shops and stores lining it's picturesque and busy streets and pedestrian promenades, which is perfect for the shopoholic in you.

Yay, my last name!

It is also the perfect place to laze by the mainmade beaches along the Rhine, or relax with a picnic at dusk.

If you are planning a trip to Germany, I definitely recommend stopping by Koln. I enjoyed visiting my friend Titus there so much, that I returned a month later.

Castles of Scotland - Drum Castle

2009-06-15T13:39:00.000-07:00

No trip to Scotland is complete without viewing at least one castle. Scotland is famous for them and boasts over 3,000 castles. Many of them are modest looking, some are just ruins, others are a pile of rocks. But the majority of them are living, breathing castles, still intact and well-taken care of. Many of the castles are open to the public and provide tours during the summer months. Some still have caretakers or their rightful owners living in them. Whatever type of castle it is one thing is for sure, you can't find these bad boys back at home.

My castle-traipsing trip occured on a beautifully frosty Boxing Day. I regret we did not have enough time to leave Aberdeenshire (highlighted in dark blue, above left) but thankfully the castles that we did see that day (and one that we didn't see, damn you Queen Elizabeth!) were some of the best in the country.

We started off with the compact and picturesque Drum Castle, said to be one of the oldest occupied castles in Scotland. But as you can see, it's been very well taken care of.

Drum Castle has an interesting history. It's tower (believed to be one of the oldest in Scotland) was started back in the 13th century, although the rest of the castle was expanded in the 17th century.

Robert the Bruce - one of Scotland's greatest kings and most courageous warriors - gave the castle to William Irvine - a faithful Scots soldier - in 1332, as a sign of gratitude. Though the castle was attacked and ransacked about three times, it was home to the Irvine family for more than six and a half centuries, a full 24 generations of unbroken succession.

The castle has a lovely "backyard" with 18th century gardens spanning over 300 acres.

It's from behind that you really get an idea of the solidness of the place.

There is also a wee chapel on the grounds, built in the 16th century for the family. As usual, the church had shut it's doors to me but by peeping through the keyhole I could make out wonderful stain-glass designs inside.

Castles of Scotland - Crathes Castle

2009-06-10T01:38:00.000-07:00

The two-laned frost-tipped roads of Aberdeenshire, proved to a be a scenic backdrop as we piloted towards our next destination, the "fairy-tale" like castle of Crathes (sounds like Crab-es not Cakes...yes, I have pronounciation problems).

Crathes Castle is 14 miles south-west of Abderdeen and a centuries back in time. The castle was started in 1553, though the land was granted to the Burnetts by Robert the Bruce (he sure gets around) back in the 1300's.

It wasn't completed until the late 1500's and the final wing was added in the 18th century. The castle stayed in the hands of the same family until 1951 when it was presented to the National Trust for Scotland, which looks after the castle, preserving it in its fine form.

The castle is unique in its beautiful turrets and well-preserved interior, complete with portraits, oak and rare Jacobean painted ceilings, heraldic shields, Elizabethan fireplace and more.

One of the more interesting facts about the castle is that it is said to be haunted. Apparently most things in Scotland are haunted and that's not surprising considering the rich, and sometimes bloody, history. The haunting that takes place at Crathes is said to occur in the Green Lady's Room.

According to Ghosts.com:
In the oldest part of the castle, the double tower, there is a room known as the Green Lady's Room because of the frequent sightings of such a phenomenon over many years. The identity of the Green Lady is uncertain, although some people believe her to have been one of the family. She has been seen both on her own and with a baby. The existence of such a woman in real time has been borne out by the fact that during restoration work in the building two skeletons were discovered, one of a woman, the other of a baby.
It is thought to be most likely that the woman had become pregnant in undesirable circumstances and that someone had taken the decision that it would be most prudent to avoid embarrassment to the family and dispose of both mother and baby. In spite of her remains having been freed from their place of hiding, the Green Lady continues to haunt the tower.

Aside from the requisite supernatural hi-jinks, the castle also boasts a wonderful garden, filled with many rare plants and trees.

Complete with an avenue of lime trees, and divided into eight different themes, the gardens were a chilly sight on this particularly crisp day.

The gardens are one of the more popular reasons why people visit the castle, and in summer months the grounds are packed with tourists admiring the scenic castle and it's beautiful vegetation. These formal gardens have been around for a few hundred years and the bordering Irish yew hedges date back to the early 1700's.

Looking for the Three Dress Giveaway contest? It's over here :)

Gustave Flaubert: An Original Wanderluster

2009-06-08T14:21:00.000-07:00

Note: if you are looking for the Three Dress Giveaway, it is located HERE on my fashion blog. Thanks!

It is so comforting to learn that my current (and never-ending) afflictions with wanderlust are not something new, born to my generation (or the Kerouac generation) out of nowhere. Wanderlust has been affecting certain individuals for hundreds, if not thousands, of years.

French-born Gustave Flaubert is one of the original wanderlusters and a man I can relate to so dearly, that it's hard to imagine that there are some 150-odd years seperating us.

Born in 1912, Flaubert is most famous for his novel Madame Bovary. But I myself find him intriguing for his impatient musings and his disdain for the "ordinary" life.

Though he was born in France and lived in Paris (a city I often wanderlust about, having been there only twice), he had grand ambitions to be elsewhere.

As a mere 12-year old boy, he found his life to be "sterile, banal and laborious - I am bored, I am bored, I am bored." He dreamed - feverishly - of chucking his boring life in Rouen, France away to join the nomads in Egypt. The middle eastern country became the highest point of heaven for him, the ideal place where he would see "blue seas, a pure sky, silvery sand and women with tanned skin and fiery eyes that could whisper to me in the language of the Houris."

Just as I so often fixate on the exotic and the unusual and believe that visiting these places would bring me happines, make me a better person and produce a more meaningful life (indeed, even working in the kitchen in a backpackers in the dusty dwelling of Alice Springs, Australia, is a far more glamourous and intriguing proposition than sitting here at work, in Burnaby, in this dreary corporate world), Flaubert felt the same. And the thought that he might be confined to his ordinary and sedintary existence killed his spirit, as the thought often kills mine:

"My life, which I dream will be so beautiful, so poetic, so vast, so filled with love, will turn out to be like everyone else's - monotonous, sensible, stupid. I'll attend law school, be admitted to the bar, and end up to be a respectable assistant district attorney, in a small provincial town, such as Yvetot or Dieppe...Poor madman who dreamed of glory, love, laurels, journeys, the Orient."

Luckily (I suppose) for Flaubert, his father died while he was 24 and provided him with enough inheritence to pack up his bags and finally set sail for the promised land of Egypt. You would think that after a lifetime of yearning and admiring the country, he would be in for a letdown but Flaubert wasn't dissapointed. Right off the boat, he wrote that "the first thing we saw on land was a pair of camels, led by their driver, then, on the dock, some Arabs peacefully fishing...I gulped down a whole bellyfull of colours, like a donkey filling himself with hay."

It's funny how sometimes such simple observations can translate into whole, bellowing feelings. I experience this a lot, when I travel, or even when I am just reminded of times I have traveled.

To me, even the South is exotic, just as it was to Flaubert. I can't get enough of it. I guess that's what comes from living in Vancouver, where everything up North just looks the same, holds no interest to me. But south, SOUTH is a different country, where 7/11s carry beer, where the landscape changes quickly and unpredictably and looks so oustandingly different from where I reside. South...you can keep going south, going south and going south until you hit Chile. North...I'll end up in the Yukon - a nice place in its own right, and one that I am sure the adventurer in me would enjoy, but the North scares me. It's too much the same and it's too much at the end of the road. North (and Eastern Canada, now that I think about it) is a dead-end, just more of this country I've had enough of. South is full of sunshine, heat and possibilities.

Even being in Oregon, I felt the beckoning of the road as we headed south...we could just keep driving, I kept thinking to myself: Keep driving until we hit Mexico.

When it came time to head back, I grew severly depressed once we hit the I-5 and started going North again. Like, an incomprehensible sadness.

But before we did, there was an hour or two of heading East, past fields full of red flowers (clover) that I never saw at home, and under a sky that looked so open and so blue - so strangely foreign - I knew I was creating a memory I would draw on for years to come... such a simple moment with simple sights and sounds, and simple heat warming my arm as it rested on the car window - but such a simple pleasure of just doing something simple, somewhere else.

99 posts but my bitch ain't one

2009-06-05T22:01:00.000-07:00

I don't even know what that means!

I wanted to do a post about my favourite items of clothing that I acquired by traveling, however the pics are all on another computer and I figure I should make that post my 100th post here.

So in the meantime, here are some more pictures of Maui. Makes me SO mad that I have to go to my boyfriend's family reunion in *sigh* Toronto this july...I have to pay $700 for a freakin plane ticket, and yet I found deals going to Maui at the same time for $600, which includes hotel. Hmmmm. Toronto (ug) or Maui (yay) - why does Canada have to suck so much (plane-wise, freakin' Monopoly going on with the airlines).

Anyway, because I am bitter about that, I decided to look at pics from Maui to soothe myself...It's not really working. But I am loving my tropic-minded outfits!

Seaside, Oregon

2009-06-04T13:19:00.000-07:00

Seaside is a small, relaxed beach town located a few miles north of the more touristy (but equally gorgeous) Cannon Beach, on the Northern Oregon Coast.

Our first night there was warm enough, but incredibly breezy and foggy. That didn't damper our spirits though, as our hotel room at the Shilo Inn (which is located directly on the promenade) was freakin' sweet (suite?). The perfect place to order room service, ingest heaps of cheap wine and stand on our beachside balcony, admiring the distant glow of campfires on the beach. Tres romantic, no?

Jacket: Marc by Marc Jacobs; Jeans: Hudson; Sandals: Target; Tank top: Forever 21

The next day was absolutely gorgeous, prompting a photo session on the beach (please click link for more gorgeous pics), followed by a scrumptious lunch and then some relaxing on the sunny dunes before we had to head back home.

Moto Jacket: La Rok; Sandals: Chinese Laundry; Strapless tunic, sunglasses and bangles: Forever 21; Bag: Mango MNG

Our time in Seaside was incredibly short but we are already planning our return there. There were a lot of touristy crap, but on the whole it was a charming town with a nice promenade, boardwalk, cafes and stores. It kind of reminded me of a popular New Jersey oceanside town - except that I have never been to New Jersey so I don't exactly know what I am talking about ALTHOUGH I did read the Babysitter's Club, and remember when they would go with the Pikes to Sea City? Yeah, that's what it reminds me of LOL.

Anyway, the hotel was awesome and we will be back, but for those of you more on a budget, Seaside has a highly recommended backpackers/hostel that we also plan to spend a night in.

If you are heading to Oregon or the Pacific Northwest, I definitely think Seaside should be on your list :)

Maui - drinks and food

2009-06-02T09:18:00.000-07:00

It's stinking hot and sunny here in Vancouver, and while I'm stuck inside at work, I've been spending my nights (and mornings) by my pool - use it while it lasts.

I'm also in a balmy, tropical frame of mind - and hungry (when am I not?), so I thought today would be appropriate for a rehash of the last trip I took to Maui...

Another self-proclaimed "Best Mai Tai on the Island." Seems every bar and restaurant claims this but from all the ones I sampled, they all taste like rummy, fruity goodness to me. Though it has inspired me to try and make my own self-proclaimed "Best Mai Tai" at home.

Macadamia Nut Chi-Chi. 'Nuff said.

Cheeseburger in Paradise? More like Portugeuse Chicken Burger in Paradise....mmmm, ground chicken, swiss cheese, Thousand Island Dressing.

Yummy scrummy Shaved Ice with alternating coconut and...blue...flavours

Angry Hog- Hawaiin pork sandwich with a side of...pasta salad?

The Wabo Rita and Bull Rita at Fred's Mexican Cafe

Desert sampler at the Five Palms - Lychee Cheesecake, Pineapple Creme Brule (with edible Orchid) and Caramelized Banana....bliss

Finally, Norman and I enjoy a Blue Hawaii at the airport bar. When in Rome...

The Oregon Coast

2009-05-28T08:36:00.000-07:00

Our journey from Newport to Seaside was only a small fraction of the coast (OK, almost half the coast), so you can imagine how many more wonders abound to the South.

I was lucky enough to drive from Newport DOWN in 2001, when a friend of mine and I decided to drive to San Francisco on Easter weekend. It was a great trip with fond memories and the Oregon Coast was certainly a highlight. I wish I had my old photo albums on me so I could dig out some photos and scan them, to show you The Sea Lion Caves near Florence, the tall, golden hills of sand at Oregon Dunes National Park and the perfect sun easing herself into the Pacific in the Cali/Oregon town of Brookings.

But for now, we'll have to make due with some of my favourite photos of my most recent trip. Enjoy!:

PS Still have my contest going on my other blog - check it out for easy prizes! Your choice: Anywhere But Here :)

Newport, Oregon

2009-05-25T09:10:00.000-07:00

Newport, Oregon is one of the largest towns on the Oregon Coast and a welcome respite from the sleepy hamlets that surround the town in all directions (except West, duh).

Newport is perhaps most famous for the Oregon Coast Aquarium, one of the top ten aquariums in the US. We didn't end up going to the aquarium, mainly because we didn't have the time and also we have a most excellent one at home - The Vancouver Aquarium...I'm sure you've all seen the pictures of our buluga whales with random kids silouhettes in front.

Anyhoo, though many people come for the aquarium, Newport has some other great attractions such as the ever-present Ripley's Believe it or Not, a Wax Museum, Undersea Gardens and several deep-sea fishing charters - crabbing and tuna/salmon/halibut fishing are very popular.

Newport also has a quaint and lively "old town" area, where you can watch fishermen haul in their daily catch, shop for souvenirs or get a bowl of steaming clam chowder. The restaurant "Mo's" is so popular for their clam chowder, they have two restuarants open across from each other and up and the down the coast as well.

Despite that, they were both chockerblock full, so we found a dark, authentic little cafe down the street called The Whales Tale. It was definitely a hole-in-the wall, untouristy, mom and pop kinda joint which I thought made it that much more interesting. Their clam chowder was amazing, as was their halibut po-boy and shrimp louie (on a grilled English muffin). Yum-O!

Newport has a plethora of nice places stay, including your reliable La Quinta, Shilo Inns and Best Westerns. But it also has more unique and personal accommodations, such as The Grand Victorian Bed and Breakfast...

To the gorgeous rooms at the Anchor Pier Lodge....

Or the Literature Themed rooms at the infamous Sylvia Beach Hotel, where rooms in these heritage, beach-front hotel are named after famous authors. I'm partial to the Edgar Allan Poe room, with it's red velvet and satin adornments, poster bed and what appears to be an axe hanging above it :S

The Sylvia Beach Hotel sits on a bluff overlooking the gorgeous NYE beach...

of which you can see more pictures of HERE, on my other blog :)

Eating out in Portland: Thirst Wine Bar and Bistro

2009-05-22T10:28:00.001-07:00

I had the joy of being in Portland last week on a gloriously hot and sunny day - the only dilemma was where on earth to eat? Portland is famous for having oodles of cool and affordable dining experiences and with the one night we had to spend there, we wanted someplace that summed it all up.

Through the magic of Apple, I used the UrbanSpoon app for the first time and through the luck of the spin, it suggested Thirst Wine Bar and Bistro.

Thirst Wine Bar and Bistro has one fantastic location, right alongside the Willamette River where you can watch the speedboats zoom along the busy waterway. Touted as the only riverside wine bar in Portland, the place specializes in local ingredients in their tantalizing dishes and has a wide variety of Oregon wines and micro-brews. While the indoors of the restaurant are cool and modern, with local artwork adorning the high walls, outside was the place to be that day. We were lucky to snag a table - indeed everyone else had the same idea - and immediately relaxed in its French cafe-style chairs.

We started off by ordering Blue Heron Ale, a local brew, and the Taste of Oregon Wine Flight. Both were very reasonably priced (remember, no sales tax in Oregon!) and the wine flight was an incredible value at $13. You got a generous 1.5 ounce taste of local Willamette Valley vineyards' pinot gris, tempranillo and pinot noir. Fan-freakin-tastic!

We shared a the cheese trio, with our choice of Maxi Bocage double cream camembert, Beecher's Flagship Cheddar and Tellegio cheeses, which were paired with chewy, crusty bread, with a drizzle of honey and a small dish of spiced nuts.

For a main I had a thick and smokey bacon, black bean and asparugus soup while my man had the thick Thirst Burger. Both were succinct and memorable in their flavours and fully-satisfied our hunger from walking around all day.

To polish things off, we indulged in some fresh and fruity drinks - the Thirsti-to, a mojito with basil, and the Daisy Duke, an utterly refreshing cocktail made from blood oranges. Bliss!

Thirst Wine Bar and Bistro
315 SW Montgomery St.
Portland
503-295-2747

www.thirstwinebar.com

To read about our adventures at the Portland Marketplace(highly recommended), please click onMy Fashion Blog Link

Coconuts and Crocodiles

2009-05-21T10:40:00.000-07:00

While in Nuevo Vallarta one of the things to do is to take a River Cruise. At the Paradise Village Hotel you can take either the hotel's tour or the privately owned African Queen. I would prefer the African Queen since the wee steam boat seems to be modeled after the one Hepburn and Bogie used in the film.

Luckily we had our dingy with us, which we decided to take up the river on our own little cruise (me as the navigator and my mother as the brave passenger).

The river itself is quite interesting because it beckons you with birds of paradise, real live crocodiles and coconuts.
The Jungle Cruise passes by a floating coconut.

I don't know what it is about coconuts in the water, but just seeing them float past made me very giddy. It really gives you that feeling that you are in a balmy, coco-scented paradise.
Yay a coconut! - Skirt: from Norway; Top: H&M; Sunglasses: Target; Bag: Mango

But enough with the coconuts, onto the jungle tour. The first part of our tour took us past expensive villas with river front views.

Wouldn't you like to live here?

Or here?

Or here?

We didn't see any crocodiles, which was dissapointing, although my mother was happy and she did point out that if the crocs wanted to they could easily puncture my dingy. I have piloted a small boat through croc-infested waters before (in fact it was the most crocodile infested river in the world, in Kakadu National Park in Australia) but that boat was made of metal. We did however, see someothing lurking underneath the murky water and shaking a submerged branch back and forth and that was enough for me to gun the engine and get the hell outta there

And whilst we didn't really see any birds of paradise, we did see a few of the usual herons...

And what made the trip all the worth while...a couple of Vultures, feasting on a dead animal carcass on shore.

Luckily before the vultures turned their eyes on us (the ones in Cabo were eyeing my mother on her birthday last week) we arrived back at the boat safe and sound.

If you wanna read about my recent trip to see Mount St. Helens, please visit my other blog HERE for some shots, history and of course FASHION!

Nuevo Vallarta

2009-05-18T19:26:00.000-07:00

Nuevo Vallarta is a ¨Tourist Made¨ village, located on the Bay of Banderas (the 2nd largest bay in the world), about a 30 minute drive from the popular city of Puerto Vallarta.

Unlike Puerto Vallarta, Nuevo Vallarta has little history and basically comprises of two marinas and several large beachside hotels. A world-class golf course and pricey new residential developments also flank the area.

One of the biggest hotels in Nuevo Vallarta is the massive and children-friendly Paradise Village. It has three swimming pools...

Mayan-themed architecture....

Tropical grounds (Nuevo Vallarta itself it situated directly on the Tropic of Capricorn) with free-growing tropical plants such as Coconut Palms, Mangos and Banana trees...

And it even has a zoo (although you can´t help but feel sorry for the Tigers)

The best part of the hotel though, is the fact that over the last few days, we were able to dock at their marina. Located on a crocodile infested estuary (no joke), we enjoyed all the benefits of the hotel, while I was basking in the fact that the boat no longer moves as it is securely tethered to the dock.

Unfortunately, the fact that the marina is extremely busy and usually is booked 6 months ahead of time (we were lucky to even stay here 5 nights), we had to be off the next day to anchor my boat off of the quaint pueblo of La Cruz. Back to being a slave to the ocean swells again, but the only consulation is the fact that La Cruz is an authentic Mexican village that doesn´t cater to fat and arrogant North American tourists.

Hasta Luego!

Hope you enjoyed this tropical punchy post - there is more to come on Nuevo Vallarta this week.

For fashion inspired by The Beach Boys and other summery stuff, please head to my OTHER BLOG: Anywhere But Here (it's my main blog and updated more regularly than this one). Thanks!

Trains, planes and...no, actually, just trains

2009-05-14T21:32:00.000-07:00

Yeah. Trains. This is a post about trains. I am so totally losing it.

Personally, I love trains and they are my favourite way to travel. There is something so inherently romantic and emotional about train rides, almost as if you are slowly chugging your way into a more lyrical, bygone era - unless you are on the TGV in France, in which you would be hurtling at alarming speeds into a lyrical, bygone era. It works either way though.

We don't have many trains here in Canada. I know of one amazing journey though that leaves from Vancouver and takes you into the Rocky Mountains, but unfortunately, it is also like a million dollars to ride that thing (slight exageration) since we don't have many competing train companies and thus they can jack up the price.

The States is more properly serviced, train-wise, but there is something very un-romantic about Amtrak and the tendency for those trains to NOT stay ONtrack.

No, if you need experience the "real" train experience, you need to go to Europe. Just look at the movies it has inspired.... The Lady Vanishes, Murder on the Orient Express, The Great Train Robbery, etc etc.

Where else are train systems such a way of life? Where you can forgo a night at the hostel and spend it sleeping in a moving bunkhouse? Where you can sip wine while the Austrian scenery whips past you? And don't get me started on train stations! The wonderful sound the board makes when the times and trains flip. The hustle and bustle of thousands of travelers. The miniture cities that surround the train station. The sound and smell of the trains pulling away from the tracks. Stuffing heavy backpacks into the lockers. My heart is thumping just thinking about it.

Of course, I've had my share of HELL on trains, if you recall THIS STORY. But overall, I would rather train it than bus or fly any day.

Looking pretty for once on a train to Toulouse/Carcassonne

Patiently waiting in Lyon

The Gare de Lyon train station in Paris

Hurtling at supersonic speeds on France's TGV

Norwegian Train Tunnels

Pulling a Dr. Zhivago in Norway

My bed, from Austria to Italy

Breakfast on the train

The last heave ho of the backpack before bording, Cologne, Germany

Watching the night fall, Austria

What is your favourite way to travel? By air? By car? By boat? By train? By...horse? Speaking of riding things, I had a dream last night I was riding an Emu...very strange.

When in Paris...

2009-05-11T12:37:00.000-07:00

This is a re-post of an old entry because I've heard of a lot of people/bloggers going to Paris this year and I wanted to share my favourite place. I've stayed twice, again after I did this post (for New Years Eve).

The Hotel Montebello is a charming, small hotel located in the 7th arrondissement, close to the Metro stops Vaneau (ligne 13) and Duroc (ligne 10 et 13). Considering how clean and high-class the neighbourhood is, and how the Eiffel Tower is only a 10-15 minute walk away, this hotel is amazingly priced, friendly and well-kept.

Unlike most boutique (and somewhat affordable) hotels in Paris, the Hotel Montebello's clean rooms come with a full bath, so there is no more sneaking down the cold hallways at night in order to use the loo, or waiting for other travelers to finish up with the shower.

When I stayed there last year, I had a wonderful single for 6 days and only paid around 30 Euros a night (doubles are 40-50 Euros a night). Sure, it was small but the bathroom had a roomy bathtub and was done up in beautiful, dark marble.

Best of all was the view. It didn't amount to much more than looking down at a small street (and across at the neighbouring apartments) but it provided me with a steady influx of typical Parisians living their lives. I even had the privilage of being all warm and cozy in my room while a sudden summer thunderstorm wreaked havoc on the people below me. Though you may have to tilt your head to view it properly, some of it was caught on personal video (though it doesn't do Mother Nature any justice, as it was the most violent thunderstorm I've come across).

Hotel Montebello. 18, rue Pierre Leroux - 75007 Paris. Tel. 01 47 34 41 18 - Fax 01 47 34 46 71. Email: hmontebello@aol.com. Be sure to email at least two weeks in advance as a place this stylishly budget-friendly can be very popular.

The only photo I have of my room (ignore the sweaty girl in the picture).

Banks Penninsula, NZ

2009-05-08T11:49:00.000-07:00

The Banks Peninsula extends out from the East Coast of the South Island like a wee thumb. A little over an hour from the city of Christchurch, the Peninsula is home to historical towns, such as the French settlement of Akaroa, and historical sights (the peninsula is formed by volcanic activity). The area is characterized by steep and undulating hills, deep coves, winding roads and amazing wildlife. There are plenty of boutique hotels, private bed and breakfasts and charming hostels around Akaroa and the Outer Banks, but the one I reccommend is the wonderul Le Bons Bay Backpackers. A wonderfully remote and rustic setting, this gregarious and memorable place serves home-cooked meals and takes guests out on fantastic private dolphin-watching trips. It's a bit of a trek to get to (and that's definitely part of its charm), but they do offer free pick-up or you can use the only taxi service in Akaroa, run by the sweetest lady. Underated, underappreciated and off the beaten track, The Banks Peninsula is a worthy stop on your New Zealand journey.

Please visit my fashion blog Anywhere But Here for an interview with local Vancouver designer, Hannah Fletcher of Narcissist

FRANCE -- the quiet side of Cannes

2009-05-04T07:24:00.000-07:00

The transparent waters off of Isle Ste. Marguerite

Most people when they think of Cannes, think of the annual Cannes Film Festival which has had celebrities (and paparazzi)flocking to the small, Mediterranean town for the last 60 years. Either that or they get stuck on how to properly pronounce the name (it's "Can," even though it seems to go against linguistic logic).

But Cannes has another side to it, away from all the high-end glitz and glamour, and this is what makes the town a worthwhile stop. While I myself was a bit dissapointed by Cannes unoriginality and lack of atmosphere, I did stumble across a reason to return.

Docking at the ferry terminal

The Island of Ste. Marguerite is a mere 15 minute ferry ride from the yacht-strewn docks of Cannes, yet feels a million miles away. Here you are free to stroll among pine and eucalyptus trees, walk through fields of fragrant lavender and find a small piece of rocky shore to call your own. The waters around the island are as warm as bathwater and are surprisingly clear, a very inviting option on a stifling summer day. If all this peace and tranquility proves to be too much for you, the magestic 17th century Vauban Fort will stimulate your mind. Here the prison holds the legend of the Man in the Iron Mask , as well as a remarkable Maritime Musuem.

The stronghold of Vauban Fort

There is no accommodation on the island, which adds to the calmness, but there is plenty to be found on the mainland. A good bet is Hotel Iris, which has clean and spacious dorms (I had one all to myself) as well as an on-site Mexican restaurant which serves the best kick-ass Pina Colada on the Continent.

As Sails Pass By

Provencal Roads (click to englarge)

Fields of Lavender

DON'T FORGET! I am having a dress giveaway on my OTHER BLOG: ANYWHERE BUT HERE (the fashion one)...be sure to enter as I am doing the draw on Wednesday. Thanks!

Vigeland Park, Oslo, Norway

2009-04-29T07:46:00.000-07:00

LOL

Vigeland is one of Norway's best known artists and created the 200 awesome sculptures which adorn this beautiful park.

The peaceful layout of the park, which is located in downtown Oslo and is easily accesible by bus and tram. Vigeland worked on the park for over two decades until his death in 1943.

Vigeland's statues are known for their realistic shaping, their humanistic qualities and sexual connotations.

His sculptures showed the real side of humanity, and embraced forms of all sizes, all ages and all emotions.

Whether it be a a exuberant mother, joyfully raising her child to the sky...

Or a father trying to juggle his children...

All of his statues evoke movement, fluidity and strength.

Even on a heavy, rainy day, the beauty and splendor of Vigeland's artwork comes shining through.

PS - Click on images to enlarge them (it's worth it!) and please see my other blog: Anywhere But Here for all your fashion needs :)

Bargain Hotel in Rome

2009-04-26T11:56:00.000-07:00

All right, so it's not really that much of a bargain considering I spent around 60Euros (the 35 Euro a night place in Paris, now THAT was a bargain). But it still wasn't bad, for Rome in peak season.

In Rome, I stayed at the Hotel "Aenea Superior Inn" or something like that. It was a very non-descript hotel, especially since I walked past it a few times before figuring out what building it is. There is no sign saying HOTEL on the door or anything, just a buzzer number....

In fact, the hotel is shared with an apartment building and perhaps some offices. The first floor (really, the 2nd one) was where I was placed, a long corridor and several air conditioned rooms. The reception was the next floor up, through another locked door. The people who worked there were very friendly and there if you needed them, but required you to buzz them or call...and sometimes there was no one in the building at all.

Doesn't matter though, because I was shown to my very small but very lovely room. Best thing about it? Not the view of the church courtyard (beware of nuns)
or its modern bathroom

But the fact that the AIR CON was on full blast! Bliss! So nice since you fucking soak you shirt in Rome just by standing outside for a few minutes. Oh, and the bed, small and wee just for me, was comfy too...

The location of the hotel was brilliant too. Yes, the area near the Termini train station can be a bit dodgy, but you wouldn't know it from the hotel. Steps away from the famous St. Maria Maggiore church and close to Via Nazionale which has many great Italian shops, you can't go wrong. The Colluseum and the Roman Forums are scarily close, which I discovered by accident walking down the street one day. Turn a corner and BOOM you are in the middle of a THIS IS ROME postcard and you have no idea where to turn your camera.

All in all, the hotel is a great choice. It was so clean, the staff (mainly the wonderful David) was beyond friendly when it comes to telling you the best palces to go in Rome and the location can't be beat. The only problem I had was the price...fine for a night or two, but if on a budget, I might shop around. Oh and the fact that the hotel doesn't have a public phone or phones in your room. That said, I did end up staying there again on my way out of Rome, so I can definitley recommend it.

AENEA & NEW WING** Sup.Inn
Via Urbana, 156.
00184 -ROMA
==
Email: aenea_rome@yahoo.com
Fax #: +390648916434

La Cruz, Mexico

2009-04-21T15:50:00.000-07:00

Twenty-minutes north of the tourist Mecca of Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, lies the town (pueblo) of La Cruz. It's full name being La Cruz de Huanacaxtle (which means the cross of the Huanacaxtle trees), La Cruz is a small and humble Mexican town, typical of those that flourish on the Pacific Coast.

I had the pleasure of being anchored offshore of La Cruz for a few days, while we waited for space to be available at the Nuevo Vallarta Marina nearby.

La Cruz has a few tourist provisions such as a 24-hour pharmacy, a hardware store, a grocery store, a British pub and various low-key hotels. Best of all, La Cruz has many wonderful and diverse restuarants, such as the Black Forest restaurant, where they serve scrumptious German food (a rarity in Mexico).

A great place to stay in La Cruz is the La Cruz Bungalows. We checked out this place when we expored the tiny town and looked so cute. Check out the website link above and you'll see what a cheerful place it would be to languidly pass a few days, especially at a festive time such as Navidad (Christmas).

Because La Cruz is such a small town, it's the perfect place to get away. There will be no crowds on the cobblestone streets, no peddlers hawking their wares on the fine-sanded beach and no sunburned tourists walking around in droves. When we were there we saw only Mexicans and one Gringo (not counting the two Gringas below).

That's not to say that tourism doesn't exist. But instead of countless holiday-seekers, foreigners come to La Cruz to snatch up properties that would be too expensive to buy in nearby Puerto Vallarta. The real estate business is booming in and the town is struggling to catch up, which why you will see wonderful new houses on dirt roads.

The best part of La Cruz is the fact that it is a typical Mexican town. Stroll around the wavering streets and you will come across meandering chickens, goats following children on bikes, families hanging out in their doorways, roadside vendors selling tacos, dogs lazing in the dirt, teenagers hanging out on the streets, kids playing in the water and neighbours talking to each other over the fence.

The only problem we had with La Cruz was the fact that a huge marina is being constructed there. Now, this will great for us boaters when it is finally completed next year, but because it is under construction, the beach area around the marina was off-limits.

I also have to wonder what a huge marina, as well as the accompanying condo developments and hotel, will do to the area. I have a feeling that if I come back to La Cruz in a year or two, it will be completely different. Whether the influx of tourism and development will be good for the locals, that remains to be seen.

The Scent of Grasse

2009-04-20T19:02:00.000-07:00

I was squeezed onto a tiny strip of sticky sand in Cannes, head heavy from the sun and the cloying smell of monoi suntan oil, when I decided I needed a change. After days on the famed beaches of the Cote D’Auzur, I felt less like a lounging beach bunny and more like a nervous wreck.

I was tired of fighting for space between the umbrellas, tired of having surly teenagers kick sand in my face, tired of battling pushy families, topless sunbathers and yapping pooches. This was the time to head inland, away from the packaged heat of the French Riveria. I would journey to the Provencal town of Grasse, where I could clear my head, inhale the country air, and find the holy grail of my trip: the perfect French perfume.
Fifteen km away from the ritz and glitz of Cannes and 30 km from the bustle of Nice, the French Provencal town of Grasse has always been a popular escape for locals and tourists alike. Known for its fresh air, fragrant meadows and small town charm, it is often described as the perfume capital of the world, which was the real reason I was going. With three famous perfume production plants (or “perfumuers”) offering free guided tours of their factories, I was determined to finally sniff out my signature scent, the kind that cloaked you in uniqueness, prompting those around you to ask what you were wearing.

My guidebooks had told me that the only way to reach Grasse was by car or bus, but when I arrived at the station in Cannes, I found out that the SNCF railroad had added a new route. I purchased a return ticket and hopped on the shiny double-decker train. While across from me a local girl ate noisily from a giant bag of peanut M&M’s, I was content with staring out the window and watching my first glimpses of the real Provence zip by. The stereotypical postcards were true, as rough stone houses, lined with cream and violet fields, framed both sides of the tracks.

Twenty-five minutes later, the train rolled into the modern Grasse station. The only problem was that the station itself was built on the outreaches of town, and the old town (“vieille ville”) was located at the peak of a looming hill, which presided over the train station like an ominous vulture. By the time I got my bearings, the train had rolled back to Cannes and the station was deserted.

Stubbornly refusing to waste my money on a cab, I trudged up the hill, having no idea where I was headed except up. I could feel the sympathetic stares from the local motorists and at one point an elderly lady offered me a ride. Not willing to be kidnapped by a crazy French woman, I politely declined and continued on my aimless way. With each step, the air grew thicker and a bank of dark clouds rolled in from the unseen sea to south. Finally, clothed in gray humidity, I reached the summit of the town. Before me, gracefully perched at the end of a steep flight of poppy-lined stairs, was the Fragonard Perfumuer, perhaps the most famous one in all of Grasse.

I entered the stately mansion and was immediately enveloped by a sense of stillness and the clean scent of white linen. It was strangely hushed and when I journeyed up to the reception on the second floor, I found only a handful of tourists milling around, poking at antique perfume bottles.

The perfumeur was closing soon and the last tour of the day was about to commence. It was held in French (the English tours had ended hours earlier) but I figured I could wing it and try and put my French classes to good use.

I joined a group of about ten other people, mainly French nationals in pastel clothing with a few confused Germans sprinkled here and there. Our guide was a smiling, young Korean girl who spoke fluent French with an Asian accent. Because of this, she spoke her words slowly and clearly, which thankfully allowed me to understand most of the things she was saying.

She took us into an echoing room filled with vats of sterile containers and briefly went over the history of the factory. There were only a few snippets of information that my mind could make sense of. The Fragonard building was one of the oldest in Grasse, built for the serious business of smells in 1782. Ever since then, they’ve produced perfumes and soaps on a daily basis, still steeped in the traditional ways.

Grasse was a great perfume producer because the climate nurtured delicate flowers such as jasmine and mimosa. 3000 people work in Grasse at the fragrance factories, which produce 50 per cent of France’s turnover and six per cent of the world’s turnover. And Queen Victoria once spent a few winters here on vacation. I tried to imagine what kind of perfume the Queen would have worn. Probably one of those headache-inducing stenches that overtake you in the elevator.

When the history lesson was over, she led us into another room, this one piled with
huge steel tanks. Each tank was given a name like Damask Rose and Vanille. These were used to distill the fragrances and we were shown aging copper tanks that were used in the olden, golden days of perfuming.

The next part of the tour was more interesting. Here, wooden crates were laid out around the room, each resembling a bee box. Only, instead of layers of collected honey, there were scatterings of delicate flowers between glass planes, all resting on what looked like a strip of gauze. We learned that the flowers would melt onto the layer of fat that lay beneath the gauze. Over time, the flowers and the fat would concentrate and what was left was called “absolute.” The primal essence of smell.

Near the end of the tour, after we were lead through the museum part, which housed ancient relics from the bygone eras, we had a glimpse at one of the “noses” hard at work. On the other side of a thick glass door, contained as if he were radioactive material, sat an doctor-ish man, scribbling into a notebook. Hundreds of tiny vials of perfume surrounded him on all sides like a scented congregation. The man looked over at us and waved, as he probably did for every other tour, then went back to work, peering over the vials like a mad French scientist.

Later, the guide told us that “noses” like him could differentiate 10,000 different smells. Most humans can differentiate between 4,000 and 10,000 different smells, though most of the time we aren’t aware of it. Expert “noses” go through years of training to achieve this level of awareness. But, enough about the sciences of odors and smells, I was itching to try on the perfumes and get down to smelly business.

And so, after the tour was over, I spent more time than I should have in the factory’s gift shop. I was trying to decide between Miranda, a warm, thick eau de toilette and Diamant, a spray that promised to “leave a luminous trail of desire” behind whoever wears it.

Finally, after my nostrils had gone numb and the shop clerks impatiently checked their watches for the billionth time, I hastily plucked the tiny bottle of Miranda from the counter, leaving the trail of desire for another time. Miranda was unique, a heady mix of coconut, amber and rich vanilla, perhaps “my” scent. I was so sure of my deciscion, I barely even winced when I handed over 22 Euros for the perfume no bigger than a tube of Visine. Satisfied with my purchase, I was ushered out of the factory and onto the street.

The satisfaction didn’t last very long. It was absolutely pouring outside, as if vast bathtubs of cold, gray water were being dumped from up high. It pound down on the streets, down through the North African palms, through the awning of the museum and on to me. I was drenched in two seconds flat.

I turned back towards the factory hoping to call a cab, but a white-cloaked guard had already locked the door after me (I must have been in that gift shop for a longer than I thought). I had no choice but to somehow book it down this tyrant of a hill to the train station, not an easy feat when you were wearing soaked linen pants, a singlet and flip-flops that slid out from under you with every step you took.

After almost falling on my butt a few times, fording overflowing sewer drains and being splashed by what looked like the little old lady who hours before had offered me a ride, I decided the most logical thing for me to do was catch a bus down to the train station. Down another tilted street, I spotted what looked like a bus stop, and, the holy grail of wet weather, a shelter of some sort. Excited at the prospect of getting dry, I scuttled over to it, only to find that the roof of the bus shelter was missing. I gritted my teeth.

The bus eventually came, but it resembled one of those miniature ones, like for school children with special needs. Which is exactly what I felt like after I tried to explain my predicament to the bus driver. Basic phrases in French I could handle but my French teacher never taught me how to negotiate bus routes. But the driver, who resembled a Provencal Joe Pesci, and the rest of the passengers on the bus, decided to humor me anyway.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of me awkwardly trying to hold on to the rail and not drip on the curious people seated around me, the bus driver pulled up alongside a fleet of cushy coaches that were idilyng on the side of the road. He pointed them and told me to take the first coach.

I thanked him profusely and slogged over to the first coach in line. The coach driver eyed me wearily as I splashed my way onboard. Not only did I resembled a scantily clad wet dog (in an outfit that I thought looked very “boho chic” when dry) but my face was straight from an impressionist film, with mascara running down my cheeks and a nose that was bright red from the cold.

“I need to go to the train station,” I mustered in my best French. He nodded dismissively and politely demanded four Euros.

Thinking it was odd that a five-minute bus ride would cost four Euros, I forked over the money anyway and found a dry seat to sit on near the coveted back of the bus. Thankfully the coach was almost empty and the snoozing teenager in the corner hadn’t noticed my arrival.

After puttering for a few more minutes, the coach finally lurched forward with a lazy groan. We coasted down the hill, splashing past crowded coral houses and wallowing Smart Cars. Then we drove past the train station and onto a country highway.

As the spanking new Grasse train station faded away in the distance, the water in my brain finally cleared. The reason the coach cost so much was not because it was taking me to the train station in Grasse, but because it was going to the train station in Cannes. (Of course, I didn’t realize that until the coach dropped me off in front of my hotel. I spent the whole bus ride trying to remember the French word for “lost.”)

I sighed and looked down at my soggy, wasted train ticket. I brought my petite bottle of Miranda out of the damp gift bag and sprayed a bit on my wrists. I inhaled the scent deeply and leaned back in my damp seat. At least I smelled good.

Details:
Grasse Office de Tourisme
Ph: (33) 4 93 36 66 66 Fax: (33) 4 93 36 86 36
info@grasse-riviera.com

Perfumeurs:
Frangonard – Blvd. Frangonard
Ph: (33) 4 93 36 44 65
Galimard – 73 Route de Cannes
Ph: (33) 4 93 09 20 00
Molinard – 60 Blvd. Victor Hugo
Ph: (33) 4 93 36 01 62

Hotels:
Mecure Grasse – Rue Martine Carol, 06130, Grasse, France.
Ph: (33) 4 93 70 70 70 Fax: (33) 4 93 70 46 31
Hotel L’Horizon – 100 Promenade Saint Jean, 06530, Grasse, France.
Ph: (33) 4 9360 51 69 Fax: (33) 4 93 60 56 29
Bastide Saint Mathieu – 35 Chemin de Blumenthal, 06310, St. Mathieu, Grasse, France.
Ph: (33) 4 97 01 10 00 Fax: (33) 4 97 01 10 09

Transportation:
STGA Bus Lines – provides daily service from Cannes and Antibes, stopping at local towns and villages along the way. Ph: (33) 4 93 36 37 37
SNCF – the new railway connects Grasse with Cannes (6.80 Euros, 2nd class return ticket, 25 minutes) and Nice (21.20 Euros, 2nd class return ticket, 1 hour) as well as Monaco, Menton and Ventimiglia, Italy. http://www.sncf.com/

All images, excluding the first two, courtesy of Grasse Tourism

Palm Springs, the retro classic is suddenly hip again

2009-04-16T15:31:00.000-07:00

Known for its unflappable sunshine, dry desert air and a myriad of premium golf courses, Palm Springs, California, is often known as a retiree’s paradise. However, Palm Springs hasn’t always had this mellow reputation.

Back when Hollywood had its Golden Age, Palm Springs was known as “The Playground of the Stars”, the place where Sonny Bono would become mayor, where Frank Sinatra and Ava Gardner drank their way through debauchery and scandal and where streets take on names such as Kirk Douglas Way and Ginger Rogers Road.

Now, Palm Springs is going through a revival in attempt to reclaim its golden years, becoming more and more appealing to young, active and stylish travelers. A two-hour drive from LA, Palm Springs has become an easy jaunt for those looking to experience the retro classic.

Where to sleep

For a taste of Old Hollywood, you can’t go wrong with the new Movie Colony Hotel. With 16 rooms in three 1930’s whitewashed buildings, the Movie Colony is boutique-style luxury with a retro twist. Choose from lounging around in cushy chaises on the vast balcony or in your 400-thread count sheets in your swank room. In the 30’s the hotel was a favorite desert escape for martini-sipping celebrities. Indulge in one at the hotel’s refreshing al fresco bar.
726 N. Indian Ave., 1-800-953-5700, www.moviecolonyhotel.com; room rates $190–$289

A favorite of today’s stars is Le Parker Meridien, where Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie shacked up last year during a photo shoot. The hotel has all the amenities you would expect from Le Meridien plus a laid-back desert vibe and kitschy vintage décor. The full-service spa, the not-so aptly named Palm Springs Yacht Club, boasts 15,000 square feet of relaxation with four swimming pools and four clay tennis courts. Enjoy a Swedish massage after a hard day of schmoozing in the downtown bars, only ten minutes away.
4200 E. Palm Canyon Drive., 1-800-543-4300, www.lemeridien.com; room rates $250-$500

The Viceroy Palm Springs Resort and Spa is another popular hotel and understandably so. This hip oasis has a fresh, Continental vibe with attention to detail like ceramic whippet statues, Italian designer sheets and luxurious bath products. Manicured gardens, adorned with fragrant citrus trees, line the spacious grounds, which is quite popular for wedding ceremonies. But fear not you singles, the Citron’s cocktail lounge is great for socializing with other hipsters.
415 South Belardo Road Palm Springs; 1- 800-670-6184, http://www.viceroypalmsprings.com/; room rates $149-$389

Out to eat, out to drink

Piero’s Aqcua Pazzo California Bistro, located in The Rivers shopping complex on Rancho Mirage’s famous restaurant row, is great for a night out. There’s a little something for everyone at this spacious and stylish restaurant, accented by indoor waterfalls and smiling staff. For a European touch, try the Wild Mushroom Soup with white truffle and olive oil. Pazzo also offers diners outdoor seating on the terrace, which is the perfect place to people-watch and enjoy the ½ price happy hour.
71-800 Highway 111, Rancho Mirage; (760) 862-9800, $10-$30

For a taste of the tropics, Halewia Joes offers Hawaiian-style dining with fresh fish flown in daily. Popular with locals and visitors alike, the restaurant is in a magnificent setting, the building set into part of a mountain. Aside from the setting and relaxing, island décor, the food at Halweias is something to hula about. For a rich, mouth-watering seafood dish, try the catch of the day, baked in a macadamia nut crust or, if you have a light appetite, a plate of sticky ribs or Thai lemongrass calamari should do the trick. Wash it all down with a Madam Pele, a mix of coconut rum, strawberries and cream.
69-934 Highway 111, Rancho Mirage; (760) 324-5613, $10-$35

Close to Halewia’s is Tastings, a unique restaurant with a fun, trendy vibe. Tastings concentrates on its extraordinary wine list and consequently all dishes on the menu are meant to compliment it. They currently have 42 different wines by the glass. This novel approach to dining means that you can sample from a range of tapas-style dishes, all particularly suited for one wine or another. The space is sleek and relaxed with comfy couches perfect for curling up with a dish of steamed mussels and a glass of crisp sauvignon blanc.
69-930 Highway 111, Rancho Mirage; (760) 324-4044, $12-$35

Keeping with Palm Springs new retro-theme, The Deck is one of the hippest bars around. Perched atop The Chop House, this bar offers light dining, live jazz, toasty fireplaces and a happening happy hour (3:30-6:30) that cuts 50 per cent off drinks and bar food. Swing by on a Friday night for a few drinks before heading out on the town.
262 S. Palm Canyon Drive, Downtown Palm Springs; (760) 325-5200

A good place to have your night out on the town is at the Atlas Restaurant and Nightclub. This club serves food until midnight but the drinks fly all night long (or at least until 2 AM). With a spacious dance floor, great sound and an extensive martini list, Atlas has a retro-modern theme that’s very fun and very now.
210 S. Palm Canyon Drive, Downtown Palm Springs; (760) 325-8893

What to see, what to do

A trip to Palm Springs is not complete with out seeing The Palm Springs Follies in action. This Vaudevillian song and dance team is world-famous and Broadway caliber. The twist here is that none of these talented troopers are a day younger than 55, proof that seniors in Palm Springs do more than just play golf and bingo. The shows run from November to May 30th so see them while you can. You’ll be looking at your Grandmother differently afterwards.
128 S. Palm Canyon Drive, Downtown Palm Springs; (760) 327-0225

Opened on New Years Eve 2005, Fantasy Springs Resort Casino is the area’s largest casino with 2000 slot machines, 30 table games and off-track betting. The four-star resort also features 250 rooms and suites, as well as four restaurants with cuisine from Asia, Brazil, Italy and Mexico. A 24-lane bowling center lies adjacent to the property. Because the casino is open 24 hours, being bored here is not an option.
84 245 Indio Springs Parkway, Indio; 1-800- 827-2946; rates $126-$279

About a 45-minute drive from Palm Springs is the $250 million Morongo Casino Resort and Spa. Already a favorite with celebrities, this new, sleek high-rise in the nearby town of Cabazon is like Las Vegas condensed. With a private 2400-square-foot poker room, thousands of slot machines and a hip nightclub, Desert Rain, Morongo will entertain you for days, or at least until your money runs out.
4970 Seminole Drive (off of I-10), Cabazon; 1-800-252-4499; rates $109-$269

Every January, Palm Springs holds its International Film Festival. Hosted for the last several years by Entertainment Tonight’s Mary Hart, the Film Festival draws big names and great films. Shirley MacLaine was recently honored with the festival’s lifetime achievement award.
Go to www.psfilmfest.org for more information

For all you adventurous types, 4x4ing in a Hummer through desolate desert hills might pique your interest. Hummer Adventure Tours will take you over the shifting San Andreas Fault or through the wild and beautiful Joshua Tree National Park. Just remember to wear lots of sunscreen and make sure your hat secures around your head. You don’t want it to fly off and have to wrestle a cactus for it.
Call 1-877-WE-HUMMER for reservations or email at outdooradventures@usa.com; rates $89-$119

If you prefer to see the scenery from a more natural mount, try Crazy Horse Ranch. The owner Jacklyn Barrett, takes the traditional trail riding expedition and makes it her own. All riders and horses are coached in Natural Horsemanship, a new wave of “horse whispering” that provides greater understanding between horse and rider and ensures for a memorable ride.
50440 Cheyenne Trail, Morongo; (760) 831-6450; rates $50-$100

Of course an even more adventurous view would be from the seat of a vintage Warbird or Biplane. Nostalgic Warbird Rides gives visitors the chance to ride in one of these bad babies, dipping and twirling above the desert floor. Some planes are even fitted with stereos to play music from the era, all to get you in the mood. Of course, the company also offers more serene sightseeing flights for those who don’t feel like losing their lunch.
Call 1-800-991-2473 for more information; rates $125-$479

Where to buy

El Paseo is Palm Springs version of Rodeo Drive, a several block span of upscale boutiques, eateries, art galleries and a Saks Fifth Avenue, all sumptuously adorned by palm trees and desert scenery.
Call 1-877-7EL-PASEO for more information

Desert Hills Premium Outlet is located in Cabazon across from the Morongo Casino and Resort. The sprawling open-air shopping mecca features hundreds of stores such as Coach, Tods, Bebe, Guess, Versace and Gucci all at 25 to 65 per cent off retail prices. Best bet is to go in the morning before the tour buses from LA and Las Vegas show up and unload their shop crazy passengers.
4800 Seminole Drive, Cabazon

The River Shopping Complex is located in the middle of restaurant row in Rancho Mirage. The River has several quality stores such as Borders Books and Music, Ulta, Bath and Body Works, beauty salons and local boutiques.
71-800 Highway 111, Rancho Mirage

Celebrity Seconds is one of the many vintage and consignment stores in Palm Springs. What makes Celebrity stand out from the crowd is its vast collection of vintage clothing and jewelry that was worn by the stars, including Ginger Rogers’ private collection. The tiny shop also offers more affordable vintage pieces, although the previous owner is more likely to have been an old lady who lived down the street.
333 N. Palm Canyon Drive, Downtown Palm Springs; (760) 416-2072

Trina Turk’s flirty flagship store is located here in Palm Springs. A favorite wardrobe choice among Young Hollywood, Trina Turk offers gorgeous, feminine designs. This is California chic at its finest.
891 N. Palm Canyon Dr., Downtown Palm Springs; 760) 416-2856

How to get to there

Palm Springs is well serviced by several American airlines such as Alaska, Delta and United with seasonal flights to and from Canada from Westjet and Harmony Airways. http://www.palmspringsairport.com/ provides a more extensive list of flights

Taking to the road is another option. Palm Springs is just 110 miles from LA, 273 miles from Las Vegas and 280 miles from San Francisco. The Mexican border is just a short days drive away.

Venice in Color

2009-04-15T12:59:00.000-07:00

Too lazy to post so I will leave you with some pictures of Venice...in color!!

Ciao!

Weekend's Wonder: Norway's Sognefjord

2009-04-12T16:23:00.000-07:00

It's the weekend and time for the all new Weekend's Wonder, where I look back on an adventure, a scenario or a destination of my choice. Sometimes helpful, mostly humorous and inept, you can expect a story or travel article every Saturday or Sunday.

This week: Seduced by Sognefjord-Exploring Norway’s Most Enigmatic Fjord

Traveling at 100 km an hour and enveloped by total darkness, I had an eerie flashback to riding Space Mountain as a kid. The only difference is that Space Mountain was a short ride, and I had been rocketing through this tunnel for 20 minutes. The only break in the monotony are the tiny pockets of ice-blue light enveloping the emergency pull-outs and makes our car glow like its doused in radioactive material.

Our car finally zips out of the darkness and I am at once blinded by the light of day and bested by the sight before me. To the side of our car is a fjord; a nursery blue colour from eons of glacial runoff. The razor sharp peaks of Norway’s coastal mountain region loom over me on all sides, like domineering relatives over a newborn child. It is at once comforting and claustrophobic.

This is Sognefjord, one of the most magnificent places in all of Norway, and the longest fjord in the world. Extending inland for about 240 km, Sognefjord is located on Norway’s fjord-carved west coast.

My journey began in the tiny town of Myrdal, which appeared to consist of only a small railway station and a horde of Japanese tourists. Everyone that gathers at the station has one goal in mind: to take the train from Myrdal to the fjord-side town of Flam. This is considered to be the most beautiful train journey in Norway, if not the world.

As the rickety train pulled away from the station and the tourists (including me) brought out their cameras, I could certainly see why the journey was given such a prominent label. The train was rolling down the steepest incline possible with numerous tunnels, cascading waterfalls and sweeping vistas of the mountain ranges. At the bottom of a neighbouring gorge lay a winding river that flowed past humble cottages and cherry-red barns, a scene straight out of a cough drop commercial.

The train ended its run in Flam, a drowsy hamlet that only perks up when the train pulls into the station. The town itself is a major tourist attraction and where the majority of the tourists ended their journey. The craggy peaks and mint-green water were enough to entice me to stay awhile but my journey was only beginning. I had places to go and needed to meet my guide, Karin, who would be my driver and guide to Balestrand, a fjord-side town that was hosting their annual jazz festival, Balejazz.

Karin greeted me with a typical, gregarious Norwegian smile that made her face seem even more cherubic and ushered me into one of those tiny cars that was all the rage in Europe. With Sting on rotation on the CD player, we jetted off down the windy road and towards the cavernous tunnel that would take us from Flam, through the mountains, to Sognefjord.

The Laerdal tunnel opened in 2000 and is 24.5 km long, making it the longest tunnel in the world. The tunnel is considered to be “psychologically correct” with its various lighted caverns scattered throughout the journey, breaking up the dark monotony of the tunnel by adding bursts of open spaces and cool, artificial light. I must say that after being in the tunnel for ten minutes, I was grateful for the strategic brightness.

Out on the other side, we drove alongside the humbling Sognefjord as it wound its way east into the mountains. Charming little villages are nestled into the steep sides with an abundance of flowering cherry and apple trees scattered throughout. My North American stereotype that Norway was in a permanent deep-freeze, flew right out the window and into the mild air.

Sognefjord is blessed with a decided lack of tourists. I did see the occasional car or campervan bustling through, but other than that, people seem few and far between. It seemed odd that a place so large and so distinctive would lack international attention, so I asked Karin about it.

“Most people in Norway know about the place, but few have been here,” she said as she wheeled the car past a few goats that had gotten loose on the road. “Oslo and Bergen seem to get most of the attention. Of course, there are many Japanese and Germans who come here every year but for the most part, it seems like North Americans bypass the place entirely.”

The jazz fest, she went on to say, is the real draw for Norwegians. Balejazz started in 1990 and attracts thousands of local and international tourists each year with its three-day festival held at the end of May. While big Norwegian names mainly play at the festival, well-known international figures have been featured as well.

We arrived at the ferry terminal in time to board a ferry which barely fit our car. We putted out across the fjord towards Balestrand, gliding over the stillness. Located on the tip of a peninsula, on the other side of the fjord, the only way to reach the place is by ferry or seaplane. The town came closer into view, perched at the base of a mountain, a tiny smattering of houses are gathered around an imposing building.

“The Kvikne Hotel,” Karin told me, our place of rest for the night.

By the time we pulled into Balestrand, the quaint town of 1,400 people was overrun by beer-toting jazz fiends with cars parked haphazardly on people’s lawns.

The hotel itself is the focal point of the town and where most of the action is. Built in 1877, the hotel was at first a small tourist house. Near the end of the 1880s it slowly grew to become the main tourist attraction in the area as Ole Kvikne began to capitalize on Balestrand’s prime location. He added on more buildings and wings until it was fully complete in 1894.

Today, that part of the hotel is still standing and presents a grand example of the architecture of the period. However, a new, modern section has been added to accommodate the growing number of tourists to the area. During the jazz festival itself, the hotel is usually completely booked months ahead of time.

Despite the hurried bustle of jazz-happy patrons coming in an out of the building, the hotel had a calm and elegant manner about it. We had their famous buffet dinner in the stately dining room where we were treated to superb views of the fjord and an abundance of the freshest Norwegian seafood available.

On the way out, I passed through their state room, where socialites in the old days used to curl up with a good book and drink tea while watching whales frolic offshore. Now it is used to showcase magnificent oil paintings which were given to the hotel by famous Norwegian painters who stayed here in the past and used their work to pay for their room. Each painting shows the fjord in a different light, as the scene outside changes with each passing cloud.

Karin stood in the corner of the room and gestured for me to sit down in an intricately carved wooden chair. She told me how their once frequent guest, Wilhelm Kaiser II, preferred this chair over all others.

She turned the seat over and I peered at the inscription, “Wilhelm Kaiser sat here when WWI broke out.”

I wasn’t sure if I should feel honoured or not.

For the jazz festival we found ourselves in the basement bar of white-washed stone house, located meters from the hotel. Most of the jazz festival takes place in random buildings throughout the tiny area.

In our venue, people were crammed into every possible sitting space, all crowding around Elizabeth Mo and her band. An enigmatic woman with wild dark hair, Mo is quite famous on the Norwegian Jazz scene and I could see why. Her voice carried clear across the cozy room, and even though she sang in a language I didn’t understand, she emoted her every word. The band swung into moody favourites by Billie Holiday and played a few original songs as well. This is jazz that speaks to a whole range of people, and I appreciated her humour in between sets when Mo would say the occasional word in English, then wink at the audience, “for the tourists.”

The jazz festival ended up rocking on into the wee hours of the morning but by the time Elizabeth Mo was over and I had been accosted by Icelandic men in the Kvikne Hotel bar, I was ready for bed. It must have been the fresh air and the copious amounts of wine that were flowing freely through the boisterous town.

The weather the next day left a lot to be desired, but the moodiness of the obscured mountain peaks and the way the glacial water changed with the darkening clouds had its own kind of charm.

Our goal was to explore the Jostedalsbreen Glacier, but the weather had made things impassible so I settled for a stop at the Norwegian Glacier Museum. For those who aren’t up for heli-hikes to the top of the largest glacier in Europe, the museum has an excellent film by Ivo Caprino that puts you right in the action. Afterwards you can explore the museum’s various exhibits revolving around the 1,000 year-old ice from the nearby glacier.

Of course, not all was lost. We did manage to stop at a lookout that was as close to the glacier as you could get without physically touching it. Seeing a hanging wall of ice balancing precariously on the edge of the sheer mountainside, coupled with the fact that the ice was constantly in motion, made me glad that our interaction with the behemoth wonder was limited to a few photographs and all at a safe distance.

The last stop of an interest on our way around Sognefjord was called Norwegian Book Town. Karin informed me that the bookstores outnumber the people in this village. Being a sucker for a good used novel, we pulled over and I was able to choose from about 20 different used bookstores. Some of these stores were nothing more than a garden shed, crammed to the roof with literature.

After bartering with an eager salesperson for the last copy of Hemmingway’s Fiesta, I took my purchase to the edge of the water and began to read. The fjord in this arm was a surreal color, like someone had dumped watercolour paints into the sea. The snow perched stoically on the ranges around me and all around were tiny bookstores, whistling wind and the silent feeling that I was gaily flipping through a classic novel in a magical place that few have been privileged enough to see. I guess you could say the same thing about all of Sognefjord. Like a best-kept secret, just waiting to be discovered.

Taking the Plunge: How women can be safe while traveling solo

2009-04-08T13:45:00.000-07:00

This was a piece I commisioned for an online travel mag. Sadly, it took awhile for things to get running and now the mag is no more. So I figured, why let a perfectly good article go to waste:

Say you’ve always wanted to backpack around Spain but no one wants to come with you. Not a problem, you like challenges and the independence, you’ll travel alone. You’ve met other people who have done the same and they’ve said it’s nothing short of being the most rewarding thing they have ever done for themselves.

You’ve checked out where you want to go, decided against an organized tour and plotted out your transportation. You have your visas (if needed) and have packed your bags. You’re ready to take the plunge. But before you step on that plane, ask yourself this: do you know how to keep you and your belongings safe while traveling? If the answer’s no, you need to listen up.

While men travel solo all the time without many difficulties, women have to take extra precautions. It’s a dangerous world out there, and it doesn’t seem to be getting any better. You don’t walk by yourself in bad neighborhoods at night, do you? Don’t assume it’s going to be any safer out there, no matter where you go.

Always check out a hotel before you stay in it

This may not be the most convenient method, especially if you need to make reservations ahead of time. If that is the case, make sure to ask the manager how secure the hotel or hostel is. Is there a key to your room? Sounds obvious, but you would be surprised how many hostels don’t have locks on the doors. Make sure you aren’t on the ground floor. The ground floor is the easiest way to break into the hotel. If you want to be extra cautious, you can request that you be put down as a male occupant. Another great idea is getting a portable door alarm, which you can get from any travel store. Sort of an electronic version of cans behind the door.

Before I travel, I like to look up my hotel/hostel picks on the Internet. On sites such as www.bookhostels.com and www.hostelz.com, each accommodation has personal reviews from travelers and is rated accordingly. These are a great help when it comes to gauging the quality and security in each place.

Read up

Look at any recent travel books, magazine articles or government issued warnings that may pertain to your local of interest. The Net is a great place to search for current issues of your destination’s newspapers, and most sites have online translators. If there is a rapist prowling the streets around your future hotel, you need to know this! For up to date warnings issued for each country, check out the government’s website: http://www.voyage.gc.ca/dest/ctry/reportpage-en.asp.

Personally, I like to take people’s opinions with a grain of salt. If a government has issued a warning about a certain city, then by all means you should heed that warning. However, I would take some caution when listening to your grandmother tell you that the Russian Mafia is going to kidnap you while on a ferry to Tallin, Estonia. Everyone’s perceptions of danger and security are different. If you really want to visit a place you have been warned about, keep your wits about you and don’t let other people’s opinions colour the way you view the world. Keep an open mind, and most of the time you’ll be pleasantly relieved.

Be prepared for any unwanted attention

Foreign women are very attractive to certain men in all parts of the world. The stereotype is Italy, of course, but you can find yourself subject to catcalls, whistles and harassment in so-called “safe” places such as Berlin, Helsinki, even London. Some women find that their light skin or hair can cause such problems. If you are heading to a place such as the Middle East, Turkey and even parts of South America, it may be wise to color your hair darker. Then again, harassment from men doesn’t always happen to pale, blonde women. When you travel, it’s usually obvious you are a tourist. Covering up skin helps tremendously, as does wearing less make-up and dressing as the local women do. Another trick is to wear a fake wedding band. This comes in handy in predominantly Catholic regions, where marriage is considered sacred. If all else fails, just ignore them. Don’t answer back or get mad. This just fuels the fire. Of course if the problem escalates, yelling “fire” or “police” in the local language should do the trick.

I have been “harassed” on many levels, from being picked up by a Tunisian man outside the Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris, to being followed by pesky eight-year-old children outside the Moulin Rouge. Trust your instincts. I knew the children were not much of threat, no matter how unnerving the experience was. However, when you are confronted with a man that just won’t take no for an answer, no matter how many times you tell him that you are waiting for your “husband,” keep safe and get out. Even if climbing the towers of the Notre Dame is your only means of escape.

Keep your stuff safe

Many hotels and hostels have safes or lockers. I highly recommend using them, even if there is a fee involved. Money belts and leg wallets are extremely helpful and I wouldn’t travel without one. In the event that you are robbed or pick-pocketed, you’ll know that your passport and important documents are safe. When you aren’t using your passport, keeping in a safe is a good idea, as long as you trust the person who operates it. When it comes to theft from your luggage, locks on your bags can stop sticky fingers from going through your personal belongings, though they won’t stop a determined thief from getting through. There are new locks out there that airport officials are able to open, if this is a concern. When traveling it’s recommended that you carry a long chain or cable lock, so that you can secure your bags to your seat or bed. Some people feel safest if they sleep with their bags, though there may not always be room. And of course, never leave your bag unattended and never ask someone to watch it. It may be the last time you see it.

Theft doesn’t just stop at your luggage and other important items. It’s the little things that get nicked too, and usually those are the ones that annoy you the most. I’ve put laundry out to dry on a clothes wire, only to have my favorite shirt gone when I got back. I’ve had low-fat and low-taste cheese stolen out of a hostel’s communal fridge. I think the thief probably regretted that one. The point here is, keep an eye on all of your stuff, all the time. You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.

Listen to your mother

Don’t carry around an expensive-looking bag. Don’t wear precious jewelry or carry a shiny new camera around your neck. Don’t flash money, passports and credit cards around. Always let someone know where you are going. Make sure you write down all the correct addresses and dates. Double-check and reconfirm everything. When in doubt, trust your instincts. And remember, you don’t have to lose your common sense in order to have the trip of your life.

Spanish Bargain: Tarragona's Las Palmeras

2009-04-06T17:13:00.000-07:00

After a horrific 36 hours without sleep and a mind-numbing journey that took me from Classy Cannes to sleeping in a train station in Narbonne to Hectic Barcelona, I finally arrived at my accommodation in Tarragona, Spain.

I've blogged about this wonderfully overlooked destination before (see side bar) but haven't expressed what a great deal Las Palmeras is.

I found this beach resort while perusing Bookhostels.com. I was supposed to be going to Switzerland but I figured if I was near enough to Spain, I should make the effort to visit this enigmatic country. Finding Las Palmeras sealed the deal.

Las Palmeras is a sprawling resort located on the Costa Brava, 7km outside of the city of Tarragona and an hour's train ride from Barcelona. Instead of having a hotel, the resort has many white-washed, clean and comfortable cabins to rent, scattered throughout the landscaped grounds.

Each cabin has it's own veranda (complete with clothes drying hanger - a dirty backpacker's dream), a seperate WC and shower, two small bedrooms, a living area and a fully-stocked kitchen.

Want to see how close these beauties are to the beach? Play away:

What was really amazing was that there was barely any people in this glorious place. You would think that with an endless white sand beach like this, it would be packed.

While most of the people there seemed to be regular caravaners from Denmark and what not, on my first night there I met an American brother and sister who had been studying in Seville. In my no-sleep state they were a welcoming sight for sore eyes, as they treated me to a homemade dish of mushrooms, garbanzo beans and rice. So simple and so appreciated. That meal stands out in my mind in all it's deliciousness.

We followed up the meal with wine and beer on the beach, and later, a drinking game with them and the local stray cat they nicknamed "The Ranger" in Spanish.

My days at this resort was blissful. When I didn't take the bus into town to appreciate Tarragona's Roman relics, I relaxed on the beach, read, ate at the lively on-site bar or shopped for food at the resort's general store.

Best part of it all? It only cost me 35 Euros a night. This was more affordable then many hotels I stayed in and since the cabins comfortably sleep 5, you can imagine what an even more fantastic bargain it would be if you got a whole group of people together.

For further information and for bookings, please visit: Las Palmeras Website.

No Siesta por 36 horas!

2009-04-02T08:08:00.000-07:00

This is a story I have been meaning to write about for awhile but have never had the time or motivation. But, heck, it should be heard.

It was the first time I went to Spain.

The first time I went 36 hours without sleep.

The first time I freaked right out whilst traveling.

It was all of that and more.

The day started in Cannes, France. After spending a few days lounging on the beach, getting caught in the rainstorm in Grasse and generally just hanging about, it was time to go.

I had, truthfully, found Cannes to be a bit of a bore. It wasn't as "Hollywood-ish" or "exciting" like I had hoped. I have a huge interest in the "retro" filmworld and even then I was dissapointed I couldn't find much more about Bardot, Monroe, Montand or anyone else.

So, after spending the morning at this island, I went back to my hostel to collect my bags...um, and find my passport which I had forgotten under the matress of my bed. Oops.

Anyway, that evenings plans included an overnight train ride to Barcelona, where I would catch the train to Tarragona the next day. The train didn't leave for awhile, so I hunkered down at the Mexican bar underneath the hostel and helped myself to two strong Pina Coladas.

Suffice to say, that by the time I was ready to trek to the train station, I had quite the buzz going. No matter, I thought to myself, I've paid extra for the sleeping compartment so I should be fine to just pass out and wake up in Barcelona.

I get to the train station and am immediately confused. The only train leaving that evening was to Bordeaux. For you who don't know, Bordeaux is on the opposite side of France. Not in the direction I was going at all.

So I asked the conducter in my broken French where I was to catch the train to Barcelona and he told me to just take the one to Bordeaux, the same track.

Well, I went and waited by the track and just assumed that my train would be coming after. While I was waiting where I was supposed to board my car, I saw another young girl. She looked American-ish but was definetly NOT a backpacker since she was lugging the biggest piece of luggage I have ever seen. She could barely pick it up.

I sort of tsk tsked inside my head and then went back to worrying about the train. At about the time my train would have left, this train seemed to get going. The conducters were sorta yelling all aboard and that really annoying "do, dah dah dah" jingle from the SNCF came over the intercom (if you have ever traveled by train in France, you will know what I mean) and that woman's voice announced the train was leaving.

Not knowing what to do, I ran up to the girl with the luggage, who was having a hell of a time trying to get it on the train, and asked her if this was going to Barcelona.

"I hope so!" she said, exasperated. An American after all.

So, I jumped on the train and as it started moving down the tracks, we both kind of looked at each other, not knowing where the hell we were going.

Turns out though, that we were both in the same compartment. That is, until I got to the compartment...not a sleeping cabin at all but just reclining chairs out in the open. We were both pissed off at spending our money on nothing and sat down across from each other and got to talking.

Her name was Becky and she was doing an exchange program though the University of Washington (a Seattlelite, small world) and had been in Barcelona for the last 6 months with her friend Lucy, who was in another compartment on the train. They had decided to do some traveling before they were due to fly out of Madrid in a day or two. Hence, the huge suitcase she had been lugging around.

We talked some more, then sort of fell asleep, only to wake up in Marseille having people saying that if you were going to Barcelona you had to get off at Port Bou. I had no idea where Port Bou was and how far off it was, so we sort of just sat there, on edge, eyeing each train stop. By now it was well past midnight and my earlier buzz had just left me feeling drained.

Worried about Port Bou, I walked up and down the train, looking for a conductor or someone who knew what the hell was going on. But our part of the train was sanctioned off from the rest of train and we were stuck with having no one to inform of us what was happening.

Eventually we went and joined Lucy, who was further down the cars and together we thought about our possible scenarios. Where was Port Bou? Why aren't we going to Barcelona? Why does the train say Bordeaux? Where are we? Etc.

We weren't alone though in this dilemma, and it seemed a lot of people in this part of the train were going to Port Bou as well.

We found that out as the train stopped at some random railway station. And then the other half of the train took off. Heading to Boedeaux, I suppose, while our end was abandoned on the tracks in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere.

Eventually though, there was a bit of commotion and I suppose our train was being attached to another train or something. All I know is that we started moving again, plowing steadily to Port Bou. Only....

We never made it to Port Bou.

We made it to Narbonne where we were promptly told to get off the train and go into the railway station.

By now it was 3 AM, we were confused and tired.

Then that train took off and we, meaning hundreds of people, were stuck inside this station. We couldn't escape the station because the doors were barred. We couldn't leave the other way because the tracks were there. We were station prisoners.

There were no train people in the station to tell us what was going on and why we were here. All we had was a sign on the tickets office telling us they would open at 6AM and that was it. The only sign that we were remotely in the right place was the schedule which said a 7 AM train to Port Bou was leaving in a few hours.

So what is a girl to do at 3 AM when you don't know where you are, aren't even sure if you are in France or Spain and you are stuck in a train station?

This:

Let me tell you, it's not as easy as it looks. There was no where to lie down and nothing to do, so all of us stranded passengers were just passing out on the floor and in corners, on benches, whatever we could find.

Me and my two American amigas found our own little spot and tried to get some rest. But despite my eye mask and seemingly relaxed pose, I didn't sleep a wink. All I could think about was the fact that I didn't know where I was and what was going on.

My new freinds had it no better since they had a flight to catch in Madrid the next day and they had no idea if they would even make it there on time.

And as the new day approached, things just seemed to go from bad to worse.

To be continued....(see post below :)

No Siesta: Continued

2009-04-01T20:03:00.000-07:00

Where was I?

Oh yeah. Here.

The train station, trying to get some shut eye.

As you know, that didn't quite work.

So, as the sky began to lighten with the early pastels of morning, me and my traveling companions, Becky and Lucy, decided to call off this whole sleeping thing and make way to use the toilet, located outside, by the train tracks.

We heard rumours about this thing. That it eats you alive.

I was always prepared to tackle the Turkish toilet. I read it about. I heard about it. I cancelled hotel bookings when I found out that one would be present in my room (or even worse, communal). But it wasn't until I encountered this toilet face to face, in the wee hours of the morning, in some strange part of France/Spain, that I understood.

Turkish toilets aren't fun.

I went into the dirty room. There was a hole in the ground...a porceline hole, but a hole nonetheless. It was gushing water, spouting it, churning it like some out-of-control bidet/white water rapids, the constant flurry of a quickly-moving flood. Before I even had a chance to grasp what I had to do, Becky pointed out that the door didn't lock. No, it barely closed. I promised her if she would watch out for me, I would watch out for her.

I tackled that scary thing tentatively. I squatted, using my hands to hold on to the wall for balance. You couldn't get down too low or the rush of water would sweep up your bum and carry you down the drain. I nearly slipped on the wet tiles. Twice. Those were the most terrifying moments of my life.

But somehow I made it out of there, alive. I watched out so that no one ambushed Becky and we were on our merry way. Later on, we heard Lucy tell us her horrible story of her squatting over the toilet and peeing while some guy just opened the unlocked door and barged in. Eeeek.

I made a silent vow to not pee until I got on the train. If we ever did get on the train.

Soon the train station information desk was open and somehow we found out that our train was due to leave for Spain shortly. Since I was the one with the grasp of French, I had to translate. My translation leaves a lot for the imagination. But I got the idea that our tickets were still valid. However, since Becky and Lucy had to reschedule their train to Madrid, the French ticket office couldn't do anything about it.

Apparently, even though it's all the EU, the Eurail train system has some flaws, in that a delay in France due to France train troubles has no bearing on the trains in Spain (fall mainly on the plain....sorry). So even though the girls spent money on their spain trains, the fact that they had to miss them due to circumstances out of their control, they still had to pay for it. Had the delay happened in Spain, it would be fine but apparently the two countries trains don't converse with each other.

I felt badly for them, especially as they stewed over their situation for awhile.

Soon enough, it was time to board the train. We sat in our seats and headed off into the morning mist. I fell asleep for most of the journey, waking up only at scenic times to see a fog covered, milky green pasture alloted with phantasmic silhouttes of horses, grazing along still ponds.

Unfortunately this scenery came to a quick end as our train soon stopped in Who The Hell Knows Where, Spain. We were across the border, near the water....but again, nowhere near our destination of Barcelona.

We didn't have much choice but to get off the train and congregate in yet ANOTHER train station. By now, everyone was well pissed off (as if we weren't already). During our four hours in Buttfuck Nowhere part 2, I managed to call Kelly on the payphone and complain to her while she was in the middle of managing a shift at Swiss Chalet.

Meanwhile, the Seattle girls found out that this whole delay would not only cancel their stay in Barcelona - they had to take the overnight to Madrid that night instead - but that they would in fact not be reimbursed for the train ride they had involuntarily missed. I would have been right pissed off if I were them. In fact I was pissed off but I was also so sleep deprived I didn't care.

Which didn't bode so well for me and and my day in Barcelona.

See, I wasn't planning on staying the city (I had, foolishly, heard too many bad things about it) so I had booked a resort cabin in Tarragona for that night and the next few days. I had another train to catch from Barcelona, but as far as I knew it was just an hour long and left every hour as well.

So I decided to brave Barcelona with my two disgruntled tour guides.

We had a wonderfully Spanish meal at a restaurant on Las Ramblas, consisting of sangria, tapas and paella.

It was a superb introduction to Spain. If only I had the functioning mental capacity to enjoy it. Remember, at this point, it's three in the afternoon and I am on 40-minutes of sleep. Thankfully the rest of my time in the city consisted of staring down pickpocketers and perusing the Las Ramblas market, where I picked up a sweet bracelet for myself.

As evening approached, I said goodbye to my new friends and hopped the train to Tarragona. To safety and security, a roof over my head.

Oh Gawd, if only it was that simple.

I arrived at the Tarragona train station, dazed and confused. Ever think you have a town figured out in your head and then you arrive and realize that it is NOTHING like you imagined?

Someone could have told me that Tarragona had one bad ass hill and that the train station was nowhere near where I needed to go.

And where did I need to go? Well, after a quick check to my notes scribbled haphazardly in my journal, I knew that in order to get to the beach cabins that were 7 km out of town, that I had to catch the "9" bus from Hotel Imperial.

So I started up the hill, with my increasingly heavy backpack, praying for death or for some rich Spaniard to take pity on me.

Neither happened. What did happen was that I slowly realized that while I could get away with rudimentary French in France and guidebook Italian and Germany in Italy, Austria, Germany, I could not converse my way in Spain. None of the people I met on the street, when asking for directions, spoke English. It was Spanish all the way, or nothing at all. I had forgot that earlier I had been depending on my Seattle friends for their translation, without realizing how rare English was.

Somehow though, I made my way to the main street where the buses took off from. I waited. And waited. And waited. The old people on the bench next to me looked confused. I was confused. I did not know where this "9" bus was except that someone had directed me here.

Twenty-minutes into my waiting, a bus came by. The doors opened and I tried to explain my situation to the non-English driver. I combined all the Spanish words I knew but they didn't make sense. He did, however, get what I was saying, or so I thought, so he pointed at the next street over and nodded.

I took this as "Go to the bus stop on the street parallel" so I did. And I waited. And waited. And waited.

Finally, I got out the resort's phone number and tried to give them a call to find out how best to get to them and where to get the bus.

There was no answer.

No, it even worse than that. There was a person saying that there was NO resort at all. Resort "non existo" or something.

This was the point I felt like crying. In fact I did cry. My bag was heavy, my feet hurt, I didn't know where I was going, I couldn't speak the language, I had no place to stay and worst of all, I had no sleep which meant I was not able to cope with any of the above like a normal person was. I felt completely, and utterly, helpless.

So, with my tears fallling behind my sunglasses, I slugged towards the water. I had no idea where I was going but figured at some point, I would find a way.

I soon spotted a large hotel overlooking the sea. The Hotel Imperial. And outside it, a bus stop.

Feeling bouyed by this discovery, I waited, hoping that the buses still ran since it was getting late and dark.

A bus stopped in front of me. It was the same bus driver from before. Once again, I tried to explain where I wanted to go. He shut the doors, refused to accept payment from me, and then acted like he was doing me a big favour. In some ways he was; he listened to me try and say "I'm sorry, I haven't slept in 36 hours" in Spanish, which came out as "No Siesta por trez seize horas"....um, not the same.

Anyway, the bus stopped at one point and he told me to get off. If I continued down the road I would reach the resort. I thanked him profusely....though never understood what the big deal was since that stop by the resort was one he would have made anyway and that the bus I actually had hopped on was bus "9."

At any rate, I limped my way to the main office, sweat-covered and dusty from the road. To my surprise the person at the front desk did not speak English, but he did speak French and for the first time, I felt relief. I was able to tell him - and the old French couple that was waiting in the office - about my horrible day....and all in French! They all understood and even laughed at the jokes I made about my sore feet. For once, I conversed without fear or misunderstanding. That moment was definitely a highlight of my trip.

Another highlight was yet to follow. The man gave me the keys and a tour of my cabin. Bliss! I have to do an entire post about this place and my relaxing days there because it truly is a gorgeous, unique place and I was beyond lucky to have found it.

Thankfully with my horrid day from hell, there was a pot of Spanish gold at the end of this rainbow.

Next post: The Best Deal in Spain - Supreme Accommodation in Tarragona

And in future posts (and in honour of so many people I know going off to the great city): A landmark tour of Paris. Stay tuned!

Overlooked: La Alberca, Spain

2009-03-31T14:52:00.000-07:00

La Alberca is a little known town in the northwest of Spain, just a hop, skip and a jump from Salamanca and the Portugal border and a four-hour bus ride from Madrid.

I found my way to this quite little town by force. I had signed up for my volunteering English teaching position for a week through the highly recommended Pueblo Ingles and was sent to the program's outpost in this wee place.

I've blogged about the program before (though not in depth, which I should do one day. although right after the program was finished I did blog this MEMO), but never really about what the village really has to offer. After all, besides the gaggle of English-unundated Spaniards and Anglos that come here to learn every week, other tourists come to La Alberca.

Why?

First off, the village is ancient...over a thousand years old and extremely well-preserved, as you can see in it's fabulously medieval architecture, cobblestone roads and thatched roofs. In fact, all new buildings must be made in the same manner and style as the old ones. It also the first village to be declared a National Historial Monument by Spain and it's easy to see why:

Reported fountain of youth

Built in the 1300's, the town church may look unassuming from the outside but inside it tells a different and historically rich story. The Church of the Asunción, houses many revered wonders such as a 16th-century pulpit sculpted in granite, a splendid Gothic copper processional cross and a figure of Cristo del Sudor.

The scenery is astounding too, as the village combines softly pastoral landscapes with the rugged Sierra de Francia mountains.

Also worth noting is the local cuisine and shops. People flock to this village to sample the tasty, but pricey, serrano hams. These black pigs get fat on acorns...

...before the are sold in any of the numerous Jam shops...

...and make their way to your dinner table.

The local shops are vivid, quaint and all-encompasing, catering to the young tourist:

Old tourist:
And locals:
Details:
*Located an hour and a half from the lively student city of Salmanca, with daily bus services.

*The hotel I stayed at is primarily used for the volunteer program, though the chalets can also be rented out. Otherwise, The Paris Hotel (http://www.hotelparislaalberca.com/, +34 923 415 131) is closer to town and comfy.

Carcassone on a Budget

2009-03-26T13:13:00.000-07:00

I promise to come up with some brand new blogging tidbits on travel when the time is right, as my life is kinda topsy turvy at the moment. I keep contacting certain travel blogs to see if they want my submissions - and they do - but then I forget to write them. What is wrong with me? I really need my head on straigh :S

Anyhoo, if you're going to France anytime soon, please go visit the wonderfully captured town of Carcassonne. For anyone fond of remembering the days of yore and running around a castle pretending to be a princess (or a knight) this place is for you. The shopping ain't too shabby either! I recall there being an excellently stocked Mango, however I also recall that was the weekend I ran out of money (one of the weekends, sigh, oh me).

For budget's sake, I am going to blog about Sid's Mum's Backpackers in Carcassonne. Or rather, just outside of it.

I will get into the WONDERFUL town of Carcassonne next week, but because I feel rushed and tipsy, I should first blog about this wonderful backpackers.

For anyone going to the medieval village of Carcassonne - and I am sorry but ALL visitors to France MUST make time for this place - Sid's Mum's (Sidsmums) is the place to go.

Of course, I may be biased because they gave me free (leftover) champagne upon my arrival and they were totally ready to feed me (again, this had a lot to do with running out of money that weekend - thank God I prepaid for the hostel!)....

And of course the cabins were a wonderful place to get some shut-eye....

And the nearby landscape of vineyards and lavender fields were soothing to the soul...

And the hostel itself is a beautifully rustic farmhouse of open spaces and relaxing grounds...

And if you don't believe me, read the following:

SIDSMUMS is a small, English family run hostel (backpackers) located in the tranquil village of Preixan on the northern foothills of the Pyrenees. This circulade village (500 people and 1,000 years of history) is just 10 kms (6 miles) south of the famous medieval Cité of Carcassonne, overlooks the Aude River and the woodlands and vineyards of the Malapère region.

The function of a hostel is to provide a comfortable and affordable base from which to explore the surrounding region. Having explored the area ourselves, we are happy to help you plan walks and tours and to provide detailed maps of the area. We have our own excursion book which we hope you will help us to expand and improve, and we can point you towards castles, caves and abbeys, we can hire you a pushbike or even lend you the dog! From the best biking roads to the most spectacular view, we are in the know.

When your day of exploring is complete, we are confident that you will find Sidsmums to be a welcoming place where you can relax and unwind - and it is our sincerest hope that you will make some new friends - or get re-acquainted with old friends - while doing so.

We offer a large, well equipped kitchen so that you can eat the food that you want, whenever you want, and at supermarket prices. You may choose to prepare a picnic - ask us to suggest some wonderful places to eat it - or perhaps join with us and other guests for a BBQ on the terrace.

We provide fridges so that you can stock up for a couple of days at the supermarket on your way through town. There is a "boulangerie" in the village for French bread and croissants, and there's a small general store in the next village 3 kms away. We provide tea and coffee and you can pick your own herbs in the garden to give your food that special French feel ..

Also in the village, the Relais de Preixan offers excellent traditional French cuisine and a small bar. Close by there is a Pizzeria/Brasserie and a Routiers (truck stop).

For those who crave a little respite from the often hectic pace of backpacking - we know, we've been there - there is a large garden behind the hostel where you can work on your Mediterranean tan or read a book under a tree. A small library of books is available; we have cards; we have board games; you can even try your hand at pétanque (boules).

Town (cafés, restaurants, bars, etc) the infamous O'Sheridans Irish Pub and the medieval Cité are 10kms away. The hostel provides a lift each day into Carcassonne to complement the buses which operate to and from town every day, except on Sunday.

The hostel itself accommodates 6 people in three twin bedded rooms. In addition there are four cabins available for bookings of two to four people each. We provide bedding at no extra charge.

What do you say? Go to Sidsmum's today!