No Crowds

Happy Lord Howe

2012-01-10T11:04:00.002Z

In his 1933 novel LostHorizon, James Hilton immortalizes ShangriLa, an earthly paradise where humans and nature live in perfect harmony – autopia one never expects to find in the real life. But it exists.

Lord Howe, atiny island in the vast Pacific about 600 km northeast of Sydney Australia isjust such a place. I was there recently with my husband, daughter and two nieces.And here’s the thing. From the moment we stepped off the plane, we neveruttered a cross word nor did we hear one. We never made or received a phonecall because there is no mobile reception. We never needed a car becauseeveryone rides bikes. Remarkably, in the 5 days we were there, we never had anunpleasant moment.

Every inch of the island is gorgeous and much of itspectacular. The wildlife seem to know they are protected - like the large turtlewho spent a lazy morning swimming with my girls in the lagoon. And even thoughLord Howe is idyllic, it is hardly precious. Instead, the vibe is super relaxedand friendly. Everyone knows everyone and after a day or so, they know you too.Everyone on the island, whether walking, biking or in a car, waves. Snorkel equipment lies around in a hutat Ned’s beach and is based on an honesty system. The fish swim right up to youin the hopes of being fed and are way too smart to get caught by young girlswith fishing poles.

The harmony that is Lord Howe owes much to the fact that itwas one of the last islands on earth to be discovered. Uninhabited until 1834(so no displaced humans), the real natives of Lord Howe are birds, fish andplants, many of which are found nowhere else on the planet. With a limit of 400licensed tourist beds and an airstrip that restricts flights to 36 seataircraft there is little humans can do to destroy this earthly paradise. But there is still tons of stuff forhumans to do and everything seemed easy to organize. You can swim, surf, dive,hike, climb, bike, fish, golf, lawn bowl and play tennis. (There is not adecent tennis ball on the island so be sure to bring your own.) Or you canhappily do nothing.

As for food and accommodation, there are three main resorts:Capella, Arajilla and Pinetrees and an assortment ofapartments and guest houses. We stayed at Arajilla and recommend it highly. Weloved the location nestled in a banyan tree grove steps from the beach. The staff is some of the nicest andmost accommodating people I have encountered. The food was consistently excellentand I loved the fact that the owners were present and engaged in our having thebest possible time.

Down the road from Arajilla is Pinetrees, operated by thesame family since 1848 and the original place to stay for generations ofAustralians coming to Lord Howe. Capella Lodge at the other end of the islandlooked very smart but our girls enjoyed being closer to the “action” at Arajilla.

But no place is perfect, right? If there is a fly in theointment on Lord Howe, it is the question of price. No Crowds does not oftenendorse really expensive travel experiences because the folks who tend to go toterribly expensive places are often not much fun. Well, that’s not the case on LordHowe plus some things are worth the expense and I would argue that it is farbetter to save up for Lord Howe than to go somewhere else. Never has the notionof no crowds been more delightfully delivered than on this happy, harmoniousisland.

Occupy Thanksgiving

2011-11-25T00:00:00.001Z

This year's remarks for our London Thanksgiving celebration:

I want to welcome all of you to theLondon encampment of Occupy Thanksgiving. – a movement dedicated to changingthe public’s discourse about holiday inequality.

So I ask you, should 1% of theworld’s population keep this holiday to themselves with their pilgrims andIndians and pumpkin pie and sweet potatoes. Hell no! For twenty years we havebeen out fighting the undue influence of America, and the banks, onThanksgiving. We just didn’t know then that a small turkey dinner in Frankfurtwould become what it is today. – an encampment and the center of a movementthat will change the world. And I have a message for Boris Johnson and theBishop of London. This house is private property and we’re not goinganywhere.

Many of you, especially our friendsfrom Germany, were present when we set out our manifesto– Thanksgiving is not just for Americans. Thanksgiving inequalitywill no longer be tolerated. It is a basic human right that should be availableto all. And since the politiciansrefuse to take on this task, my friends, the job has been left to us.

Now over the years, we have workedhard to grow our movement, as you can see, but despite our best and honestefforts, we can not keep up with those greedy, corrupt, fat cat Americans backin America racing ahead with their football games and parades and day off. NowI ask you, who couldn’t produce a lousy turkey dinner if the whole country wasgiven the day off to do it. We are the 99% who had to go to school today. Weare the 99% who had to go to work today. And, honest, hardworking holidaymakers that we are - we must go to school and work tomorrow. Yes, it is true.We are the Thanksgiving 99%.

And our efforts have not goneunnoticed. I have here emails from leaders around the world: Gorbachev hascompared us to perestroika, the Peoples Republic of China’s State News Agencysaid the thanksgiving protests exposed fundamental problems with the USeconomic and political systems. The Canadian Prime Minister expressedsolidarity noting that Canada has its own Thanksgiving that is fair,progressive and favors the vulnerable.

Speaking of which, we know it tookcourage to come here tonight. From all over the world, you had to endureHeathrow, the M25 and the District Line. You had to schlep oysters and chairsand pies. You have to converse and eat in battle like conditions. Health andSafety laws have already been breached and more will be breached before thenight is over.

But someday, when the history bookshave been wriiten and people from every corner of the globe and walk of lifetake time to share their bountiful tables with others, when children ask theirparents, “Is it true? In the oldendays that only 1% of the world’s population celebrated Thanksgiving?” and thosechildren will be told stories of you – the original occupiers - who understoodthat to make everyone’s life better, we need a global day of thanks where thevirtues of togetherness, cooperation and community are embraced by all. And sonow I ask everyone to raise a glass and drink to us, Occupy Thanksgiving, andthe movement that changed the world.

Rome Revisited

2011-11-04T15:47:00.000Z

I tell my friends all the time, “You don’t need to send me a masterpiece, if you have been somewhere great and have some useful info for like minded travelers, just send me the stuff in a list, or an outline. No Crowds isn't about prose, it’s about free spirited experiences. If you are short on time, just send me the stuff, in any form you like."

Today, I am going to follow my own advice because distracted as I am by home renovations, it would be a shame if I did not report on a trip to Rome last September which proved, once again, that it is possible to get off the beaten trail – even in one of the world’s most visited, arguably ove- visited cities.

June 2008 was our last trip to Rome. Not much has changed except that the city is even more crowded. Here’s what hasn’t changed:

1) The Hotel Locarno off the Piazza Popolo is still timeless and still our favorite

2) Frescatteria – a restaurant on via del Croce, two blocks in from the Corso still has no credit cards, no phone and no coffee but continues to serve up good food at a great price in one of the most touristy parts of town.

3) The Trattoria da Settimio all' Arancio (via dell Arancio 50 - Tel: 06 68 76 119) still offers a bistecca florentina so obscene that they have to hang a side extension off your table to fit it all in and if that does not appeal, everything there is good.

And what’s more

1) The Carravagios in S. Maria del Popolo and San Luigi dei Francesi still offer a thrill without waiting in line or paying a fee

2) The murals on the ceiling of St Ignacio provide a good proxy for the Sistine Chapel with none of the craziness of the Vatican.

3) The Church of St Maria in Tastevere with its dazzling Byzantine mosaics has loads of wow factor and no crowds

But here are some of the other places where we had a fabulous time with no crowds

1) The Keats-Shelley House on the Spanish Steps should be crowded, but it isn’t. While pandemonium reigns outside, you can enjoy the house and wonderful collections in relative peace and quiet. The most poignant bit is to stand in the tiny bedroom over looking the Steps where Keats spent his last days in a vain attempt to fight off consumption. Whether you are a fan of the romantic poets or not, the house is magic.

2) Villa Farnesina – The frescoes, by Rafael and others will knock your socks off and when we visited on a Thursday morning, no one was there

3) The National Etruscan Museum – Villa Giulia – a fabulous building and collection where we spent a perfect afternoon all by ourselves

4) A stroll down Via Margutta, a delightful street made famous by artists who can no longer afford to live there. Check out the apartment where Gregory Peck lived in Roman Holiday - no 51 (5) - pictured above.

And there you have it, some very rough ideas on how to have fun in a crowded place. So go on and send me yours – in any form you like.

Matjiesfontein – You Must Remember This

2011-11-01T15:05:00.001Z

A South African road trip delivers an unexpected 'Casablanca' moment for No Crowds reporters Gary and Lorraine

Most tourists who have been to Cape Town know the well-trodden Garden Route from Cape Town to Port Elizabeth, with its share of beautiful sea vistas, stunning mountains…and the attendant crowds. But the No Crowds aficionado will want to sample a parallel, inland route, known locally as “the 62” after the main highway it follows. The road winds through the Klein Karoo, a vast scrubland with the beauty and desolation of the badlands of the American west. It’s only the elands, impala and occasional complaining wildebeest that remind you that you are somewhere on the other side of the world by latitude as well as longitude.

Some 250 km along the route from Cape Town you will find Matjiesfontein (pronounced Mikeys-fontayn), a don’t-blink-or-you’ll-miss-it whistle stop, population 300. The town is literally in the middle of nowhere, with nary a settlement within 50 km either way. Started in 1884 as a rather unlikely spa by Jimmy Logan, a young Scot who came to work on the railroad, it housed a garrison of British soldiers for a time, but is today a perfectly preserved (actually rebuilt) Victorian town. Every building up and down the main (and more or less only) street is a perfectly restored period piece. The lovely Lord Milner Hotel with its dark wood, brass fittings and old portraits will convince you that you stepped out of a time machine 100 years ago. The impression will be reinforced as you walk into the back garden, with its bowling lawn, lily pond and (slightly anachronistic) massage tables under a tree filled with calming crystal amulets and weaverbird nests. A classic London Routemaster bus doesn’t quite fit the fin du siècle charm, but is available to transport people from one end of town to the other (walking time: 5 minutes).

The real treasure of Matjiesfontein, however, is a guy named John, who, like his father before him, has worked all his life in the town. A self-described “tour guide, bartender, sweeper and musician”, John led us through Jimmy Logan’s carefully preserved suite at the Lord Milner and through the gardens over to the Laird’s Arms, which can only be described as a wild west saloon. No sooner had the barkeep pulled our Castle Lagers than John sat down at the player piano, switched it to manual, and jammed his way through Fats Domino’s “Blueberry Hill” and any number of blues classics. Like Sam in “Casablanca”, he’s the real deal, and as much a fixture as the plate glass mirrors behind the bar. Next time we pass by Matjiesfontein, we’ll ask him if he can play that song the way Sam did, at the other end of this vast continent. Because in Matjiesfontein, I’m not at all sure that time goes by.

Sh*t Happens

2011-09-06T12:12:00.044+01:00

Godparents are much in the news these days, what with Tony Blair donning white robes on the banks of the Jordan River, just like Jesus, for the christening of Grace Murdoch. So I am thinking about my own godmother, Gerd, and what she taught me many years ago.

When I was six, Gerd lived with us because my mother was in the hospital. Everyday, Gerd picked me up from school and said:

“It is important to have fun every day. Let’s do something fun shall we.”

So when the email exchange below came in, and with my godmother’s words ringing in my ears, I thought, this is so much fun that it must be shared.

For every partner who needs an excuse for a messy house, for anyone who has ever thought 'shit happens' was just an expression and for anyone who wants to have some fun today, this post is for you.

We have had a neighbourhood peacock (actually pea hen, so not even
attractive) hanging out outside the patio door for a few days now, pooping
constantly on the terrace outside. Smart guy that I am, I decided to sic
Turk on him to get rid of him once and for all. The ample reasons why Turk
will NOT be nominated for Rescue Dog of the Year now follow...

Turk headed out the door, ambling by the peahen who looked at her curiously
and decided she posed no threat. Just to be on the safe side however, she
figured it would be smart to come inside ( while Turk flopped on the lawn).
I tried to chase her back out, but now she was scared and started to fly
around the house, perching on counters, bookshelves and other high objects
while trying to get away from me. In the process she is knocking over
objects, scattering feathers everywhere, and oh yes one other thing. When
peahens are upset, they poop constantly. When they are feeling calm and
peaceful, they poop constantly. I'm sure there is no change in behaviour
when they are flying, mating or anything else.

So meanwhile I'm trying to catch her, which is not easy-this girl is the
size of a thanksgiving turkey, and very strong. I'm trying to grab her and
hold her wings in so she doesn't break them, but there is a lot of muscle
behind wings that can make a turkey fly, so she continually escapes. Plus
she's clearly experienced at this. I'm sure she has got a rap sheet as long
as your arm (wing) with counts of home invasion, creating mayhem, defecating
in public and heaven knows what else.

Finally I get her calmed down enough so I can grab her (staying away from
her claws), take her outside and release her over the garden wall. I know
she can fly back over it, but I'm thinking she might not be that excited
about doing so any more...

I give you this story in all its detail because a) I know you'll find it
amusing and b) when you return and find feathers in the strangest places, I
want you to be sure that I have not been dating a feather-festooned gogo
dancer in your absence. I mean, imagine me proffering this explanation in
response to a suspicious question from you!

Love, me
Sent from my iPad

Exploring Jurassic Life in LA

2011-08-24T17:54:00.001+01:00

Laura Sanderson Healy, writer, reporter and friend describes a visit to LA's Museum of Jurassic Technology.

Tourists in Los Angeles herd like mustangs to Hollywood Boulevard to stamp across the stars embedded in its “walk of fame” (“Rudolf Valentino looks very much alive / as he looks up ladies’ dresses as they sadly pass him by” – The Kinks’ Celluloid Heroes). Cinemas still show movies there in the restored American Picture Palaces the El Capitan, The Egyptian Theater and Grauman’s Chinese Theater (I Love Lucy featured its collection of movie actors’ foot and hand prints). Aside from the prowling mad and bad, there is the wax village of Madame Tussauds Hollywood and “Ripley’s Believe it or Not’s odditorium to tempt those who wish to part with their dollars.

I have attended several fun film premieres with my family here. I have braved the day-to-day scrum of gawkers when I am of the mood to be hospitable to guests who wish to partake of this famous but people-choked strip. When a more discerning, curiousity-craving friend visited L.A. this spring, however, I led her by the magnifying glass to the Museum of Jurassic Technology, far from Hollywood in Culver City. Known officially as the “heart of screenland” (it’s on their recycling and garbage bins), Culver City is the locale where my most favorite comedies were produced – the Our Gang and Little Rascals films of the Hal Roach studio, the Marx Brothers’ A DAY AT THE RACES and A NIGHT AT THE OPERA on the M.G.M. lot that now houses Sony Pictures, and I Love Lucy at Desilu, now The Culver Studios.

My friend and I visited the MJT (http://www.mjt.org/), located at 9341 Venice Boulevard, and it completely blew her mind. It’s a real “cabinet of curiosities,” some real, some not. It’s for you to discover which is which, and there is a book “Mr. Wilson’s Cabinet of Wonder” dedicated to the place David Wilson and his wife created in the ‘90s. “The Museum of Jurassic Technology in Los Angeles California is an educational institution dedicated to the advancement of knowledge and the public appreciation of the Lower Jurassic … it provides the academic community with a specialized repository of relics and artifacts … with an emphasis on those that demonstrate unusual or curious technological qualities and serves the general public by providing the visitor a hands-on experience of “life in the Jurassic.”

One can look at a grain of rice that is carved and decorated to resemble Pope John Paul II, or learn what “halcyon days” refers to, with an exhibit of kingfishers’ eggs. The dark rooms feature all manner of projection and lighting and audio displays that highlights oodles of information about the strangest things. It is a temple to the weird, and there is a library within where one can study why Mayans had that sacrifice thing going or why animals can be so fascinating.

The museum is right next to the famous hamburger eatery “In-N-Out” and near the reborn Culver City pedestrian district where arts and restaurants make it a veritable toytown to those who want to have fun.

Image courtesy of the Smithsonian Magazine

Walking the Cotswolds

2011-06-17T16:48:00.002+01:00

What’s your take on the Cotswolds - pretty and picturesque or crowded and commercial? No matter what side of the argument you are on, you’re right. I can say this after touring for two days this week while the Editor was at a conference near Chipping Norton.

Determined to have a No Crowds experience, on Day One, the first thing I did was get rid of my car. That is an easy thing to do in Chipping Norton because this handsome market town has lots of parking. The next thing I did was head for the Tourist Information Centre in the Guildhall and asked the nice gentleman manning the desk for a good circular walk lasting a couple of hours that I would be fine doing on my own. He printed out an annotated map and sent me on my way. For the next two hours, I meandered and explored. There’s a lot to see. A lovely church and an amazing looking factory are highlights. I passed a couple of folks also walking but not many and I had a lovely time. The walk was not at all difficult. On the way back into town, I did pass a couple of traffic jams.

On day two, I became even more adventurous and drove to Bourton on the Water and again, got rid of my car. I chose Bourton because I read they had lots of parking, which they did but I didn’t like the town much. It was packed, and I mean packed, with busloads of tourists who looked a lot like the morbidly obese space refugees in Pixar’s Wall-E. But walking from Bourton-on-the-Water to the villages of Lower and Upper Slaughter was wonderful – meadows, streams and two of the loveliest places I have ever seen. If you are looking for the Cotswolds of your imagination, with the honey-coloured stone houses and delightful views, look no further than Upper and Lower Slaughter. Best of all, there is no place to park a big bus.

So here’s my verdict on the Cotswolds. It’s a lovely, lovely destination as long as you stay out of your car. The villages with lots of parking make great jumping off points. The Tourist Information Centres have lots of useful suggestions about walking and cycling. Now I am really psyched to walk the 100-mile Cotswold Way that runs from Bath to Chipping Campden. But I need a walking buddy. Anyone interested?

Gardens Galore

2011-06-12T17:20:00.001+01:00

What better way to experience London than by visiting its garden squares? But most of these spaces are private and not open to the public. Ah, if only one could gain access to these magical places, what a wealth of culture, history and romance would suddenly be accessible to London residents and visitors alike.

Well, thanks to the London Parks & Gardens Trust, you can. For one weekend in June, London throws open its most lovely, fragrant, intimate and historic outside spaces for any one to enjoy. And it’s a great bargain. For 10 pounds a head, you gain access to more than 200 green spaces over the course of 48 hours. Today, we managed to visit 9.

Highlights for us included the three-acre Edwardes Square, that was built between 1811 and 1819 by a Frenchman rumored to be an agent of Napoleon. This oasis of calm between High Street Kensington and Earls Court has meandering paths, a croquet lawn, a rose pergola, and grass tennis court. The full time gardener still lives in the Grecian-style lodge at the entrance.

We also loved visiting the beautiful and serene Islamic garden on the roof of the Ismaili Centre in South Kensington. It’s a little bit of the Alhambra right in the centre of London. And we learned a lot about the Ismailis as well.

In all of the nine gardens we saw today, we were generously welcomed by volunteers who are rightly proud of what they have cherished and preserved. For anyone who loves gardens and loves London, the Open Square Weekend is unmissable so start planning now. Next year’s Open Garden Squares Weekend is 9-10 June 2012. More information available on www.opensquares.org.

Mom, Henry Miller Was One Wacky Guy

2011-06-07T16:55:00.000+01:00

Today is Henry Miller's birthday. In his honor, I am reposting a story about how a mother and daughter spent a perfect afternoon at the Henry Miller Library in Big Sur, California during a memorable road trip.

“Look Eloise, is this not the most gorgeous, undeveloped, uncrowded stretch of road you have ever seen in your life?”
“It’s great Mom. How long until we get to our hotel?”
“Not too long, but first I want to stop at the Henry Miller Library.”
[Silence from the back seat.]
Don’t worry, it’s not a real library. It’s more like a Henry Miller experience. He was a really interesting writer who lived around here and a friend of his turned his house into a memorial to Henry Miller except he didn’t like memorials so it’s kind of a cultural happening. You can get a cup of tea and we don’t have to stay too long.

As it turned out, we stayed all afternoon. Eloise played ping pong in the garden with anyone who found it hard to tell a little girl “no”. We chatted with fellow travellers. Eloise met a teacher from New York and they discussed schools. I read “Travels with Charley”. We looked at books, the Paris and Beat Generation memorabilia, the crazy, larger-than-life crucifix made out of computer monitors. We sat in the sun and drank tea. On the way out, I asked Eloise what she thought of the whole thing. “Mom, Henry Miller was one wacky guy.” As we got back in the car, I imagined a much older Eloise, sitting in a literature class and holding forth on the Tropic of Cancer’s place in the American literary canon. Right then I made a wish that she would remember that once, when she was small, she spent a perfect afternoon hanging out with her old Mum at Miller’s anti-memorial memorial. I really hope she does remember.

The Emirates Hotel that Time Forgot

2011-06-01T08:50:00.000+01:00

Gary and Lorraine at the Sandy Beach Hotel and Resort. So how do they find these places?

Talk about off the beaten track. Fujeirah is one of the Emirates of the UAE, but one that you don’t hear so much about...primarily because it has no oil. However, it is probably the most naturally beautiful, with its own set of mountains (the Hajar Range) that come almost to the sea, and an unbroken line of beaches on the Indian Ocean (technically the Gulf of Oman, but the waves are ocean waves, not Gulf waves).

Nestled down the road from the new super-luxury Rotanas and Meridiens in Al Aqqah sitsthe Sandy Beach Hotel and Resort, a throwback to the old days of the UAE. In fact, squint your eyes a little, and you could be in a tourist court on the coast of Maine or a B&B down from Blackpool, with the year being 1965. Ask about wifi here, and the quizzical tilt of the head tells you that you are a time traveller who set the Wayback Machine to “back in the day”.

The thing to do at Sandy Beach is to book into one of the “chalets” or “bungalows”. These are detached little one-bedrooms and efficiencies (bedsits?), each with a very basic kitchen (sink, electric kettle and fridge) and a barbeque out front to grill your dinner. If you’re smart, you’ll stop at one of the Carrefours or Spinneys markets in Dubai before the 2 hour drive over the mountains—you can find magnificent food from anywhere in the world (we had Australian organic steaks for dinner, and crisp, fresh California blueberries the next morning). The beach, the pool, and the funky tiki bar await you and the friendly and helpful staff throughout will assist you in chilling out.

If you are up for a bit more activity, the PADI-certified diving centre on site can take you out to the reefs, or you can take an easy swim out to the small reef around Snoopy Island (locals have no idea why it’s named that, but any American knows instantly). Diving or snorkeling, your choice.

Finally, for those of you who haven’t travelled a great deal to this part of the world, there are certain times to come, and certain times not to. Generally, avoid January (can be chilly and most of the rare UAE rainstorms happen then), and June through September (brutally hot, both air and ocean). The rest of the year is glorious, and the weather will be spectacular.

www.sandybm.com

Missing Venice

2011-05-23T13:50:00.002+01:00

“Venice misses you already! crossing our fingers that we make the blog...”

Facebook wall post from Amy

Well, Amy, you are right. No Crowds should cover Venice, a district on the Westside of Los Angeles, California because it is super fun and surprisingly charming. Who knew? Tourists know about the circus-like Boardwalk and Muscle Beach. We go to see the freaks and the show. But most of us don’t know about the absolutely lovely Venice Canal Historic District (pictured above) or the delightful walk streets. We don't know that in this part of Los Angeles you can walk or bike almost anywhere.

Sadly, I haven’t a clue where you would stay in Venice because I stayed at Amy’s but I did eat a fantastic, albeit expensive, meal at the Tasting Kitchen on Abbot Kinney Boulevard. Drank a lot of good coffee there too. Mostly, I just walked around, enjoying the laid back vibe, peeking into peoples homes and gardens and imaging a different life.

And yes, Amy, I miss Venice too.

Photo credit: Wikipedia http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Venice_Canal_District,_Los_Angeles,_2008_02.JPG

A Meditation on Visiting Children

2011-05-20T14:52:00.002+01:00

When my parents come to town, I can get a little whigged out. I love seeing them but I want them to be happy and comfortable and I know that when travelling, stuff happens that I can’t control. Like the last time my parents went through Heathrow and the airport was having one of its ‘meltdown moments’. That’s not a safe place for anyone, much less an intrepid couple in their 80s. So when my parents come to town, I try to hyper-manage their visit and I worry – a lot.

Having just returned home after spending two weeks visiting my own children, I wonder; how was it for them? Do they get whigged-out when I roll in to town? Was I a good visiting parent?

Being a good visiting parent ain’t as easy as it looks. First , there is the whole role reversal thing. You are on holiday but they are working. You are in a strange place but they’re at home - a new home, not their old home, sniff, sniff. Yup, there is nothing to bring home the fact that your chicks have flown the nest like visiting them in their new nests. And lets get down to the tough stuff. You are there to check up on them and they, in turn, know that you are there to check up on them.

All of this is true. But so is the fact that you can experience remarkable moments, like when you meet your children’s friends and you realize that they are surrounded by folks who care about them almost as much as you do. Even if you are unintentionally stressing them out during their work week, it’s great to get a glimpse of them in work mode. Who knew they were so competent? How did they get their hands on such good housing without your involvement? And how did they learn to take care of their old Mum with such good grace.

So here’s my advice for being a good visiting parent. Come early and often. Travel light. Don’t stay with them. Offer to pay for everything but allow them to pay for somethings. Let them drive. Admire what they have built, on their own. Have fun. Your job is done.

Photo: Leland and I, after running Bay to Breakers together in San Francisco, a real highlight of my trip. Photo credit – thanks Erinn!

Osama and Our Response

2011-05-03T10:27:00.006+01:00

I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.

-Martin Luther King, Jr in part*

Yes, No Crowds is a travel blog. No, this is not about travel, but I wanted to make a comment about how some of us have been responding to the demise of Osama bin Laden and when this quote arrived, this morning from my wise Uncle Brian in New York, I thought,
yes, that is what I want to say.

* Despite the whole hoo haw about whose quote this is, it remains what I want to say.

The Dress Rehearsal at Westminster Abbey

2011-03-28T10:58:00.004+01:00

Last week, I was invited to a dress rehearsal at Westminster Abbey. No, not that dress rehearsal.

The dress rehearsal I was invited to was for In the Beginning, a performance event about the King James Version of the bible that celebrates it’s 400^th anniversary this year. The ever-innovative Bush theatre produced a “tour as theatre” or maybe it was “theatre as tour” – I couldn’t decide - that took small audience groups on a journey around Westminster Abbey, celebrating both the book and the building. Before you get too excited, this was a one-night-only event that took place on the 24^th of March. Before you get too sad that you missed it, let me point out three things:

First, Westminster Abbey isn’t going anywhere and you can and should visit or revisit this magnificent monument. This is how the Abbey describes itself on it’s website: Kings, queens, statesmen and soldiers; poets, priests, heroes and villains - the Abbey is a must-see living pageant of British history. I agree. Pity about the entry charge that has now reached an eye watering GBP 16. If you are cheap like me, time your visit for one of the Sunday services that are supposed to have wonderful music.

Second, the Bush Theatre in Shepherd’s Bush remains a great place to see new and exciting theatre and I highly recommend a visit to see one of their productions. Here’s their website.

Third, events celebrating the King James Version of the bible will take place throughout the year across Britain. Here is a listing of some of those events.

And finally, if, like me, you love a wedding, any wedding, a wander around Westminster Abbey right now is a great way to get excited about the upcoming events of April 29^th. The fact that you will also encounter the resting places of Henry James, Isaac Newton, Charles Dickens, Geoffrey Chaucer, Rudyard Kipling and Elizabeth I as well as Mary, Queen of Scots, makes it, as they say, a great day out.

Eureka, Verona!

2011-03-21T13:41:00.001Z

Before leaving the subject of skiing in the Dolomites for another season, a word about getting there.

We have tried it all. We have flown into Venice, Bergamo, Bologna and this year - Verona. From these jumping off points, we have rented cars, taken taxis and taken combinations of trains and taxis. If you want the bottom line after 7 years of trial and error of getting to Alta Badia from London, Verona is by far the best access point.

Its got an excellent airport that is big enough to have services but small enough to be efficient. The city is fantastic if you want to spend some time (more on that later). There are frequent, inexpensive train connections to Bolzano from which you can get a moderately priced, comfortable cab to the resort. (We’ve decided to leave the business of driving mountain passes in winter in all kinds of weather to the locals.)

A good local taxi company is Pescosta Alfredo, Taxi-Bus Alta Badia Tel: 0471 836393.

If you are interested in how Verona compares to other things we tried, here is a summary:

Venice – Good airport, great city but don’t go during Carnival and getting all your ski luggage on and off boats is not ideal. From there, it’s best to rent a car or use an expensive taxi service. Train connections not great.

Bergamo – Serviced by Ryanair. As they say, there is a sucker born every minute, but we’ve had enough abuse and will not fly them again so bye bye Bergamo.

Bologna – Good airport. Nice city but longish train ride to Bolzano.

If you do decide to spend some time in Verona, here are some recommendations:

We loved the Hotel Accademia, a lovely well run hotel in the best possible location.

You won’t regret eating at any of these 3 restaurants that offer wonderful food and good experiences with excellent value:

1) Antico Tripoli, Via Spagna 2 Tel: 045 8035756

2) Hosteria La Vecchia Fontanina, P.tta Chiavica 5 Tel: 045 591159

3) Al Pompiere, Vicolo Regina d’Ungheria 5, Tel: 045 8030537

Buy a Verona Card (1/3 days Eur 8/12), it pays for itself almost immediately.

Go inside Juliette’s house (as in Romeo & Juliette) even though 1) she never existed, 2) it is chaos outside and 3) looks cheesy. Inside is atmospheric and very nice.

Photo: Holy Water Font (1495) from the Church of St. Anastasia, Verona

A Ski Resort Where No Man is Left Behind

2011-03-08T14:13:00.001Z

If you have been skiing since before you can remember, if you like your slopes challenging and extreme, if you catch the first lift in the morning and ski through lunch and meet your less capable friends for dinner – read no further. This story is not for you.

Instead, this is a tale for all the unheralded fans of the great alpine sport who have been toiling away in ski schools and on beginner slopes while your friends have been wizzing around fabulous resorts telling you all about how great it was over dinner. Yes, you who have taken up a difficult sport at a late age. You, who no matter how cold, tired and frustrated you are, come back year after year for more. You deserve better and guess what? It doesn’t have to be painful or boring, uncomfortable or ungastronomic. You can ski in one of six Italian towns in the Alta Badia in the Dolomites: Corvara, Colfosco, San Cassiano, La Villa, Badia and La Val with the best being, in my view, Corvara.

I have written about Corvara before – in 2008 2007 and 2006 – and if you need information about hotels, restaurants and transportation, check out these posts as not much has changed since then. That’s part of the charm of the place. The region still offers massive intermediate terrain – 460 lifts connecting 1,220 kilometers of pistes across three regions of Italy – with few lines, good food, good accommodations and good value. After all this time, we even figured out a better and cheaper way to get there which involved a flight into Verona, then a train to Bolzano and a taxi to Corvara.

But what struck me this year was how perfect this resort is for a group of skiers of mixed ability, in particular for those skiers who often get left behind. In our group, we had everything from rank beginners, to gung-ho fanatics. There were skiers returning after twenty years, skiers returning after surgery, someone who first learned to ski in Morocco and mostly people who learned to ski as adults. In many ski resorts, most of the members of a group like ours would have been confined to a boring, small part of the mountain. But not in Corvara and the other towns of the Alta Badia. In this alpine arcadia, almost anywhere you would want to go can be accessed via a blue run.

And I offer as evidence the expedition we made together to the Church of Santa Croce; a day-long ski tour that offers some of the best natural beauty and gastronomy in the Dolomites. Our group set off in the morning, happily making our way from hamlet to hamlet via lifts with views and along easy to moderate slopes until we eventually reached Pedraces and the lifts that took us up to the Church of Santa Croce and its fabulous panorama.

After our visit to the sanctuary, we skied down to a man with a horse and old fashioned carriage who took us to a hut (Trattoria Oies 0039 471839671) filled with teddy bears, witches and the hardest partying Italians I have ever seen on a ski slope, where we had an amazing lunch of local specialties with lots of wine. After lunch, those who were tired took a taxi home, those who were not skied.

And here’s my point. Everyone in our group, regardless of ability, had the chance to ski from village to village. Everyone could particpate in a real ski tour. No one was left behind or excluded. It was for all a perfect day.

So the next time you go skiing with someone who says, “I’ll meet you for dinner” tell them “No way. We’re going to Corvara where, like Black Hawk Down, they leave no man behind.

Photo Credit: Gary Ransom

Costa Rica: How One Family Changed Coasts in Search of the Sun

2011-02-23T09:58:00.002Z

How to Find a High Season Reservation

We took over three of the four machines at the friendly Manzanillo internet café, searching, searching for a path to the sun. We didn’t know how far we could push the Kia in one day, and decided that it made sense to make a stop overnight in the Arenal area, which seemed to have a good selection of hotels. Would any be available?

Eureka – Dan struck gold on www.anywherecostarica.com . If we were ready to share a “junior suite”, there was a cancellation at four star Mountain Paradise Hotel. The website looked good and the emergency price was right. The website, which works via chat so that the entire interchange can be saved in case of dispute, was having more trouble with Guanacaste. The rains everywhere else had added to the demand. Very little available, and what there was didn’t sound too appealing.

Back to VRBO. Six houses/condos were listed as being available for our dates in all of Guanacaste. (There is a very useful tool on the site where you can just plug in your dates and they’ll show you what is showing a vacancy – saves loads of time in a situation like this.) I sent out my emails and within two hours had three responses back. Of these, there was one, “Tres Hermanos”, that looked as though it would fit the bill – walking distance to the protected Playa Junquillal in a gated community; three bedrooms, two full baths, and an intriguing-sounding third floor terrace that boasted views of the mountains and the sea. No reviews, but we took it, fingers crossed.

The Drive

The next morning we saddled up the poor Kia – four adults, four bags and various leftover groceries, all a little heavier for the damp – and set off over what was left of the road to Limon. Back through the cloud forest, and into the mountains. The axels lived through the potholes, we lived through the anxiety (no thanks to you, Avis rent a car) and the GPS held true. We arrived at Mountain Paradise Hotel (www.hotelmountainparadise.com) on a trying-to-be-sunny afternoon. Hummingbirds in the flowering bushes! Friendly helpful staff, happy to book us into the twilight nature walk! Dry sheets! Heated pool with swim-up bar! On-premises spa treatments! Commodious, impeccably clean shower room on a waterfall theme with real vines! Restaurant with what would be a stunning view of the volcano if it weren’t for that pesky cloud! Fifth Dimension and other hits from the 60s and 70s blaring over the restaurant intercom… Well, almost perfect. Over dinner, we missed Chena and Mommie. And, as we tromped on our nature walk leapfrogging half a dozen other tourist groups along the same trails, spotting the same birds, we missed the tranquillity of the Manzanillo jungle, and Omar. The volcano never appeared.

We set the GPS and drove off again in the morning, Guanacaste or bust. By noon we arrived at the gates of Tierra Pacifica and were shown the way to Tres Hermanos. Wow. I had somehow not realised that the picture on the web was of just the one house. Large, set apart, and boasting all the modcons. Leather sofas, an indoor shuffleboard table (!), even a TV. Terraces here, terraces there, and plenty of sun. Landscaped communal pool with classy lounge chairs. Secret back pathway to the beach (key required). If we were looking for a change, we certainly had found it. And never have I seen my family so enthusiastic about laundry – all our disintegrating cottonwear came out for a wash and a stint in the sun, as did we.

The Guanacaste Rental

The development in which Tres Hermanos sits is not all that developed yet. Buildings stood on perhaps 20 of the 73 building sites. Most lots were sold, though. At this point it’s kind of perfect, because there aren’t too many houses, and what was probably once a ranch remains much as it was -- perfect for birding from that third floor terrace. In the morning, there were frigate birds over the water. As the day progressed we watched mangrove blackhawks rising on the thermals, pelicans, orange-chinned parrots, white-throated magpie jays, cedar waxwings in from the States, grosbeaks, flycatchers. There were nesting Inca doves in a palm tree near the front door and rufous-naped wrens squabbling over a site on the back terrace. In the evening kiskadees flocked to the dead tree across the way. One evening, we looked down just before sunset to see two streak-backed orioles snuggled into a gently swaying palm frond, fast asleep.

But there this thing about being in a gated community. I guess it comes with the beautiful Italian tile and the modcons, but it made it kind of difficult to feel part of the scene, as we had on the Caribbean coast. I felt safer where I didn’t need a gate, I have to say, especially on New Year’s Eve, when it seemed that some Tico (or at least Spanish speaking) dignitaries were partying in the complex, and the guards were packing some serious-looking firearms.

Safety

We were warned repeatedly during our stay to watch our belongings, but I never felt personally unsafe in any way, and I think the frequent warnings were partly a function of a very hospitable people who would have been mortified if you lost your mobile phone. Pilfering may be “a fact of life in Central America”, as one of the VRBO owners put it – but you wouldn’t leave your passport lying around at a tourist attraction in London either.

Caribbean or Pacific Coast?

Guanacaste is a different scene from the Caribbean coast. There is surfing in both places, but you’d be well-advised to bring your board to the Carribean side. By contrast, if you ever want to learn to surf, you must go to Tamarindo. I don’t know how the waves are, but it must boast the highest concentration of surf schools in the world. If you can’t learn here, take up pinnocle.

Tamarindo has all sorts of stuff that Puerto Viejo doesn’t have, like souvenir shops with items you might convince yourself to want, shapely beach bunnies with no tattoos (or at least smaller ones), T shirts that do not mention Bob Marley, an incredible Auto-Mercado with not only tortillas but filo pastry, and the only overpriced and terrible restaurant we encountered in Costa Rica (except at the airport hotel on the way out, which doesn’t count). Needless to say, we missed Puerto Viejo -- although I must say that the entertainment value of the resident iguana at the overpriced and terrible restaurant was worth something.

Playa Junqualill is worth a visit, too. It’s a protected white sand beach, and aside from a much-appreciated café and a house or two, there is no building on the shore. (There are a couple of camp grounds, which is how Ticos tend to take in the beach.) Even at the height of the holiday, there were not very many people and by 3 January it was all but deserted. Scuba and snorkelling are available from Tamarindo, although we wouldn’t recommend travelling here for scuba or snorkelling.

More real than Tamarindo was nearby Paraiso, which may not offer a lot in ordinary times but over the New Year’s holiday had a fiesta each night featuring a rodeo. On New Year’s Eve, the crowd was buoyant and easy – young couples trying out their moves on the dance floor, kids bouncing on the trampoline, giant grasshoppers flying overhead (thankfully pretty far overhead), and excited descriptions of the ferociousness of the bull and the expertise of the rider issuing from the loudspeaker. In between bull riding were dazzling equestrian displays, complete with rope tricks. Every possible sort of person seemed to be there.

It was difficult to tear ourselves away from that upper terrace, which came equipped with a grill, but we did try one restaurant, Villa Deevena, in nearby Playa Negra, which we can wholeheartedly recommend. Lovely continental (European) menu poolside at a pretty little hotel.

San Jose

A few words about San Jose: they’re right that there isn’t a lot to recommend Costa Rica’s capital for the tourist. Very little shopping unless you are interested in a pair of trainers and some new sweatpants – we were told that well-to-do Ticos and westerners shop out in the suburbs at gated malls that have lots of American products. And the architecture is…functional at best. If you are just going to Guanacaste you may want to come fly into Liberia, which is less crowded.

That said, we liked Hotel Fleur de Lys (www.fleurdelys.com), which is pretty (lots of old, burnished wood), well-situated for the museums and within walking distance of a good Italian bistro (Roma) and a great Argentine steak house (La Esquina de Buenos Aires). We enjoyed awaiting our children’s arrival on the street-facing terrace.

We took in two of the three “must see” San Jose museum:, the Museo Nacional and Museo de Jade Fidel Tristan Castro, which is located at the bottom of the headquarters of Costa Rica’s foremost insurance company, INS (different Fidel Castro). Both have interesting displays of artifacts and a history of Costa Rica from pre-Columbian times. Museo Nacional takes a not entirely optimistic view of recent history as well. If you have time for only one, you may wish to choose on the basis of your political orientation. Museo de Jade gives the capitalist interpretation (“These jade pendants were worn by important persons”) whereas Museo Nacional has a Marxist slant (”These jade pendants were used by the chiefs to distinguish themselves from the workers.”). If, like us, you want to see both with a lunch in between, we recommend the lovely tiled Hotel Don Carlos, which also has a nice terrace looking out on an unusually attractive street.

There are taxis everywhere in San Jose, and they are very reasonably priced, so there is no need to have a car. The cash machines here and elsewhere give a choice of colones and dollars, and most businesses accept either – although we can only guess that you are more likely to get the Tico price if you pay in colones.

If you do find yourself in San Jose, we found that it was one of the few places that you could get a Costa Rican sim card for your mobile. Try the ICI (national phone company) offices near the cathedral. You will need to take your passport (here or anywhere you try to get a sim card), as they will need to take a photocopy of it. We found having a Costa Rican sim very helpful, although it is much easier to just buy a phone card if you have access to a landline.

Final Thoughts

Will we go back to Costa Rica? Yes, we will definitely be back, and we don’t say that about many places, given how many parts of the world we have yet to see. The luxurious natural beauty and the gracious people really make Costa Rica a special place. We would not, however, recommend going seat-of the-pants without a Spanish speaker on board. People generally speak English about as well as I speak Spanish, which is to say, with a command of a few nouns that are useful in food contexts and limited familiarity with verb tenses. Had the kids not been proficient, the experience would not have been as smooth. If you have a plan to begin with and stick to it, however, I think you would do all right without a lot of Spanish, relying on vociferous hand gestures and the goodwill that you will encounter.

We may have some arguments about which coast to return to, and I think we will be consulting the weather maps a little more assiduously next time, but we will be back.

In fact, we hear that they have a special “pensioners visa” that might be just the ticket in a year or two….

Lessons Learned on Costa Rica's Caribbean Coast

2011-02-17T10:22:00.002Z

More travel adventures from Penny, our No Crowds reporter last seen in North Africa, this time with her family in Central America.

You may come across a crowd or two in Costa Rica – but it won’t always be a human crowd. It could, for example, be a crowd of howler monkeys. Or hummingbirds. These crowds, I think, are okay.

Manzanillo – the last town along the Caribbean coast before the Gandoca-Manzanillo Wildlife Refuge, a 12 kilometre bicycle ride south along the only road from relaxed surfer town of Puerto Viejo, right on the ocean…perfect. I booked a house (www.vrbo.com), asked the caretaker to find me a turkey for Christmas, and considered our plan settled. When a second place, down the road and (as it turned out) over a river from the first came available, we decided to extend our stay and take that one too. Our farflung family (we are in London, with offspring on the east and west coasts of the States) would be together again in warmth and beauty).

We arrived a couple days before Christmas, after a 6 hour drive from San Jose along some roads that I have to say weren’t in the very best shape.

CR Lesson No. 1: Do not, under any circumstances, let anyone(this includes you, Avis Rent A Car) talk you into taking a “brand new” Kia instead of the four wheel drive that you ordered. But in any case we made it, through the cloud forest and along the Guapiles Highway to Puerto Limon, and then south along the sea.

The house, “La Patita” was everything, well nearly everything, we expected – burnished wood, outside living, right in the middle of the jungle. However, the only place to cook a turkey in the “full” kitchen was the toaster oven. Oh well, cancel the turkey. I was going to feel funny eating it in front of the toucans anyway.

Morning 1, 5:15 am. What the hell was THAT? Okay, I had just started Barbara Kingsolver’s “The Lacuna” (recommended reading for any Latin American adventure, and really, just generally), so I knew that howler monkeys could be scary. But I thought they howled, like “aawoooh”. This was more like roaring, and we seemed to have one in the bathroom. Evidently time to get up.

CR Lesson No 2: People rise with the sun and go to bed early…for a reason.

As soon as the sun was more or less up we snuck through the grounds of Congo Bongo (www.congo-bongo.com) to the beach. The houses of Congo-bongo, which are available to rent, looked comfortable and beautiful and the path to the beach is amazing: sloths overhead, every kind of bird and butterfly, frogs, crabs, and lovely, flowering vegetation.

The beach runs south to the town and then to just nothing to the north almost as far as you can see. It’s littered with… driftwood. Palm trees come down to the shore, and there are no buildings at all, just the occasional path from tourist lodgings or houses. Talk about no crowds – that morning, it was just us. And some sandpipers and willets, and a couple of circling blackhawks and a flock of parrots.

CR Lesson No 3 – Can’t imagine more romantic beaches!

Manzanillo village is a thrown together, one-story beach town that is somehow instantly accessible. The anchor of the village is Maxi’s, a multi-level restaurant and bar that seems to serve as the communication centre. Gringo-type tourists tend to sit down upstairs and have a meal (the food is very good). Ticos tend to have a beer and watch football (that’s soccer to some of you) on the widescreen TV, or queue downstairs for carry out to be eaten on the beach.

CR Lesson no 4: Female Costa Ricans are Ticas and male Costa Ricans and mixed crowds are Ticos. In December, many of the tourists will be Ticos.

Because the town is small and tourism a bit tenuous, an informal network of friendly and interesting people were happy to show us their paradise and help us have a good time. Because many of the residents are descendants of Jamaican immigrants, there are even quite a few who speak English.

Did we want someone to come and cook for us? Okay, we’ll tell Chena. Chena and her friend Mommie were waiting for us when we first arrived, cooking incredible freshly caught fish. Delicious. For Christmas, it was Caribbean lobster. Unfortunately, I’ve lost Chena’s number, but if you ask for her at Maxi’s, they’ll know how to find her. The songs Chena and Mommie sang as they cooked come back to me even as the colours and smells of Manzanillo fade.

Did we want someone to take us around the refuge? Omar would stop by. In addition to knowing the terrain from childhood, Omar has trained up on the local wildlife. He showed us how to look for sloths, and vipers, identified all those bird calls we had been hearing, and is clearly expert on medicinal plants (telephone 506 2759 9143). I do not often go walking with a man with a machete, and was interested to learn that, unlike a Glock, a machete has many uses. Omar really knew how to use his, deftly punching a coconut for its juice and then carving it for us and some passing hikers at Manzanillo point. (He also leads kayaking expeditions around the lagoon, which I was sorry to miss, and rents cottages.)

Did we want to go horseback riding? Michael brought a couple of his own and borrowed another, so that we could ride out on the beach. (Delicate, responsive horses they were.)

Scuba diving? Semi-bespoke lessons available at the dive centre in Punta Uva, a bit north of Manzanillo (www.puntauvadivecenter.com.) Snorkelling? The best spot is just off the beach near the phone tower, and equipment can be rented in town.

But here begins our tale of woe. Snorkelling and scuba diving require smoothish seas. They are not very good in the rain, and impossible when there is a lot of turbulence, especially here where the currents can be a bit tricky. And it rained every day we were there – usually all day.

Don’t get me wrong, we’re Londoners. Rain does not stop us. We hiked in the rain, biked in the rain, rode horses in the rain, canopy toured in the rain (try Terra Aventura or ATEC in Puerto Viejo), tried out the yoga centres in the rain, watched the surfers, who thought the stormy waves were great. We took in the inaptly named Jaguar Rescue Center (www.jaguarrescue.com), which actually rescues primates and sloths and is well worth the visit, but doesn’t have any jaguars. We were told repeatedly that it is unusual for it to be so rainy in December.

CR Lesson No 5: It can rain a lot in a rainforest.

We ate a lot of good food in the rain, and in beautiful places. Arrecife Lodge is a lovely little place that serves tempura-style fish and chips on the beach at Punta Uva. We had a great meal at a four-table Argentine grill, “El Refugio”, and a spectacular one on Christmas Eve at Pecora Nera. And we enjoyed talking to the proprietors --in this neck of the woods, he or she is likely to be an expat who came on holiday and, understandably, just had to stay.

True story: one (rainy) night we drove ourselves into a ditch. Within 45 seconds, the proprietor of a nearby restaurant runs out – not to worry, he has a four wheel drive and will get us out. 60 seconds later, a white van stops, the passenger jumps out with a strap that he fixed to our bumper. Within no more than 5 minutes of our having arrived in the ditch, we were back on the road.

CR Lesson No 6: Pura vida!

Good meals, rampant nature and pleasant people aside, we were getting a little bored with the wet factor. We played bridge and bananagrams at our burnished open-air tables with the house dog Congo and his hopeful friend, a rotweiller mix, and listened to the rain. We watched our resident howler monkeys, hummingbirds and butterflies when the rain stopped. No mosquitoes (we were told it was too wet for mosquitoes, go figure). But we wanted sun!

A trip to the internet café was discouraging – no sun for another five days, at least. In quiet desperation, I wrote to my friend Katharine, who was VRBOing on the Pacific coast. “What’s the sun situation over there?” Word came back that there was sun in Guanacaste, on the Pacific coast.

Surveying the house we had rented just outside the Manzanillo for the second half of our stay: “Paradise Found”, we weren’t so sure we were ready for it. “Paradise” is situated alongside another VRBO property “Dolphin Lodge” 200 or so meters up the dirt (now mud) road into the reserve, and wasn’t really very …convenient. The description on VRBO had mentioned a “creek” at the entrance to the reserve -- but where we come from “creeks” aren’t 3 meters across and shin deep. It must be gorgeous there on a moonlit night, but when it rains you are essentially trapped in the dark. We had paid for “Paradise”, but we were going to have to move on.

We had already been immensely lucky – Dan and I got out of Heathrow on one of only four flights that had left on the 19^th. But we were of one mind – time to press that luck further. Time to find a place to stay on the west coast during the busiest season of the year, when not only snowbirds from America, but the Ticos all head for sunny Guanacaste. We had avoided that side, as we had been told it was developed, American, and altogether too much like Florida, complete with gated communities. So be it. Sun. What could be found at the last minute there?

To be continued.

Can You Handle 18 – From 13 to 88?

2011-02-03T15:47:00.002Z

No, it’s not a math class, it’s a family reunion.

Now I don’t know about you but just the term ‘family reunion’ sets off my gagging reflex. It’s not my family. I’m crazy about them, spread out as they are across Australia, Europe and the US. It’s the idea of an organised get together –I’m thinking Disney or a cruiseship – that seems so ‘yuk’. Did you know that 34% of adult Americans (that’s 72 million people) have travelled to a reunion in the last 3 years. and that there is even a magazine that covers the industry?

But my family’s genome is decidedly contrarian and crowdphobic so our challenge was to find a location, undiscovered by Reunion Magazine that would be a good fit for 18 people ranging in age from 13 to 88 with a diverse set of tastes and interests.

Reader, we chose Belize. (Can you tell that I’m taking a Bronte class?) And here’s why.

It’s a tiny country in Central America (about the size of the state of Massachusetts, formerly known as British Honduras) where the official language is English. It has a small but diverse population and punches way above its weight in terms of what it has to offer: climate, world class Mayan antiquities, a magnificent Barrier Reef, over 1,000 islands, excellent fishing, diving and snorkeling, rivers for canoeing, and jungle and wildlife reserves for exploring.

So where did we go and why?

To the oldest jungle lodge resort in the country, Chaa Creek. What started as a farm owned by a young ‘counter-culture’ English couple in the 70s is now a ‘grown-up’ resort, still owned by the same interesting couple. Chaa Creek describes itself as ‘wildly civilized’ and that actually sums it up nicely as the place is, at the same time, both supremely relaxed and highly sophisticated. Accommodations are tasteful and comfortable. The staff is capable and charming and there are a vast amount of things to see and do.

For our gang of 18, there was truly something for everyone. Just take our New Year’s Day activities as an example. Following a hard night at the Blue Angel Bar in San Ignacio for the younger crowd, a large group rose early and took off for Guatemala and the ancient ruins of Tikal. Another group, including my parents in their 80s, headed down the Macal River in canoes, finishing the day drinking beers on San Ignacio’s main street, while our 13 year old daughters spent the day getting beauty treatment at the Spa.

During our stay, we also rode mountain bikes, went horseback riding, lounged by the pool, visited several magnificent and deserted Mayan antiquities and went deep underground in caves to explore the Mayan underworld. Chaa Creek even organized a special lunch for my sister’s birthday that looked like something out of an Isak Dinesen story, involving horses, champagne, dining ‘au plein air’ and an ancient Mayan site.

And so, for you crowdphobic travelers who think that trying to get your family together is at best an exercise in herding cats and at worse, a commercial nightmare, head for Chaa Creek Lodge in Belize. There are 18 of us who are sure you’ll have a wonderful time.

Photo Credit: Leland Hedges - the view from his bedroom at Chaa Creek

The Windy City

2011-01-26T14:56:00.002Z

In a rare example of gamekeeper turns poacher, No Crowds' Editor offers some great tips on how to enjoy Chicago in January.

I was back in Chicago, the birthplace of both my parents, last weekend for an important family event. I have mixed emotions about the City: I spent most holidays with my grandparents in the Chicago burbs in my late teens and early twenties. My parents had left in 1946 to find fame and fortune back East and lived mostly overseas.

First, Chicago is not a city you visit in mid-January, unless you have a good reason: your niece and nephew’s coming of age celebration or the Bears playoff game. Chicago is a very American city: brash and smug. It has everything: several sports teams, multinational company HQs, a thriving restaurant culture (we tried to get into Rick Bayliss’s place, but it was booked!), world class cultural icons (the Symphony and Art Institute, although my favourite is the Science Museum where you can board a U boat captured in WWII) and lots of interesting places to live and play. It is also the home of the Efficient Market Theory - which is a little frayed at the edges these days!

Aside from the family celebrations, my favourite take-aways from this visit were:

A haircut at the Medinah Barber Shop. The shop is named after the former Shriners HQs on North Michigan Avenue (now Bloomingdales) where it was once located. I have had my hair cut at Geo F. Trumper (Prince Charles’s barber in London), but this took the biscuit. The reading material ranged from Playboy to Charles Darwin. Free drinks are provided as well as TV along with Chicago history (courtesy of Ronald Edwards—The Barber). Needless to say the haircut was superb.

A deep dish pizza at Pizzeria Uno. My son, Mac, who is always hungry texted his frat brother as we cabbed in from Midway to ascertain where to get the best pizza. After checking in at the Marriott, we ambled over (despite the concierge trying to divert us to Giordano’s, a chain which also has a great reputation). We ordered a medium Spinach pizza (as Mac says: “I hate spinach but I ‘m told a Spinach deep dish is the best”). It took 45 minutes to arrive (as advertised). It was delicious and we could only eat three quarters of it. All this for $30 bucks!!

If you go to the Windy City, enjoy the culture and sports, but don’t forget to get a haircut and have a deep dish pizza. The Marriott is in a great location, minutes away on foot from the Art Institute, Uno’s, shopping on the Magnificent Mile and Medinah’s.

Medinah Barber Shop—3 East Huron (hours 7am to 6pm—closed Wednesday & Sunday)

Tel 312 844 1549

Pizzeria Uno—29 East Ohio (open daily 11 to 11) Tel 312 321 1000

Marriott Chicago Downtown—540 North Michigan. Tel 312 836 6139

Photo Credit: www.chicagomag.com

The Most Romantic Caribbean Beach…in the Indian Ocean

2011-01-24T14:20:00.000Z

Gary and Lorraine are at it again. This time in the Seychelles.

OK, in my next life, I want to be Gary and Lorraine.

It’s the time of year that anyone situated north of the Tropic of Capricorn starts to dream of warm, sunny beaches. Dream no more--seven degrees south of the equator, 1000 kilometers off the coast of Kenya is a group of mountainous islands that rise up out of the Indian Ocean. Neither volcanic nor coral atolls, the Seychelles are made entirely of granite, fragments of a continent that united India and Africa many millennia ago.

Uninhabited until well into the 18^th century, they served as a hideout for pirates and an isolated ecosystem that boasts over 50 species of flora and fauna unique to the archipelago, including a giant tortoise identical to those on the Galapagos, and the Coco de mer, whose giant, voluptuous coconuts are an eerie replica of the female anatomy. So much is this symbol of the islands replicated on coffee cups, bars of soap, tea towels, and signs everywhere that it served as a constant (and erotic) reminder that we were a long ways from the conservative Middle East.

If the landscape reminds one of islands off the coast of Maine (that is, if giant palms grew among the pines on New England’s granite shores and the temperature never got below 70 F), the culture is decidedly pan-Caribbean. The friendly locals speak a French-based Creole and serve up a mean filet de bourgeois, but in a testimony to the cultural mélange that comprises these islands, the driving is on the left and the barristers wear wigs, while the currency is the Seychelles rupee. We especially enjoyed the accepted phonetic spelling of French words (Keptin Lekip is the spelling for Team Captain—capitaine de l’equipe).

All in all, it’s a tropical paradise with a good tourist infrastructure and direct flights from Europe, the Middle East and points east. With the highest per capita income in Africa, it wistfully reminds us of what Haiti could have been. While we were warned to never leave anything visible in our car, we found it to be a safe and friendly environment, offering exquisite beaches, and mountainous hiking trails through rain forests.

Mahe is the largest island, with the international airport located about a 20 minute drive from Victoria, billed as the world’s smallest capital city. While Mahe is the largest and most populous of the islands, it’s important to add a little perspective. Downtown Victoria recently added a second traffic light,(that is, the second in the country) and we did get stuck in a 7 car tailback on the “highway” out of Victoria which cost us a good 3 minutes one afternoon.

On the second day of our stay we decided it was time to leave city life behind, and take the hairpin-laced Beau Vallon road across to the west side of the island. Heading southward down west coast, you will find the paved road ends at La Scala Restaurant. Go a bit further along the winding road (hopefully you rented a 4WD at the airport—most are) and find a small parking lot. Drop your car here and embark on a 3 km trek that alternates between virgin rainforest and exposed granite boulders with stunning views of the sea and coastline. The hike (good shoes recommended) reminded us of the Cinqueterre on the Italian coast, thanks to the rugged mountains running into the sea, but with wild papayas and pineapples replacing the Italian grapevines and olive stands.

At the end of the walk, your prize awaits. Anse Major is a gloriously secluded white sand beach, surrounded by huge boulders and rocky shoreline in both directions. Although it’s marked on most maps of Mahe, few bother to make the trek, and the rocks make it inaccessible to boaters. The day we visited, we shared the beach with a French family for part of our visit, but we enjoyed the end of the afternoon alone, taking in a sunset that matched the color of the bottle of Cotes du Rhone rosé we had lugged with us for just this moment. As if the perfect beach was not enough, there was plenty of shade from the Takamaka trees that bordered it, and the snorkeling was excellent, with a coral reef that started a few meters out. Oh, and one other thing. The last time we had been to an equatorial shore was in Costa Rica, where a similar hike landed us, hot and tired, on an equally deserted beach, but with an ocean that was the temperature of a hot bath. Not so at Anse Major—the ocean was cool and refreshing, but not too cold. Perfection once again.

How could you cap off a day like that? No problem. Head back to the paved road and drive less than a kilometer to Le Corsair, where white tablecloths and smooth jazz are waiting to sooth your tired muscles. Given its name and location in a half-timbered faux Norman farmhouse, who would guess it would be high-end Italian? Our red snapper and lobster pasta were magnificent, and the wine list looks like a 10 page tour of Italy, with wines from every region up to and including a fine Brunello di Montalcino. The owner, from Rome, does a good business—it wasn’t till we got to the airport a few days later and noticed the flight arriving from Rome Fumicino that we understood why he had to keep his standards up.

Discover the Toum of the Pharaohs on the Red Sea Coast

2010-11-15T09:14:00.000Z

Intrepid reporters Gary and Lorraine take No Crowds to new heights - this time adding a great recipe to their travel advice.

Most of us have heard of Sharm el-Sheikh, on Egypt’s Sinai Peninsula by now—home of exquisite diving and less than successful Middle East peace talks. Less well known is a former fishing village that sits just across the Red Sea from Sharm, known as Hurghada. A charmingly run down quasi resort, Hurghada has clearly spent much of the last 30 years catering to those from the northern climes. From the Air Berlin plane on the runway of the local airport, to the Finnish newlyweds who just got off the charter from Helsinki, to the billboards and shop ads in Russian, German and Arabic—the signs are everywhere.

At a fraction of the cost of Sharm, Hurghada also has some of the most spectacular diving and snorkelling in the world. The Red Sea is as deep as the Atlantic, and as crystal clear as the Caribbean on a fine day. The fish that inhabit the plentiful coral reefs are not to be believed. Simple snorkelers, we saw butterflyfish, trumpetfish, Napoleon fish, tigerfish and others we couldn’t hope to identify, all in riotous colours. Frankly, our heretofore favourite spot, the reef wall in Providenciales, (in the Turks & Caicos Islands) paled by comparison. Hurghada is also the center of a growing region that includes el Gouna (20 km to the north), a made-for-tourists town including several resorts built across multiple islands with gorgeous lagoons in place of swimming pools. And 20 km south is Sharm el Naga, a bend in the road that has no infrastructure but a glorious beach with arguably the best snorkelling directly off the beach of any place in the world.

But what we want to talk about is a restaurant. It’s called the Nubian Egyptian, a simple open air collection of tables in the midst of Hurghada’s New Marina, and it’s quite an experience. Most main dishes are grilled, but that means something different here. Order the red snapper, for example, and it arrives still cooking on a small charcoal grill the size of a shoebox, carefully placed on your table so you can help yourself as the spirit moves you. Likewise the lamb kofta and most of the other mains. Each piece was superbly done—best snapper I have ever eaten anywhere, (including rougets done in butter at our favourite Parisian cafe). And the piece de resistance was the garlic sauce (toum, in Arabic). It was close enough to a good garlic aioli to convince you that traders must have taken these recipes on all their Mediterranean trade routes for many years...but oh, the garlic!

We asked the proprietor for his recipe and he feigned shock—“you ask me for my secrets?” In the end, he gave us enough clues about garlic, lemons, sea salt and a good mortar and pestle that Lorraine immediately set to work to reverse engineer the sauce when we returned home, with excellent results. The recipe, my friends, follows below. I recommend it to you with two warnings: First, make sure you will be spending the rest of the evening with people who also like garlic and have sampled the sauce, otherwise the outcomes could be unpredictable. Second, should you make your way to Hurghada, keep in mind that a strange bureaucratic glitch in Egyptian law makes it nearly impossible to import wine, and the local red or white wine (with colourful names like Scheherazade, or Omar Khayyam) is generally undrinkable. Happily, the rosé is not at all bad, and makes a perfect accompaniment for everything you can find at the Nubian.

Enjoy!

Lorraine’s Knock-Your-Keffiyah-Off Egyptian Toum

Garlic, lemon and olive oil whipped into a pungent creamy sauce and slathered on fish, meat and vegetables is a revered and ancient Mediterranean treat. France, Spain, Italy, and Greece have all claimed to be the originators of this savoury concoction, calling it aioli, alioli, and ali-oli. I, on the other hand, am sure that along with all that gold, King Tut was smart enough to pack away several man sized jars of toum to ease the transition to the afterlife. So I’m betting that Egypt can safely claim to be the originator of this sublime sauce.

My attempts at reverse engineering always have two objectives: (1) How can I make this quicker and easier and useful for a week night meal, and (2) How is this dish like something I’ve cooked before, so I can beg, borrow and outright steal from the best with pride? Therefore thanks for this recipes go to, in no particular order: Julia Child (because before cooking any recipe I check to see what Julia says about it); Cooks Illustrated without whom I would have no idea of why mustard makes it easier to emulsify sauces; and finally, the unnamed chef at the Nubian Egyptian Restaurant on the edge of the Red Sea, because great recipes always conjure up great memories.

Ingredients

Juice from two lemons

3 – 8 medium size garlic cloves (3 cloves = mild, 8 cloves insures your safety from even Twilight vampires for at least 24 hours)

Coarse sea salt

2 eggs yolks plus 1 whole egg (leave out for an hour to get to room temp)

1 Tbl Dijon or other French style mustard (leave out for a while so it’s at room temp)

2 cups olive oil (vegetable or peanut oil will also work, though olive oil is traditional)

Equipment (here’s how I’ve adapted to make this quick and easy)

1. Food Processor with steel blade

2. Garlic press

3. Mortar and Pestle (some traditions must be maintained)

Preparation

Pr Press peeled garlic cloves (3 – 8) through garlic press and add to mortar with 1 tsp coarse sea salt. Grind until smooth paste.

2. Add juice of one lemon to garlic paste mixture, stir and set aside

3. For the mayonnaise base:

· Into Food Processor bowl fitted with steel blade: Toss 2 egg yolks plus 1 whole egg, 1 Tbs Dijon mustard, grind of black pepper, and juice of the second lemon.

· Turn on processor and let run for 15 seconds, then add oil drop by drop for first ¼ cup or so, a thin drizzle for remainder. (at this point you have a nice home made mayonnaise) – Julia says to be sure and not turn off machine till done.

4. Remove mayonnaise to a bowl, stir in garlic/lemon paste using wooden spoon; adjust S+P to taste.

Can be eaten immediately, but sitting in the fridge for 4 hours enhances flavour.

Keeps for about 5 days.

Photo of Toum from Wikimedia

Some Motherly Advice for the Perfect (Global) Thanksgiving

2010-11-12T14:44:00.000Z

Dear Sons,

In 1990, when we were living in Frankfurt, I received the phone call that changed our Thanksgiving celebration forever. The call was from my friend, Pat, who had just won a turkey, which was the prize for a 5K road race. What am I going to do with this turkey, she asked? It’s enormous!

We quickly decided that the only thing to do with an enormous turkey was to cook it and invite everyone we knew to a real American Thanksgiving. As we had the much larger apartment, we held the event at our place. I should add that Pat and I knew a heck of a lot of people.

That first Thanksgiving was a “succes fou”. The food may have been traditional but the guests definitely were not. Instead of the Norman Rockwell family pictured above, we had an exotic assortment of international mutts: homesick Americans, international Germans and lots of other nationalities drawn to Frankfurt during that ‘moment’ in the 1990s when the city was vying to become the financial capital of Europe and the American military had an enormous presence. The meal was big fun and completely chaotic. We had invited so many people that we ran out of everything, chairs, knives, plates but no one seemed to mind. That enormous turkey was the talk of the town.

The next year, we did it again. We invited more people. We gave people assignments and extended the menu. We developed traditions. Your father started reading Art Buchwald’s ‘Explaining Thanksgiving to the French’. For some reason that I can’t remember anymore, I started to wear an Austrian dirndl. Our Thanksgiving became like the baseball field in the movie ‘Field of Dreams’. We built it and they came. And then we moved to London – and still they came. And they keep coming. But of course, you know all of this. You were there.

This year, you will be holding your own Thanksgiving celebration in California. Of course, I will miss you, but that is not my point. I was going to write-up some recipes for you to use, but I realized - you don’t need them. You are sons of a grand Thanksgiving tradition. You already carry in your heads and your hearts everything you need to know about America’s best holiday. But I’m still your mother and I like to dispense advice so here it is. For the perfect Thanksgiving, what you need to do is:

Buy a big turkey. Invite everyone you know. Cook. Eat. Next year – repeat!

Good luck,

Mom

So Who Has Sisterly Chats Anymore?

2010-11-08T15:17:00.000Z

Back in October, the New York Times published the article WhySisterly Chats Make People Happier. It stayed at the top of their ‘most emailed’ list for weeks. I kept meaning to read it. You’ve got to admit. It’s a catchy title.

Today, I read it. If you want to read it too, click here. If you don’t want to take the time, the money shot can be found in the second to last paragraph:

So maybe it’s true that talk is the reason having a sister makes you happier, but it needn’t be talk about emotions. When women told me they talk to their sisters more often, at greater length and about more personal topics, I suspect it’s that first element – more often – that is crucial rather than the last.

But here’s the thing. With the arrival of email, voicemail, SMS, Facebook and Twitter, I communicate a lot but I don’t actually talk to anyone anymore. I know lots of details about their lives but I haven’t actually talked to any of my friends in months, some of them in years. If I am honest with myself, I have lost the habit of calling and being called. Way back when, I thought telephone calls were an intrusion. Now I get kind of excited when the phone rings or conversely, if I call someone and they actually answer.

Which brings me back to the New York Times. If having a sister makes you happier because sisters talk more and more talk makes you happier, then I need to stop writing this post and call my sister. But first I need to check what time it is in Australia.

See America Profonde - Just Like Hannah Montana

2010-11-05T16:42:00.003Z

I was comparing a trip to North Carolina with an English friend recently. She has a son attending Duke University and is a frequent visitor to the Tarheel State. We were both there during the UK October school break. And what did she describe as the highlight of her visit, besides seeing her son? Going to the North Carolina State Fair. The state fair is an annual exposition that has been running in Raleigh, North Carolina since 1853, with only a few time-outs for the Civil and Second World Wars

Wow, I exclaimed. We were there too. Didn’t you just love it! Such crazy food - deep fat fried ice cream. Weren’t the animals beautiful? I loved the goats, and the cows. Did you go to the pig race? And for the next 20 minutes, we recounted more highlights: the Demolition Derby, the Grand Champion turkey and the record-breaking pumpkins. We agreed. It was extraordinary. We loved it.

In listening to my English friend, I realized that the state fair had given her a real glimpse into ‘America Profonde’ – a view that few foreign visitors get to see. Without irony, she embraced the spirit that enjoys crashing cars, eating ridiculous food and racing pigs. But she also appreciated the young farmers who know a lot about farming and take excellent care of their animals, the bee keepers working hard to maintain healthy hives, the church groups serving up ham biscuits in support of good causes and the local dairies making cheeses the old fashioned way. In short, she found going to a state fair to be a great way to experience what makes America, well, America.

And I like the reaction of one of my daughter’s friends from Singapore when Eloise told her she was going to the North Carolina State Fair.

Oh my God, Eloise, you are just like Hannah Montana!

The Secrets of the Panda

2010-11-03T13:25:00.003Z

On the day after the election-to-end-all-elections, I invite you to forget Washington politics for a moment and contemplate the panda.

The giant pandas are Washington DC’s greatest celebrities. Everyone loves them. On loan from the Chinese government, they feature on the city’s Metro tickets. There are special Panda Hotel Packages. Fedex created a special plane, the fuel efficient Panda Express, to ship their baby back to China in a record 14.5 hours. They are a phenomenon. But that’s the problem. How can you visit the giant pandas at the Smithsonian’s National Zoo without having the experience ruined by the crowds?

By accident, we have the answer. Go during the week (and not during the summer) in really, really bad weather. Watch the sky and if the heavens open like Monsoon Mumbai, my advice is to rush to the Panda House at the National Zoo. We were there recently with Eloise in heavy rain and there was no one there. No one! We did see one other hapless British family wandering around but that was it. When the pandas were brought inside at around 2:30 for some biscuits and bamboo, we (and the keepers) were the only humans in sight. And to think that not so long ago, when the pair’s only baby was in residence, you had to reserve a time slot to see them. I’ve been to the National Zoo many times. I’ve seen the pandas many times but never have I come away so delighted and thrilled by the experience.

And for that matter, the rest of the Zoo was great too. The reptiles were repulsive, the birds pretty and the orangutans convivial. It’s not every day that a soaking wet thirteen-year-old and her parents can have a fine time together in a deserted national institution.

Admission to the National Zoo is free but the parking is expensive. If you want to save money, you can travel by either bus or metro but whatever you do, go in terrible weather.

The photo was taken by Eloise Hedges.

How the Stories End

2010-10-12T10:44:00.002+01:00

For regular No Crowds readers, here's how the Eurostar and Write a Novel in a Month stories turned out:

Eurostar came through quickly with a commitment for full refund and we are back to being happy Eurostar customers.

Moral of the story: use social media early and often to resolve customer service problems.

No Plot No Problem. Yes, I did write a novel in 30 days.

Verdict: It's crap but it's done

Prognosis: It could become something

Next step: Rewrite it

Customer Service, An Eurostar Refund and Mom's New iPhone

2010-10-11T11:05:00.006+01:00

"Mom, there is no more customer service. Now it's all about what you do when they say no." Middle Son

"Mom, you of all people with an iPhone 4. What a waste." Youngest daughter

The younger generation has a different and adversarial view of customer service as witnessed by the above comment from my middle son. But they use all these cool tools when companies don't perform and then supposedly things start to happen. So I went out and got an iPhone, right after my customer service problem with Eurostar. Inspired by my new status as part of the digital elite, I used state-of-the-art digital tools to advise Eurostar of my dissatisfaction.

And guess what? Last Friday, we connected. Eurostar customer service read my blog. They sent me an email. They responded to my tweets. I was so excited. They promised to look into why I hadn't been contacted. That is fine but let's not forget, what I want is a refund. Do you now understand why I was upset, why I deserve a refund and how to send the money to my bank account? I sent you those details as you requested and those are the questions to which I would like answers.

So what happens next Eurostar? Is my son right and we are going to have to go many more nasty rounds before this is settled or has social media (enhanced by smart phones) delivered a wonderful new world of customer service in which we understand each other better?

You can answer anytime. I now have an iPhone and despite what my daughter thinks, I'm digitally armed and ready for a great battle or great customer service. Now its up to you.

Eurostar Fail

2010-10-07T16:11:00.001+01:00

Cows or Eurostar passengers?

The editor and I took a trip to Paris recently to check on our apartment.

On the way back to London we had an incident with the folks at Eurostar. The background to the incident can be summarized as follows: 1) the editor loses wallet 2) goes to Gare du Nord with receipt for ticket plus passport but no ticket which he must collect from machine with the now lost credit card 3) we explain that credit card has been lost and show proof of purchase + passport. 4) too bad for you, says Eurostar. If you want to go home you must buy a new ticket for EUR245) We have no choice. We buy ticket.

When we get home, we write Eurostar a nice email asking for our EUR245 back. To date, no response.

Which brings me to the point of my story. Why maintain a blog, plus a Facebook and a Twitter account, if you don't use these tools to encourage companies to respond when you are dissatisfied? So I am deploying my social media tools in an attempt to recover what I believe I am due. I've written this post, I've started a Facebook page called Eurostar Fail. I'm tweeting about it. Eurostar are you listening? We'll find out ...

And if you are interested, here is a copy of the email you neglected to answer:

Dear Sir or Madam,

On September 30, 2010, I received very poor customer service from Eurostar.

Earlier in the day, I lost my wallet. This is, of course, not Eurostar's fault but you can imagine that it was a distressing experience. When I arrived at Gare du Nord with a print out of my reservation including my booking number and payment information, and with my passport, I was told that without the credit card that I had used to book the ticket, my ticket could not be issued and that to travel to London on the same train, I would have to purchase a new ticket for EUR 245. I explained that I could not produce the card because it had been lost. Of course I expected a sympathetic response from Eurostar. Eurostar employees said there was nothing they could do except sell me another ticket. They sent me to the SNCF as that was the issuing agency. SNCF sent me back to Eurostar stating that Eurostar could issue a replacement boarding pass.

As I could prove that I had purchased a ticket, as I had the booking reference and as I had identification to prove who I was, I found this policy on the part of Eurostar not to issue a replacement boarding pass to be bureaucratic and unresponsive to my already distressing situation. I am a frequent Eurostar traveller and did not expect to be treated this way by your company.

Therefore, I ask that you refund the ticket which I was forced to purchase to get home when it was clear to everyone that I had already purchased a ticket. The booking reference for the ticket I was forced to buy to get home was QHKGHJ.

I look forward to hearing from you.

If You Promise to Empty your Sandals

2010-09-07T08:55:00.001+01:00

Contemplating the world from America's industrial heartland, Penny, last heard from in Morocco, has much to think about amidst the dunes of Gary, Indiana.

I opened the sliding screen and walked out onto the deck – the breeze from the north was fresh, the Chicago skyline across the lake lit softly from the east. I had surprised the doe nuzzling the beach grass below. She hurried her two fauns along, as the monarchs searched for the milkweed. Over the ridge, down by the shore, a pair of heron landed. The sharp sound of a humming bird quarrel below interrupted the rhythm of the waves, then was superseded by the whistling of a freight train. Nestled improbably between the old multiplex of U.S. Steel and the new multiplex of Arcelor Mittal, I was watching the sunrise in Gary, Indiana.

No crowds here. Coming down from the interstate, County Line Road is deserted – a hot dog stand (“Depot Dog” serving award-winning Vienna dogs from a pretty red caboose), some signs for the National Lakeshore Park, more deer and the occasional circling bird of prey aside. There are some signs of human habitation at Wells Street beach – it has a pretty good refreshment stand – but the modest, well-tended houses of this beach community, Miller, are oriented to Lake Michigan and the dunes rather than the streets.

You needn’t come by country roads to avoid crowds in Gary. In fact, if you choose to come to my lakeshore paradise through the erstwhile metropolis, the scenery is positively post-apocalyptic. Much of the city has been razed. There are some fortress-inspired government buildings and an unenticing concrete convention center, and of course the steel mills and oil refineries remain, smokestacks steaming and occasionally ablaze with methane. Coming in on the Tri-state or Route 20, you would have to agree that Gary is a suitable backdrop for Transformers 3, which had in fact just finished shooting when we arrived.

Back in Miller, Lake Michigan and the dunes surrounding it, the ponds, the swamps and the trails through the woods, the uncountable species of butterflies, toads, frogs, grasshoppers, wildflowers, grasses…those are what have continued as the crowds receded. Crowds don’t come here much, to take a little bit of dune back to Chicago in a sandal, trample the fragile beach grasses and leave plastic and aluminum in the wetlands. How fortunate that most don’t find the juxtaposition of beauty and industry as poignant and thought-provoking as I do. I’m thankful that the crowds stomp elsewhere, as nature makes a comeback in my home town.

The Indiana Dunes Lakeshore Park (www.nps.gov/indu/index.htm), existing in the interstices between residences, train tracks and industrial conglomerates, is the consolation prize given environmentalists after they lost the battle to stop the construction of the Port of Indiana to the west of Gary. One might have thought that the “brownfield” site to the east, gradually being vacated as industry moved to more pliable labour markets, would have been more suitable than the close-to- pristine lakeshore duneland that was bulldozed to become the Port in the 1970s. The bulldozers came, but the utter unfashionability of nearby Gary and Miller has allowed some of the displaced flora and fauna to find a new home, cheek by jowl with the remaining homo sapien population.

We rented a lovingly –restored 1930s house right on the shores of Lake Michigan through VRBO (www.vrbo.com). The house sits back from the beach among mature cottonwoods. My favorite feature was the cleverly placed fire pit, well-situated for roasting marshmallows while watching the sun set in a pollution-enhanced technicolor. The water was perfect in late August – maybe 78 degrees, and changed character every day. One day for floating on a mattress. The next for riding waves. And every day was for strolling down to the dunes at West Beach or down through the pine woodland to Long Lake about a mile or so south, to see who was migrating through – mallards and coots of course, the occasional Canada geese. Of course, the migration doesn’t get seriously interesting until the autumn.

I hadn’t been back in many years, and was told that I should be wary of Gary, and of Miller too, but we were very comfortable. We certainly didn’t feel unsafe. (The neighbors left a good deal of equipment outside and lightly tethered, although they live in Chicago – there couldn’t be too big a crime problem in Miller.) The peoples’ palaces of the 1930s, the Aquatorium and the Pavilion, have been restored, and indeed the planters surrounding the Pavilion are now brimming – as they certainly weren’t in the 1960s when I grew up here. There is a reasonably good restaurant on Lake Street, the Miller Bakery Café (although the service could use some improvement), a very nice souvenir shop selling 1920’s posters about the trip to the dunes from Chicago (still less than an hour), and a Walgreens. For groceries you now need to go a bit further afield – Hobart or Portage have supermarkets, and there is a great farm market and bakery on Ridge Road, a mile or so east of Ripley Street.

So do I recommend Miller? If you promise to empty your sandals before leaving, I do. If we travel, we need to confront the brutal reality of the mills and refineries that make transportation and much else that we take for granted possible. And we need to also think about what it will take to keep the Karner blue butterflies, the red-shouldered hawk, and the tree toad healthy and happy as well. We need to think about how to make sure that the people working in the factories and refineries can flourish alongside the world’s most impressive collection of wildflowers, and afford a holiday or two themselves – and about what happens to their lives if the factories and those jobs go. Can’t think of a better place to contemplate all of the complexity of the modern world, and of the role of the great industrial powers, past, present and future, than there.

Photo Credit: Penny Pilzer

Transforming Family and Friends into Effective Agents of Guilt and Terror

2010-09-01T09:03:00.001+01:00

Dear Friends,

Thanks to Chris Baty's No Plot? No Problem: A Low-Stress, High Velocity Guide to Writing a Novel in 30 Days, I have committed to writing a 50,000 word novel by September 30th. That's 1,667 words a day for the next 30 days.

I will be reporting my daily word quota on social media. Poke merciless fun at me any time I miss my deadline. And thanks.

Kate

Off-The-Grid Travel

2010-08-20T10:02:00.002+01:00

Recently, the New York Times ran a story about five neuroscientists who took a trip to the Glenn Canyon National Recreation area in Utah with the goal of studying how the heavy use of digital services and other technology changes how we think and behave. At the end of the trip, all five scientists were singing the praises of Off-the-Grid Travel.

Great premise, I thought. Off-the-Grid travel just might be the next big thing. It’s exotic, exclusive, difficult to achieve. It won’t be long before Abercrombie & Kent will be offering Off-the-Grid safaris. I should do something about this for No Crowds.

Two days later, I am in Hertfordshire, what Wikipedia calls “a non-metropolitan county in the East region of England”. Hardly the wilds of Utah, but for a committed London girl, a great place to perform her first experiment with Off-the-Grid Travel.

My ground rules were simple:

1) Leave electronic devices at home

2) Drop off daughter at Lacrosse Camp in Hertforshire at 9:00 to be picked up at 4:00

3) Find something to do for 6 hours

And here’s the thing, without devices or any forward planning, I had an absolutely splendid time for the next 3 days.

On day one, I took a walk and stumbled on Rothamsted Research, a huge agricultural research center that is also the oldest agricultural research station in the world where scientists have been tracking environmental changes over the last 150 years. The center includes a beautiful 17^th century manor house that is used to house the scientists and students.

On day two, I ended up at the home of the playwright George Bernard Shaw in the tiny village of Ayot St Lawrence. Run by the National Trust, Shaw’s Corner (pictured above) is a great time warp. Much of his books and papers are there, including his Oscar for My Fair Lady. About that he had this to say. “I won’t say I’m insulted because no doubt they meant well, but I don’t work for competitions.” Who knew?

On day three, I pulled out all the stops and followed a sign to Hatfield House. For the last 400 years, the estate has been the home of the Cecils, one of England’s foremost political families. It’s a grand Jacobean place filled with inspiring stories and objects and one of the finest houses I have ever visited.

For three days, just like the neuroscientists in Utah, I wandered around and discovered things. It was fun. I paid attention to what I was doing. Twitter, Facebook and No Crowds did fine without me and I without them.

Off-the-Grid Travel. It really could be the next big thing.

Great Fakes?

2010-08-16T14:33:00.003+01:00

We are off to Cadaques in Spain made famous by Salvador Dali. We’re going to the real one. Not the official recreation that is being built in China for holidaymakers looking for a 'taste’ of Europe and not the unofficial real estate development, Cadaques Caribe, a reconstruction in the Dominican Republic.

“How surreal” I thought when I read about all those fake Cadaqueses in the Guardian newspaper but how fitting. As one of the most forged artists in the world, aided by the habit of signing and selling off blank sheets of paper, Dali would most likely have enjoyed the whole thing. But it does raise an interesting question about authentic versus fake experiences, and whether we should or can embrace 'the real deal'.

On one end of the spectrum is Las Vegas. According to the website Without Baggage, it’s the fakest place on earth with a fake Rome, Venice, Paris and even a fake Treasure Island – a fake of a fake. OK, Las Vegas is an obvious and in some ways funny if not a bit ridiculous example but what about Colonial Williamsburg. I LOVE Williamsburg and it too is a complete reconstruction, perhaps a worthier reconstruction, but a fake just the same.

So what makes a travel experience authentic? A trickier question than it first appears. Mark Jones a travel writer and frequent contributor on the BA Highlife website answers it this way:

“My definition is this: authentic places are those which are comfortable in their own skin. An authentic travel experience is when you get under the skin of that place. An authentic tourist is someone who is changed by a place and doesn’t seek to change it. Let’s celebrate them.”

A pretty good definition. You can read the entire article here and check out BA Highlife’s list of the 50 most authentic places on earth here.

The No Crowds definition, which borrows heavily from Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart regarding obscenity, is this:

Authentic? I know it when I see it, and the recreation of Cadaques on the coast of main land China is definitely not that.

So what’s your definition?

Will Travel Make You Happier?

2010-08-09T15:27:00.002+01:00

The business section of the New York Times ran a major story on consumption and happiness this weekend. To sum up the findings of a number of prominent psychologists quoted in the article, spending on an experience provides more lasting happiness than spending on stuff.

According to Sonja Lyubomirsky, a professor at the University of California, Riverside with a grant from the US National Institute of Mental Health to study the possibility of permanently increasing happiness, spending on travel experiences is a happiness ‘best buy’. She claims that travel provides longer-lasting happiness because unlike a new jacket or a TV, it cannot be consumed in one go. Travel enhances social relations. It creates memories that can be savored. Most importantly, Lyubomirsky argues, we edit those memories to put a positive spin on the past. “That trip to Rome during which you waited in endless lines, broke your camera and argued with your spouse will typically be airbrushed with rosy recollection.”

I’m not so convinced about the ‘rosy recollection’ part, I remember a lot of terrible trips very vividly, but I am sold on the idea that travel experiences create the best emotional bang for your dollar – or pound, euro or whatever. I’m thinking, in fact, about this year’s summer trip to North Carolina. I’ve been back in London for almost a week, but I am still happier than when I left. Why? Because I am emotionally satisfied. It’s not so much what we did in North Carolina. In fact, we do the same things every year. We eat barbeque, go to the beach, play tennis and visit Chapel Hill. The reason I am emotionally satisfied is the simple but invaluable pleasure of doing those things with the same people every year, a collection of friends and relations with whom I hope to be forever connected. Whatever it cost to get to North Carolina this summer was money well spent and a much better buy than the new chairs I was considering. I think the New York Times is right. Spending on experiences, particularly travel experiences, does make you happier.

Take Me to the Kasbah - Exploring Morocco's Atlas Mountains

2010-07-06T13:37:00.000+01:00

More from No Crowds reporter, Penny, on how to explore the Atlas mountains of Morocco in grand style.

From our balcony at the Kasbah du Toubkal, we looked across the valley to the summit of Mount Toubkal and spent our first evening just listening to the call to prayer echoing and repeating village to village. By day, you can walk in the mountains – with or without a guide, with or without a mule to help you on the climb. You can walk the 10-11 km to a “nearby” lodge above a traditional village inaccessible by car (and devoid of the sounds of cars) and come back the next day. You can arrange to climb to the summit of Toubkal itself.

But we didn’t find it easy to leave the Kasbah – why not just sit in one of the towers (your choice again – windows or open air? Wind or no wind?) and play chess, drink mint tea, watch the hawks and the mountain crows, listen. By night, the candle-lit dinners, romantic or gregarious – choose the spot you prefer. Figure out what you want once you get there – that’s what we did. It would have spoiled the whole thing to have too many plans.

We booked through Kerrie at Discover Ltd, who was incredibly patient as our plans changed repeatedly due to work schedules, volcanic ash and whim. And Lahcan, the ever-available concierge-and–everything-else at Toubkal made sure it all worked on the ground. Mule? No mule? Are you sure 20 kilometres up and down in one day with no mule? Did you enjoy dinner? Answer -- How could we not? (Lahcan had arranged last-minute accommodation, meals and lots besides in the village for a group of UK students trapped by Eyiafiallajokull – we eavesdropped as their teacher, finally departing, asked, all but in tears, “Is it all right if I hug you??”)

Are we allowed to say that one of the pleasures of the stay was the crowd we fell in with? Met some interesting people from all over, great conversation, great company – Sometimes just a small crowd is a pleasure….

If you think you are going to need some liquid relaxant, you will need to bring it along to the Kasbah. Set-up will be provided, but alcohol will not be sold or served. We really like our wine, but we didn’t miss it at Toubkal. There was plenty of intoxication on offer without …substances.

Also recommended:

In Marrakesh:

Small, romantic Riad Demueres D’Orient. Despite our late arrival, dinner was ready – little Moroccan salads of aubergine, zucchini and chick peas followed by melt-in-your mouth pastille. All in the candle-lit dining room, fire roaring, looking out onto the garden. Our room was lovely and quirky, the staff welcoming and genuine. Highly recommended.
Over –the-top luxury at Riad el Finn. Can I just say that I am now a fan of leather floors? This Vanessa Bronson-owned combination of three former houses was the venue of the birthday party that was the instigation of the trip. Multiple garden areas, including a roof terrace for breakfast and sunbathing, a well-stocked library, hand-loomed carpets everywhere, tea served at 4 under palms (and with terrapins), understanding bartender Abdul, two swimming pools. Many of the rooms are huge, with indoor and outdoor anterooms. Ours featured 20 foot carved ceilings, a sunken marble bathtub and those leather floors. With all of this quiet beauty – the sounds of birds and fountains throughout – and the marvellous food, once again I was not as eager to explore Marrakesh itself as I should have been. Just let me stay here!!

If you are going out towards Ouarzazate, we can recommend Ksar Ighnda, with the caveat that if there are any crowds there, you will be able to hear them. If you go out the back way, you find yourself in an oasis garden. It is less than 40 acres, but due to an ingenious and probably ancient irrigation system, you can find a typical morroccan meal growing – carrots, barley, maize, plums, apricots, irises, palms and then olives and herbs, until it gives out onto the desert. Overlooking all is Ait Benhaddou, a Kasbah seen most recently in “Gladiator”, and still partially inhabited. As for the crowds, avoid room 303, which sits in an echo chamber above the bar – although once awakened, we looked up, out our door, to a deep blue sky and stars so close that it was hard to believe that we were on the ground at all.

The Egyptian Museum - And a 3000 Year Old Scandal

2010-06-28T15:43:00.002+01:00

In Part 2 of Cairo: Crowds and All, Lorraine provides a game plan for tackling the Egyptian Museum and reveals a 3000 year old scandal.

A highlight of our visit was a trip to the Egyptian Museum.

Gird your courage to the sticking point and brave the scrum at the ticket window to gain entry. You won’t regret the effort, and you’ll feel a great sense of accomplishment when you finally walk away with your tickets in hand.

A word of advice, hide your camera in your pocket or underwear (and yes, the image does defy the imagination). A young woman inside inspects your bag and sends you back out to check your camera if she finds one. However, once inside, people were snapping pictures happily with no apparent repercussions.

The museum itself is a large, somewhat gritty warehouse, albeit a warehouse filled with priceless artifacts – a rare opportunity to walk 5000 years into the past. We walked down aisles past hundreds of sarchophagi, jewelry displays, and death masks; we admired a written tablet that we suspected was the Rosetta Stone till I recalled that the Rosetta Stone had been shipped to England and resided in a museum there. And therein lies the challenge of the Museum. Signs in English are rare, and we often found ourselves speculating about the meaning of the exhibits. While there are numerous ‘guides’ offering services before you enter the Museum, I can’t vouch for how knowledgeable they really are and would recommend that true history buffs check with Viator to find a guide, or the hotel concierge (if he’s more helpful than the one at the Sheraton).

Moving upstairs, we reach the King Tutankhamun exhibit. [Note to English speakers with limited knowledge of Egyptian history: The name is pronounced Tut (rhymes with hut) + ankhamun (rhymes with uncommon). Apparently, calling him Two Tank Haymen is the kind of error that embarrasses your partner and amuses other more erudite tourists.] King Tut (this is the safe pronunciation option) burial chambers reminded us of those Russian figures, where you opened one to find a smaller identical figure inside, and so on till you reached the final, tiny figure. King Tut was the littlest doll in the center. He was buried inside three gold covered box tombs, sized so that they fit inside each other. And inside the three layers of gilded tombs, was a solid gold king shaped sarcophagus (not on display) and inside of all of this was the mummified body of King Tut, the boy king, wearing the well publicized and exquisite golden death mask that is on display at the museum.

The 3000 Year Old Just Revealed Scandal

We learned that King Tut was a rather unremarkable pharaoh, understandable since he ruled from the age of 9 till his death at 19. His fame is all due to the grandeur of his tomb. In addition to youth, we’ve just learned that there was another good reason for little Tut’s less than distinguished rule. While we were there the Egyptians announced the results of DNA tests conducted on tissues from the Tut mummy (how wild is that – 3000 year old DNA?). It seems he suffered from a number of nasty genetic diseases. This is not surprising since the DNA results revealed his parents were brother and sister. Compounding the problem, the boy was then married to his sister. A sad, but perhaps predictable discovery in his tomb were two of his progeny - mummified stillborn fetuses – products of that unfortunate union. All that gold, and all that power, and no one seemed to have figured out the hazards of inbreeding.

A final suggestion for those who like to read books about places they visit: Egypt’s ancient and crumbling monuments are the tangible remnants of an ancient civilization; and modern Cairo, splendid, infuriating, and complex beyond all western understanding, is the proud recipient of a 5000 year old legacy. I often find that a good book can shine a light into the mysterious and exotic world of foreign travel. My favorite fiction books about Cairo are The Cairo Trilogy, by Naguib Mahfouz. In the period between WWI and II, we follow three generations of a family . For those who would like to browse even further I recommend www.bibliotravel.com, a website that allows you to type in the name of your city or country of choice, and then displays a wide range of books about the area.

Photo of King Tut and Queen (sister) from the Egyptian Museum

Cairo - Crowds and All

2010-06-25T16:43:00.003+01:00

If you are crowd-phobic like me, you might think that Cairo's not for you. That's not the case and No Crowds reporter, Lorraine leads the way on surviving and thriving in one of the world's most crowded cities.

The best time to visit is between November and March when the average daily temperature is 25C/77F. Right now the average temperature is 38C/100F so plan now and go later.

Egypt in winter so inspired Gustave Flaubert that he recalls it started his ‘literary pot boiling’, and shortly after returning to France he began work on Madame Bovary. Florence Nightingale, was sent to winter in Egypt by her desperate parents, who hoped that, seduced by the magic of the Nile, she would abandon her perverse interest in hospitals and find a nice young man to marry. The magic of Egypt did indeed inspire her, but not in the way that her parents hoped. She departed for the Crimean War after her return, and into history books as the Lady with the Lamp. (See Winter on the Nile: Florence Nightingale, Gustave Flaubert and the Temptations of Egypt. By Anthony Sattin.)

So it happened that last February, when Gary had work in Cairo, I happily made plans to accompany him, humming “see the pyramids along the Nile, dum de dum” while I hunted for bargain flights from Dubai to Cairo.

Egypt Air did the trick and we found it to be an efficient if not luxurious airline option. We spent a long week end exploring the city, visiting the Giza pyramids (who knew they were just 45 minutes outside Cairo?), and eating our meals overlooking the Nile. While I didn’t return to Dubai and begin writing a masterpiece, or head off to war, I do have some advice for anyone who would like to enjoy this hyperkinetic city that teeters on the brink of chaos and somehow always manages to survive.

Cairo is the second largest city in the world and second in population only to Mexico City; according to the cab driver who picked us up at the Cairo airport and drove us to the Sheraton Hotel, Towers and Casino. As always, we found that cab drivers are the very best source of local mythology when visiting any city, except New York, where language barriers or attitude seems to prevent any communication. With help from cab drivers, a group of enthusiastic school girls we met along the way, tour guides, and our own always fallible trial and error method, we learned a little about how to enjoy Cairo.

#1: To reduce crowds in Cairo, get up early and visit sites in the morning. You’ll never be alone in Cairo, but early mornings (from 9 a.m. – 11) are somewhat quieter, plus it’s cooler. Alternatively, the guide books suggest that late afternoon is less crowded, but the infamous daily Cairo traffic build up may well cancel out that advantage.

#2: Learn to say ‘Halass’ (emphasis on second syllable) which seems to translate as a combination of ‘enough’ and ‘ it’s finished’. This phrase is important, especially at the Giza Pyramids, where raucous vendors pitch camel, horse and buggy rides, and guided tours. If you don’t want to be besieged by would-be guides and other vendors, pretend you are deaf and dumb. We learned that smiling and nodding ‘No’ just encouraged a renewed, more emphatic sales pitch.

The 4500 year old Sphinx guards the entrance to the Giza Pyramids, and is also known as ‘The Father of Terror’. It may have been because we approached the sphinx from behind and from the elevated level of the Great Pyramid, or because of the oddly peaceful expression on its face, but we both found the sphinx less terrifying and somehow smaller than we had imagined. However, a ‘sound and light’ show is conducted several evenings a week, and I’m told that the booming voice of the sphinx does the narration. Though we didn’t make the show, it did occur to me that for those seeking true horror, the show might be just the ticket.

As an alternative, we suggest that if the sun is not too hot, and your shoes are comfortable; take a walk a little ways into the desert, feel the dry desert wind on your face, and sense the silence that dominated this Necropolis for the 3800 years during which the Great Pyramid was the tallest man made structure in the world.

#3: Hot, sun baked, hungry and thirsty, we adjourned for lunch at the 100 year old Mena House Hotel at the Giza pyramids. The food is good and the view over lawns and Palm trees to the Great Pyramid is spectacular. Don’t miss it.

#4: Stay at a hotel with a room overlooking the Nile – it’s an endless source of fascination though most of the river traffic appears to be recreational, with no sign of the original commercial importance of the river in evidence. We stayed at the Sheraton Cairo Hotel, Towers and Casino, where, despite their advertised 5 restaurants, had only one lobby restaurant open for lunch. However, our room had a spacious balcony overlooking the Nile and we developed the habit of ordering room service lunch, which we ate leisurely sitting on our balcony gazing out at the river and listening to the car horns of Cairo. Our taxi driver described this sound as the ‘song of the city’, and after a while it became a rather pleasant backdrop to our activities.

#5: Unimpressed with the tours (or lack of same) suggested by our hotel concierge, we discovered a web site www.viator.com which offers all kinds of tours and events, world-wide, ideal for the independent traveler who prefers to design their own itinerary as they go, but might need some help. We used them to book a Nile dinner cruise, which was touristy but fun. Viator provided an English speaking guide who met us at our hotel, drove us to the cruise ship and escorted us to our table. At the end of the evening, we were met and driven back to our hotel. Given the exuberant anarchy of Cairo driving, we deeply appreciated this level of attention. We’ll definitely consult with Viator again when we’re in an exotic location.

Our dinner show consisted of the usual belly dancer, which is not part of Arabic tradition but somehow has become associated with the middle east, and is therefore essential to every tourist floor show. We were pleased to note that Size Zero body type is not much sought after among Egyptian belly dancers; when these ladies twirled, the boat swayed. We did find the whirling dervish dancer to be terrific, if a trifle dizzying to watch.

At night the river filled with small brightly lit party boats, festooned with flashing colored lights, each capable of holding up to about twenty people. On Valentine’s night the boats were gaily tricked out in red flashing neon hearts, each boat occupied by a couple, who sat together while the boat pilot squired them along the dark river. Gary and I imagined that it was a big night for proposals, or at least (my cynical nature intrudes here), propositions .

#6: A word about Egyptian wine. Don’t drink it! Insipid is the best we can say about it, and unfortunately, it was the only wine we could find on any menu. While just about any kind of hard liquor can be found in any restaurant or bar, the only wine served was Egyptian, with quaint names like Scheherazade or Omar Khayyam. If you’re a serious wine drinker, bring your own (I know from grim experience that this weighs down a suitcase and always requires checking it but sometimes it’s the only option). Alternatively, you could try duty free at the airport when you arrive – though we didn’t think to check it out, you might find some marginally better choices.

#7: Finally, get lots of Egyptian small bills, since baksheesh (Arabic for tip) is expected as part of all exchanges. 10% was the recommended amount, and if anyone argues and asks for more, just remember to say ‘Halass’. A good quick estimate to help get a sense of the currency, is to ask how much a Big Mac, coke and fries cost in the local currency. Everybody knows the answer to that question.

Next installment: The Egyptian Museum + The Unfolding Two Tank Scandal

Photo Credit: Gary Ransom

The Flame of French Resistance

2010-06-18T14:42:00.002+01:00

March 2010, Paris

David Cameron: “Fancy a day out, Sarko? Call me Dave, by the way. Look, I need to beef up my European credentials. You need a break from pension reform so lets celebrate the 70^th anniversary of Charles de Gaulle’s radio broadcast on June 18^th together here in London. Bring Carla.”

Nicolas Sarkozy: “ Dave. I can do better than that. I can cover a Eurostar with pictures of de Gaulle, fill it with 800 former servicemen AND bring Carla. The myth, oops, I mean the flame of French resistance must not be extinguished. See you in June.”

While in Paris last week, No Crowds also took the chance to ‘refresh’ the flame of French resistence by visiting the Memorial to Marshal Leclerc, dedicated to the Commander of the Free French Forces and the liberator of Paris, and the adjacent Museum of Jean Moulin, devoted to the leader of the French Resistance. Both of these museums can be found in the illusive Jardin Atlantique, located on top of the Montparnasse train station.

Jardin Atlantique

Now, you would think a roof garden on top of a train station would be easy to find. Not so. To begin with, there are two entrances with free-standing glass elevators that, in better days, would whisk visitors up to the garden in the sky but judging by the amount of rubbish in the empty and sinister relics, they haven’t worked in ages. Two other possibilities exist: a staircase in the far left corner of the Montparnasse train station and an entrance from Boulevard Pasteur.

Because it is hard to find, this 8.5 acre roof top garden in the middle of a densely populated part of the 15^th Arrondisement is an uncrowded and rather magical place. Surrounded on all sides by modern high rise buildings, including the uniquely ugly Tour Montparnasse, the garden is filled with trees and plants from the Atlantic area of France. The space is a surprising urban oasis that is perfect for children who love the many hiding places and views down onto the train tracks and station through the ventilation shafts.

The Memorial of Marshal Leclerc Hauteclocque and of the Liberation of Paris and the Museum Jean Moulin

OK, the name is a mouthful, but this museum, which is actually two exhibitions in one building which tells the story of France’s experience in World War II through the eyes of two very different Frenchmen. Marshal Leclerc was the Commander who led the 2^nd Armored division that liberated Paris from the Germans (‘aided’ by the Americans as they put it) while Jean Moulin was a French government official tortured and executed by the Germans who is considered the father of the Resistance. Both museums have large collections of photographs, documents and film from the period. Unlike most museums in France, many documents and explanations have been translated into several languages, including English. The museum is well-curated, empty and the permanent collection is free. During our visit, a French school group joined us briefly. Otherwise we had the building entirely to ourselves. Closed Mondays.

Now, at first I thought it was a weakness that this memorial/museum presents a view of the resistance and liberation not universally shared by all historians. But increasingly during my visit, I came to appreciate what Charles de Gaulle and his compatriots were able to pull off with little more than rousing oratory and good political instincts and after a visit to The Memorial of Marshal Leclerc Hautelocque and of the Liberation of Paris and the Museum Jean Moulin I know exactly why Dave and Sarko are so keen to share in the warm glow of de Gaulle’s inspiring London broadcast to the people of France.

Recipease - Where No Crowds Learns to Cook Like Jamie

2010-06-08T17:32:00.002+01:00

Jamie Oliver. What a brand. What an empire. You can eat in his restaurants, watch his shows, buy his books, support his campaigns and download his iPhone apps. Does the guy ever sleep? I’ve often wondered what all the fuss was about until last night when I joined a group of friends at Recipease – Jamie’s community based food ‘happening’ in south London – and got the religion.

The idea was both fun and simple. We assembled a group of friends, picked from a list of dishes (we chose Thai Green Curry), grabbed a glass of wine and started cooking the fresh ingredients that had been assembled for us. An energetic, Jamie-like professional chef guided us along using a combination of skill, humour and charm. At the end of the class, we got to sit together around a table and eat what we prepared. And all for the price of what we would have spent for an ordinary meal at an unmemorable restaurant. While we were part of an evening group event, Recipease also offers classes for individuals and couples at different times during the day.

According to the website, Recipease was conceived as a community based food emporium where everyone can get involved with food, no matter what your ambition level, starting position or finances. And here’s the thing. The concept is delivered in a fresh and original way and it works. The place looks and feels welcoming. The products are appealing and fairly priced – and in London, that’s huge. The staff has the kind of energy that only comes from people who believe in what they are doing. Best of all, Recipease absolutely proves the point that good cooking can be big fun.

For locals, Recipease delivers a welcome change from the standard restaurant hustle and hassle. For fans of Jamie Oliver from all over the world, Recipease delivers an interesting opportunity to experience Jamie’s food revolution first hand and visitors to London can use the easy-to-use online booking system to plan and book ahead of a visit.

Travel Advice for the Class of 2010 - and their parents

2010-05-11T16:15:00.001+01:00

When my son graduated from business school in 2008 with plans to travel around the world and then find a job, I gave him sound advice.

“Son, we’re heading in to a really bad recession. You have only experienced boom markets. You have no idea what is about to happen. Under no circumstances should you take off now and see the world. Times are too tough. Why put all your hard work at risk. Trust me.”

And his reply? “Thanks, Mom. See you in 6 months.”

The conclusion to this story is instructive. The young man in question went around the world, had countless amazing experiences, came back, struggled for a short while and then got himself an excellent job

So here is my top travel tip for members of the Class of 2010.

Ignore your well-intended relatives and their advice as well as your own worries about earning a living. Take that trip. Go walkabout. Go (deeper) in to debt if you must. You have the rest of your life to pay it off. I don’t think it makes a huge difference where you go. Just go.

Now if you are a parent of a member of the Class of 2010, and you have bought into the idea that this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for your graduate, then here are some suggestions for a graduation present that may be imprudent but will never be forgotten.

A train ticket on either the 6,000 mile Trans-Siberian Express from Moscow to Beijing or the Ghan in Australia - 2,980 miles in 54 hours from Adelaide to Darwin

A trip with either Global Volunteers – a well established organization offering the opportunity to live with locals and work on service programs or Relief Riders International providing humanitarian, medical and educational missions on horseback

A copy of Bill Bryson’s A Walk in the Woods, a budget of $3,000 - $5,000 and 5 – 7 months to hike the 2,000 mile Appalachian Trail

For far less money and time, tackle the 71 mile Apolobamba Trek in Bolivia – part of the ancient road network of the Inca, without crowds, where less than $40 a day will get you a guide, a burro and accommodation and transport to and from La Paz

And I add this last suggestion just to make every mother’s blood run cold – a copy of Patrick Symmes’, Chasing Che: A Motorcycle Journey in Search of the Guevara Legend – a travelogue that recreates Che’s eight month motorcycle ride through South America - and how about a nice BMW?

Graduates of the Class of 2010 – off you go!

Dash to Marrakech

2010-05-04T09:12:00.007+01:00

This just in - from a first time No Crowds reporter with a tale of travel defiance and derring do - plus hot tips on how to show a determined volcano who's boss.

Dear Kate –

My advice is that if you really want to see Morocco with no crowds, go while a volcano has closed all the European airports. Some of the places we went to wouldn’t have had crowds in any event – but for mostly empty, try it during a volcano.

You asked for our “getting out of the UK while volcanoes erupt” story and here it is:

We awoke on Thursday morning, 15 April, to the news that all UK airports had been closed. This was not good news because we had Easyjet tickets leaving the next day for Marrakech. Our plans were to spend the next week visiting the desert and the mountains of Morocco, ending up back in Marrakech the following weekend for a friend’s 60^th birthday party. By Thursday afternoon, it was becoming clear that European airspace would be more closed, not more open, the following day. And we would not be able to get to that tent at the edge of the Sahara on Sunday night if we weren’t in Morocco by Saturday morning.

I might have accepted our fate, but Dan is made of sterner stuff. We were going to be in Morocco, somewhere, on Saturday morning. That was that. The Eurostar website crashed repeatedly as he tried to get tickets to Paris, and then even to Brussels. We thought about heading for the ferries, but word was that it was chaos in Dover and Southampton. Dan conscripted his co-workers into service, and the redoubtable Claire called her mother in France – ‘”Lille”, came the response (with, as Claire relates, much Gallic shrugging of shoulders) try Lille.

Sure enough – should I share this? I hear that Iceland has a bigger volcano than Eyjafjallajokull so we may need to keep this secret – when we went in to book Eurostar tickets to Lille only, we got through. We were able to book the 5:40 am Brussels Eurostar to Lille! From there, we booked TGV Lille to Paris and Paris to Marseilles. The Marseilles airport was still open. The Air Maroc website showed seats available on the 9:30 pm to Casablanca, with a connection to Marrakech, so we bought them. Now all we had to do is actually make our connections and outrace the ash cloud to the south of France. (Contingency plan – night trains through Spain, ferry from there.)

St Pancras at 5 am Friday 16^th April was unusually crowded for the time of day, but not as bad as it was to become throughout the weekend. Little known Eurostar fact: they apparently allow more people on than technically have seats. There were people sitting in the luggage compartments and in the jump-seats by the lavatories. They did not look unhappy – It beats swimming the channel.

Things were also pretty calm in Lille when we arrived at 9:30 (having lost an hour of time), and in fact we were able to change our 11 am connection to a 10 am train into Paris.

Gare du Nord at 11:10 am was a bit of a scene, but could have been worse -- we made it out to the taxi ranks outside, across the street and to the southeast (not the infamous rank to the right coming out of the Eurostar that you have to wait at forever) and headed for Gare de Lyon.

The situation there was not for a “no crowds” blog – complicated no doubt by the fact that the eruption was being celebrated by a train strike. The Paris airport had by this time closed. I’ll hand it to Gare de Lyon – they had staff stationed at the edge of the ticket queues discouraging people, especially order-loving Brits and Americans, from getting in them. We explained that we wanted to exchange our tickets for the 3:15 train for the 1:15 to Marseilles. “Just get on,” they advised.

So, when the track number was identified, we joined the surging herds climbing into the cars. Dan found a ticketmaster, who assured us that the train was ‘complet’, and that we should get off – but we observed that we were far from alone in skulking about, obviously without proper tickets. Following the advice of a well-dressed fellow skulker, we settled ourselves into two very comfortable and roomy seats in first class as the train started moving. What were they going to do? Throw us into the Provencal countryside at 300 km per hour?

Little known fact about the TGV – they did nothing. They didn’t even ask for a ticket. So we went first class from Paris to Marseilles holding a second class ticket for a different train. As Dan says, “Hey, this is the best train ever!”

Another taxi ride at 5 pm to the Marseilles airport – which might actually be closer to the Aix stop, but in any case, we were there in time to beg for a place on the 7:30 flight, direct to Marrakech. Seats were available, they said, but our ticket could not be exchanged because that facility is available only by phone. We pointed out that their phone line at that point simply said to call back. They said maybe Air France could do the ticketing for them, but in the event Air France could not exchange tickets – only sell new ones. We did not want to buy a third set of tickets to Marrakech. This posed a dilemma because there were web reports that the Spanish airports were about to close, which meant that Marseilles, too, might close before we got on our scheduled 9:30 flight to Casablanca. (The Marseilles airport, by the way, given that it was the only airport in France that remained open, was remarkably calm).

To make an already too-long story a bit shorter, 15 minutes before flight time, the Air Maroc stationmaster dropped by the ticket desk, and agreeably changed our ticket to the 7:30 flight, which proceeded to take off – and land -- in Marrakech as scheduled. Hoorah! We made it to our Riad just a couple of hours later than we would have on Easyjet (had it flown!) – and we had made a journey, not simply stepped off the airplane into another world. We also got a chance to practice our French, and reflect on the history of France and North Africa, St Exupery, etc.

That said, we were just as happy, ten days later, to take that non-stop Easyjet flight back to Gatwick.

Yours in travels and travails,

Penny

North by No Crowds: Adventures off California's Highways

2010-04-23T12:28:00.006+01:00

Road Trip. In America, those are magic words. The open road is the American Dream. You can go where you want, when you want, how you want. It’s up to you. You make it happen. To experience America, take a road trip. For the ultimate road trip, make it Highway 1. Here’s what we had to say about this fabled road in 2008:

“There is a saying that a well-loved child has many names. The same can be said about one of America’s best loved highways, State Route 1 in California, aka Highway 1 or Pacific Coast Highway or, as locals call it, the PCH. No matter what it is called, this 655 mile stretch of tarmac, which starts south of Los Angeles in Orange County and ends north of San Francisco in Mendocino County, is the most beautiful, dramatic and inspiring coastline in the United States. That’s a bold statement but I doubt anyone who has driven this road will argue.”

Having already done the LA to San Francisco stretch of the PCH, we were eager to tackle the road north of San Francisco all the way to the Redwood State and National Parks. It’s an area known for spectacular scenery, good food, offbeat residents and no crowds. That sounded pretty good to us, a travelling trio consisting of my husband, our 12-year old-daughter and me.

We had rented a cheap little car (save where you can) but Hertz saw fit to give us a grand luxury coupe. Thanks. This Super Cruiser was way too cool for us. It took 30 minutes and both of us reading the manual just to get it started, but, having gotten over that hurdle, it was smooth sailing – and super fun driving.

We had been warned that some stretches of the PCH north of San Francisco could be both tedious and treacherous so we modified our original idea of a stately drive north. Instead, we raced north on Highway 101 for 5 ½ hours to Trinidad, just south of the Redwood National Park and then spent 5 leisurely days meandering back south. We travelled along the Avenue of the Giants – a 32-mile, 2 lane road under the canopy of the Redwoods, the PCH from Leggett to Albion and then Route 128 through Sonoma wine country to Healdsburg and back on 101 to San Francisco.

The Redwood Coast

Much has been said about the experience of standing under trees that soar 300 feet in the sky that predate the Roman Empire. Muir Woods, an old-growth coastal redwood forest 12 miles outside San Francisco is what most people get to see. It’s a wonderful place but you have to fight for a parking space and share the grandeur with busloads of tourists.

In the Redwood National and State Parks, on the other hand, you can see these wonders of nature in complete solitude. We hiked for hours without seeing anyone. Of the parks in the area, our favorite is Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park that has lots of well-marked trails, a visitor’s center, Fern Canyon and Gold Bluff Beach. We also spent a glorious afternoon at nearby Patrick’s Point State Park hiking, climbing rock formations and searching for stones on Agate Beach. The only folks we saw all afternoon were some local surfers. Pure No Crowds bliss.

To stay near the redwoods, we recommend the Lost Whale Inn in Trinidad. The setting is secluded, the views spectacular. Rooms are large and nicely appointed. The breakfast and complimentary afternoon refreshments are generous and delicious. The innkeepers were welcoming and there is something to be said about waking up each morning to the sound of barking sea lions. We were disappointed that the steps down to the inn’s private beach were closed because of damage from winter storms. The innkeepers say they are working hard to get them repaired.

Heading south from Trinidad, we spent an interesting evening in Arcata, long considered Northern California’s (and therefore America’s) most progressive town. It’s part college town, part Cheech and Chong installation and here’s a factoid I just love about the place. Back in 2003, Arcata’s City Council voted to outlaw compliance with the US Patriot Act. Way to go Arcata! If you like Japanese food, Tomo, located in the Arcata Hotel on the plaza serves very good sushi.

We also spent a pleasant afternoon wandering around Ferndale, a wonderfully preserved Victorian village. There are lots of charming houses and some fun galleries and shops. We loved visiting the Blacksmith Shop and Gallery, established in 1979 by Joe Koches, whose goal is to offer the public “the finest collection of master blacksmithing in the U.S.” It’s not stuff that easily fits in your carry on but the shop is happy to ship and the items are beautiful.

The Mendocino Coast

After an impressive drive through the redwoods on the Avenue of the Giants and a spectacular stretch of the PCH, we arrived in Mendocino. The place reminded us of the island of Nantucket in Massachusetts and no wonder, transported New Englanders built it. Filled with saltbox cottages and rose covered picket fences, the town exudes picturesque charm but like Nantucket, is a victim of its own success with high prices and too many shops hawking t-shirts. But with that said, we loved the atmosphere and particularly loved rambling along the dramatic 2-mile stretch of sea cliffs that surround the town.

In Mendocino, we stayed at the Alegria Inn that has an ideal, quiet location overlooking the ocean with private beach access. Because we were travelling with Eloise, we stayed in one of their cottages that had a fold out futon. It also had a wood burning stove, a well-equipped kitchen, a funky Japanese tub and a double bed in a loft. I have to say that I wasn’t crazy about the loft (too old) but everything else, including the helpful innkeepers and excellent breakfast were first class. We also had a very good dinner at the highly rated Café Beaujolais and a tasty lunch at the Moosse Café.

The Sonoma Wine Country

Travelling through wine country with a 12 year old poses a dilemma. As Eloise was neither old enough to drink the wine nor act as the designated driver, we felt it necessary to temper our alcoholic aspirations. Still, it would have been a shame to be so close and not take the opportunity to dip into the world famous California wine scene. Plus, we had heard from lots of savvy travelers that Sonoma was a much more No Crowds appropriate experience compared to Napa – less chi chi and more relaxed.

We ended up heading for Healdsburg, an attractive town that sits at the center of three wine producing valleys. With over 160 wineries within easy striking distance, and a restaurant scene that is starting to give Napa Valley’s Yountsville a run for its money, we thought Healdsburg could provide something interesting for us and something fun for Eloise.

Don’t tell our dentist but the big experience for Eloise took the form of a candy shop unlike any other – except perhaps Willie Wonka’s. Powell’s Sweet Shoppe, on the square in Healdsburg, sells thousands of different kinds of candy. They have candy in there I haven’t seen since I was Eloise’s age. The shop is big fun for any child and an interesting piece of nostalgia for any American parent.

After treating Eloise to a bag of sweets to take back to school we treated ourselves to a visit to the rather glam Ferrari Carano winery, famous as much for its elaborate gardens and villa as for its wines. If the Ewing family from the 80s TV show Dallas had a winery, it would look like Ferrari Carano. Needless to say we had lots of fun.

And then sadly, it was time to head back to San Francisco. Driving over the Golden Gate Bridge, I thought about all our inspiring experiences: the magnificent redwoods, the pristine coastline, the sometimes eccentric residents and almost always excellent food and as I had in 2008, I thought how unattractive it was to be envious of your own child. But in the case of my northern Cal son, again, I just couldn’t help myself. This place is too perfect. Come see for yourself.

Photo Credit: Eloise Hedges

San Francisco: Best for Big Children

2010-04-13T09:52:00.006+01:00

Ask my 12-year-old daughter Eloise about her recent holiday in San Francisco and she might respond with something like this:

“I slept in my brother’s bar, The Roasted Frog, where I played darts and video games all night with his friends from business school. I spent Easter Sunday at the Hunky Jesus competition run by weird guys dressed as nuns and the Bring Your Own Big Wheels Race where everyone dresses up and rides tiny bikes really fast down a really steep hill. One time we went to a garage for breakfast and another time I started the day with salted caramel ice cream. I had some fabulous burritos and went to a Pirate Store and a prison.

Now before someone calls children’s services, let me explain:

The Roasted Frog is the bar/pub my son and his French roommate built in their apartment in the Mission, the hood that is part Latin barrio, part hipster hangout with a heavy concentration of cool stores and restaurants and reportedly the best weather in this city of microclimates. Nearby Dolores Park, on a fine evening or weekend, is a great place to hangout and watch the locals ‘do their thing’ which includes playing music, drinking, dog walking, tight rope walking, hula hooping and God-only knows-what-else.

The Hunky Jesus competition (now in its 31^st year) is a much-loved Easter tradition run by the Sisters of Perpetual Devotion, an interesting group of drag queens dressed up as nuns. It’s weird and fun and reinforces whatever expectations you have about America’s pinkest city. Needs to be seen to be believed.

The Bring Your Own Big Wheels Race is SF mayhem and madness at its very best. Every Easter Sunday, hundreds and hundreds of San Francisco natives ride kiddie bikes down treacherous Vermont Street in Protero. (They used to ride down Lombard Street but that got shut down) Think McQueen in Bullit on a bike. Some adventurous souls ride their rubbish bins. They come as super heroes and Easter bunnies. They crash. Their bikes fall apart. The huge crowd cheers loudest for the losers.

Everyone should eat Bi-Rite Creamery ice cream for breakfast – it’s that good. Ditto for Tartine Bakery and Cafe (If you can’t stand to wait in line make a reservation at Bar Tartine around the corner) or Blue Bottle for Coffee or La Taqueria for burritos. In fact, the food in SF is ridiculously good almost everywhere. The best meal we had was at trendy Nopa in and old bank building in the area ‘North of the Panhandle.’

The Pirate Store at 826 Valencia is, unsurprisingly, “San Francisco’s only independent pirate supply store.” It is filled with all kinds of treasures including great books about writing. All proceeds go towards supporting a literacy and writing skills initiative, 826 Valnecia, started by writer, editor and publisher, Dave Eggers.

Even San Francisco natives who scorn most of city’s tourist attractions love Alcatraz Island. A visit to the once notorious prison includes a scenic ferry ride, and a chilling self-guided audio tour where stories of crime and punishment are brilliantly retold. Booking ahead is essential - expect crowds – but the experience is worth it. Also crowded but worth it was the Japanese Tea Garden in Golden Gate Park.

Actually, everything we did in San Francisco was “worth it” - and loads of fun. My oldest son, the San Francisco resident, put it this way.

“Mom, this is a city for Big Children."

He meant it as a compliment. I think his point was that in this American city of unique neighborhoods, spectacular views, wonderful food (not to mention a comprehensive public transport system and health access for all) you can grow up but you don’t have to grow old.

We’ll be back.

Photo Credit: Eloise Hedges

Idea Credit: Leland Hedges

The Mirage is Real – Desert Elegance in Abu Dhabi’s Back Country

2010-04-10T02:23:00.004+01:00

Gary and Lorraine are at it again - this time in the desert.

Question: how do you have a “no crowds” experience at an authentic desert hotel, even when they are fully booked over Easter weekend?

Answer: book a villa! You will barely be aware that anyone else is there.

Anantara, that world class resort management company who brought you the Desert Islands experience (reviewed here a year ago), have done it again. Qasr al Sarab (literally, “castle of the mirage”) has plunked a truly unique experience down smack in the middle of the vast Arabian desert, and have managed to convince discerning travelers to travel 2 ½ hours from the nearest airport (Abu Dhabi) to check it out. Hotel rooms, each with a private open-air dining area, tumble across the dunes like some artist’s award-winning sandcastles. The awesome scale of the desert becomes apparent when you look out your window and see an 800 foot high dune. It’s permanent enough to be known by the locals, but still transitory—the wind is moving it south, inexorably, every year. You really need to be this deep in the desert to appreciate the eternal beauty wrought by wind on sand…and see the genesis of the “Arabesque” curves so common in architecture and design in the region.

Given that this was a special birthday, we thought we’d pass on the rooms and suites, and try out one of the villas that are part of the complex—a 1 bedroom villa doesn’t cost much more than a room, and the private back garden and infinity pool in each one, with the desert and the dunes as the background, sealed the deal. Every detail of the property was carefully thought out, with wonderful local décor, and grace notes like a fully stocked Nespresso machine and not one but two rain showers (one inside, one out). Dinner was good, not great, but a room service breakfast delivered hot by a golf cart-wielding butler and served elegantly on the verandah couldn’t be beat. The croissants, I assure you, had never seen a bubble pack—they were made fresh that morning. The service in every part of the resort was absolutely beyond belief—we figured that there were between 2 and 3 employees for every guest in the hotel…and everyone was very experienced.

Beware, Qasr al Sarab really is in the middle of nowhere…and it’s in the tropics. We drove south and actually crossed the Tropic of Cancer to get there. The 2.5 hour drive from Abu Dhabi (4 from Dubai) finishes with a 150 km trek across deep desert (albeit on a paved road). We were singing “we’re on the road to nowhere” and “on the road again”, but finally settled on “I’ve been through the desert on a road with no name”. With a brisk wind most of the way, the sand eddies flowed across the road and drifted in corners in a way that made us flash back to the snowfields of the high alps and Dolomites. When we arrived, we looked jealously at the Abu Dhabi Aviation chopper sitting on the helipad—well, maybe next time. Because there will be a next time—it’s a truly unique place— and worth the drive.

Photo Credit: Gary Ransom

In Bed with Washington Irving

2010-03-14T16:46:00.004Z

In 1829, Washington Irving arrived in Granada. So enraptured by the Alhambra, the city’s fabled and near deserted fairytale fortress, he moved in and wrote a book about the experience, the much admired Tales of the Alhambra. In 2010, an average of 6,000 daily visitors make their way through the legendary palaces and gardens. So how much of the romance is left? Can you get out of the scrum and recreate some of Irving’s experience ? It sounds impossible but you can. Here’s how

Start by avoiding July through September and Easter Week. Stay at the Parador de Granada San Francisco smack dab in the center of the Alhambra, and book your room at least 6 months ahead. Once a convent and resting place of Queen Isabella, this is now a swish, small hotel that absolutely makes your Alhambra experience. From the moment you drive up the closed off road, past the scores of tourists on foot wondering about the lucky folks in the car, you feel special. Outside is intensive tourism but inside the parador is your own private sanctuary. At night, when the tour groups are long gone, you can wander the battlement and bastions “treading haunted ground, and surrounded by romantic associations.” Like Irving you can believe that you "inhabit the enchanted palace of an Arabian tale", and "look down from its balconies upon chivalric Granada".

Another important thing to do prior to your visit, is to order your tickets to the Alhambra over the internet or by phone (902 441 221). Even if you are staying at the Parador de Granada, it is still a good idea to do this. Here’s why.

The fortress complex has some open areas, some areas only accessible by ticket and one area, the Palacio Nazares for which you need a time slot. If you order your tickets well in advance (you can order up to a year before your visit), you have a much better chance of getting a desirable time slot which for No Crowds travelers is either early in the morning or at night. The Parador will offer you a 2 ½ hour guided tour at EUR 49 per person, but we were perfectly happy with our EUR 13 tickets and EUR 4 audio guide which included the words of Tales of the Alhambra woven into the commentary.

At some stage during your stay you will want to leave your Arabian aerie and venture down into the city of Granada. To stay away from the crowds, we followed the excellent advice to be found in a 2008 article in the Guardian newspaper entitled “Granada’s top 10 Moorish secrets”. We especially appreciated the recommendation to visit the Carmen de la Victoria in the Moorish District, the Albaicin, which is now the guest residence for Granada University. The Islamic garden, with stunning views of the Alhambra, has been planted with flowers and bushes that would have existed in Nasrid times and we were quite alone during our marvelous visit. We also enjoyed a lively tapas evening on the Campo del Principe following the recommendation of Gayle Mackie, co-author of 100 Best Tapas Bars in Granada. Her favourite tapas bar, the atmospheric La Esquinta, also became ours.

After two magical nights, it was time to leave the Alhambra and the footsteps of Washington Irving with his love of the place still in our hearts and his haunting words still in our heads:

“Such is the Alhambra; a Moslem pile in the midst of a Christian land; an Oriental palace amidst the Gothic edifices of the West; an elegant memento of a brave, intelligent, and graceful people, who conquered, ruled, flourished and passed away.”

Paris Feedback - In Shorthand

2010-03-03T16:49:00.008Z

We have always dreamed that No Crowds would develop into a place for like minded travelers to share discoveries. Today, we moved closer to that goal with the addition of a report on a visit to Paris by Trish, a savvy traveler if ever there was one. We've been telling her for a long time that she doesn't need to write a lot (she's busy - just like you), just pass on a list of highlights and she's done exactly that. So enjoy these wonderful suggestions (we can't wait to try the Laiterie St Clotilde) and be sure to send us your own discoveries.

I had a great time in Paris. - thank you for all your tips and here's some feedback in shorthand.

Restaurants:

· Cocottes (Cafe Constant new outpost, a few doors up) – fab – very groovy, packed, casual sitting on bar stools at the bar or at high tables. Most of the food comes served in the signature cocotte – a small cast iron pot. Most plates are around 10-20 euros – I had 2 courses and 2 glasses of wine for 45 euros

· Le Petit Lutetia (Lutetia is the old word for Paris according to the waiter) – old fashioned, good food, sat with older formal Parisian couples who live in the chic 7^th Ar. I was actually staying about 200 yards directly up the street in Rue Vaneau! Again around 45-50 euros per person with 2 courses and wine.

· Restaurant Laiterie Sainte Clotilde The best new find!! I always discover the good places by walking past, seeing a full and buzzing place and just trying it. Again up the road from me at 64 rue de Bellechasse in the 7^th, I found Restaurant Laiterie Sainte Clotilde. So named for the magnificent catholic church a block away where I went to moving Ash Wednesday High Mass. Restaurant has been open year and a half. The young female chef is half English and was looking over cookbooks at the bar after dinner discussing recipe ideas with the owner for a menu that changes every few days. Again about 40 euros for 2 courses and a few glasses of wine – this was by far the best food I had in Paris. Not traditional – imagine a French River Cafe – the chocolate cake was a recipe from the owner’s great aunt!

· Terminus Nord. My Parisien friend took me to dinner one night to a restaurant right opposite Gare Du Nord called Terminus Nord. Full of locals – it is the typical large brasserie with traditional food, the ubiquitous seafood platters etc. Food not that amazing but a great convenient fix before or after your train journey and not too expensive.

. Lunch at Maillol Museum was a treat in a quirky basement restaurant. From a very contemporary menu I had an excellent lentil salad served in a glass jar.

The Museum in the 7^th is a real gem – housing the fabulous Maillol collection in the mansion that belonged to his mistress and muse Dina Vierny who died only recently. Plus fab temporary shows – I saw an amazing exhibit called “C’est la Vie:Caravaggio to Hirst”

http://www.museemaillol.com/index2.html

· The Museum pass was a great tip – if you haven’t got it in advance of arriving in Paris – go to a quiet, less popular museum from the list. I had gone to the Rodin Museum to buy the pass and faced a queue at 10am. Later I was going for a run along the Seine when I spotted the obscure Musee de l’Assistance Publique on quai de la Tournelle where there are no queues! Sadly I wasn’t interested in seeing the history of Parisian hospitals, but the helpful staff, pleased to see a visitor, sold me a museum pass! I then sailed past the queues at the bigger attractions – v. long queue at the new Orangerie. (isn’t that an amazing re-furb!)

· A must see - Monumenta - every year in the ‘off season’ at the Grand Palais, a leading international contemporary artist is invited by the Ministry of Culture and Communication to create an exceptional new work for the 13,500 m² Nave of the Grand Palais. This year it was the French artist Christian Boltanski. I waited 40 mins to record my heartbeat for his project that will see 50,000 human heart beats recorded and placed in a digital library in Japan for a little piece of history. I have a DVD copy which I am going to upload on my kids I-pods for when they are missing me!

http://www.monumenta.com/2010/english/votre-visite/Votre-visite.html

· The best Van Gogh painting NOT in the Royal Academy show is actually in the Rodin Museum – I was admiring the portrait of Le Pere Tanguy there and noticed in the fabulous show at the Royal Academy a week later, that it is referred to in the Japanese room with an only a postcard image.

· I walked past a lovely hotel also near me and picked up a rate card – may be worth recommending – The Hotel de Varenne on rue de Bourgogne. www.hoteldevarenne.com

Room with bath 177 euros, breakfast in lovely courtyard, 10 euros

That’s all the news that’s fit to print!

A Hot Tip for a Cold Winter – Head North for a Warm Welcome

2010-02-26T08:28:00.009Z

Here’s a quiz. How can you visit some of the best royal palaces in Europe with no crowds? What about some of the best art collections? Or famous restaurants? Answer – head for Denmark in February.

It’s a counter-intuitive strategy and not one that is endorsed by many travel writers. The perceived wisdom is that Denmark in February is cold, gray and many of the sights are closed.

But we were tired of fighting our fellow Brits at Heathrow and on the slopes and beaches, as we have every year, and headed instead to the place on no one's list - Denmark. Sure it was cold and some of the sights we really wanted to see, such as the Open Air Museum and Karen Blixen’s house, were closed, but even more were open. Some of the finest sites, such as the fairy-tale Frederiksborg Castle, seemed virtually deserted.

And besides, regardless of the time of year, the Danes are excellent hosts. Great linguists, friendly and helpful, I can’t think of a country where we have received a warmer welcome, despite the sub-zero temperatures. And then there is the scale. Like Goldilocks and the Three Bears, Denmark is not too large and not too small. During our five-day visit, we were able to explore Copenhagen and the countryside, feeling that we had seen many of the major sites while leaving plenty more for another visit. Here are the highlights:

Day 1 – Back to Nature

After arriving at modern, efficient Copenhagen Airport, we headed for Brede, a small community north of Copenhagen containing an 86 acre Open-Air Museum with farmhouses and dwellings from all over Denmark and Brede Works, a preserved mill and factory. The museum and factory are closed for the winter but we were staying with a friend who lives in one of the historic factory workers cottages, – a magical place straight out of the time of Hans Christian Andersen. We hiked in the snow all around the beautiful woodland retreat and we highly recommend taking the 30 minute train to Brede, considered one of the loveliest train rides in Denmark – when the museum is open which is from April to September.

In the late afternoon we took a short drive to Allerod and Ninas Natur Café – also closed for the winter – but as we are friends of Nina and her husband, Hans, we had a sneak preview of the delicious food, lovely countryside and warm welcome that await visitors from May through September.

Day 2 – Castles, Hamlet and Hockney

We began the day at Frederiksborg Castle in Hillerod (22 miles NW of Copenhagen) which is both a former royal palace and the home of Denmark’s Museum of National History. This is an exquisite Renaissance castle, full of romance, and the national history collection is vast and fascinating. As palaces go, Frederiksborg is five star, with the added benefit of being open every day of the year.

Lunch across the street from the castle at the Slotskroen (a tavern since 1795) included lots of herring, open faced Danish sandwiches and plenty of beer and acquavit which set us up well for the afternoon.

After lunch, we headed for Helsingor and the Kronborg Castle, made famous by Shakespeare in Hamlet under the name of Elsinore Castle. Positioned dramatically overlooking the Oresund (the straits between Denmark and Sweden), this fortress is as mighty and foreboding as Frederiksborg is beautiful.

Our last stop was at Louisiana – not the American state – rather, a fabulously sited modern art museum overlooking Oresund with unusual architecture, a sculpture park and a blockbuster collection: Picasso, Giacometti, Pollock, Calder and so much more. I wouldn’t call the place empty but it certainly wasn’t crowded and for fans of modern art, I would call it unmissable.

Day 3 – A Copenhagen Culture Marathon

Such is the compact scale and vast cultural richness of Copenhagen that we were able to visit three remarkable museums and enjoy an excellent lunch and still make it back to Brede for a fine dinner.

While we were doing all of that, our 12 year old daughter was off visiting the Experimentarium, a museum within the old Tuborg brewery bottling hall designed to make science accessible to the masses. As Eloise has promised to write a post about her experience, I will say no more about it now.

Anyway, following the No Crowds rule of bypassing major museums in favour of smaller more interesting ones, we began our day at the Hirschsprung Sammlung. Housed in a romantic neoclassical pavilion in a lovely park, this fine collection of 19^thcentury Danish art was donated to the state by the German-Jewish tobacco magnate Heinrich Hirschsprung whose giant portrait greets you as you come in the door. As I’m partial to German-Jewish tobacco magnates, I felt we were off to a great start. The collection of paintings from Denmark’s Golden Age (1800-1850) are particularly inspiring.

Next up was the David Collection. Housed in an early 19^th building that was once occupied by the Museum’s founder, Christian Ludvig David, the museum is really three collections: 18^th century art displayed in period interiors; Danish early modern art and a world-class collection of Islamic Art. Similar to the Wallace Collection in London and the Jacquemart Andre, this museum provides the opportunity to see a highly individualistic collection in the collector's home.

Lunch took place at the Slotskaelderen (near the Christiansborg), famous for its open faced sandwiches, the smorrebrod. Open since 1797 and run by the same family since 1910, this place is old fashioned, authentic and big fun. The smorrebrod, as you would expect, were delicious.

After lunch, we headed across the street to Thorvaldsens Museum that houses the work, possessions and last resting place of Denmark’s most famous sculptor, Bertel Thorvaldsen (1770- 1844).

Dinner was back in Brede at the now rather elegant Brede Spieshus, which was once the cafeteria for the factory workers. The restaurant sits picturesquely overlooking a small lake and the food is good.

Day 4 – Christiania

Social experiment in self-government? Drug haven for drop-outs? The longest running anarchist commune in Europe? We had heard so much about the Free City of Christiania, an 86 acre area of Copenhagen with roughly 1,000 residents who have been operating autonomously since 1971, that we just had to see it. The problem was, we saw it in the middle of a blizzard which made walking around the community an abbreviated affair.

Highlights of our time in Christiania included husband and daughter shooting pool in a café where the mild scent of pot wafted through the air. We visited the Loppe building with its impressive grafitti, famous music venue and much admired restaurant, the Spiselopen. Being capitalists, we also bought a distinctive Christiania sweatshirt in bright red with yellow dots to support the anarchist cause which I now wear all over London in the hope of meeting Danes. In all, it was a fun and interesting place. They have their own currency and are doing their own thing and the fact that the government hasn’t shut them down shows that their controversial social experiment still claims sufficient support from the people. We say - Right on, Christiania.

Day 5 – the Miraculous Departure

As it had snowed all the previous day and most of the night, I figured we would never get out of Denmark. With my UK hat on, I expected road chaos and airport delays. Instead, we woke to find the roads plowed and clear and our airline running to schedule. What a great country!

As our plane took off over snow-covered Denmark, I thought, As soon as we can, we’ll be back.

Hotel Info

The friends that we stayed with highly recommend the Guldsmeden Hotel group who have several properties in Copenhagen at varying price points. All Guldsmeden properties are distinctive, sustainable and owner operated.

http://hotelguldsmeden.dk/home/

Photo from Twyzilla on Photobucket

Mastering Truth and Illusion in London's National Gallery

2010-02-13T13:38:00.017Z

So what’s the best 55 British pounds I never spent on travel?

A small group tour of the National Gallery in London with Context Travel. I think it is important to say right up front that I was invited by Context to join this tour as part of a relationship building exercise. It is also important to say that of all the museum tours I have ever taken (and trust me, I’ve taken plenty) this tour was the best.

I wasn’t expecting to be bedazzled by another trip to the National Gallery. After all, I’ve been there countless times ( 5 times a year X the last 15 years = at least 75 visits) but that was the tour on offer and I was keen to see if Context could deliver on their big brand promise of offering "scholar-led experiences for the intellectually curious traveler". I should also say that I don't much like to be led. Maybe it's just because I am a child of the 60s but when I travel, I really like to do my own thing.

Despite the caveats, I was bedazzled. For three solid hours, my small group of four (including two intrepid gentlemen who had just flown in from Dallas for the weekend) experienced something special – a history of art Master Class for art loving amateurs. As you can imagine, that's not an easy thing to deliver. Our Context docent, Scott Nethersole, wove an incredible narrative out of one of the world’s greatest art collections that included scholarship, anecdotes, humour and a love of subject so infectious that it made me want to go back to University and study art.

Be forewarned, if what you want is a quick introduction and some highlights then I don't think Context is for you. These are tours and itineraries for travelers who want to dig deep into a topic and it would be a waste of your time and the docent’s talent to sign up with Context if that’s not what you are about.

Context offers an impressive range of experiences in many major cities. They have small groups you can join, as I did, which keeps cost down or they can arrange for private groups and custom itineraries including private tours of the Vatican and special programs for families with children. They have a good website and you can check it all out here.

As for me, I plan to use Context again, even when I’m paying my own way. I was expecting a "tour' of the National Gallery. Instead I attended an amazing three hour Master Class in the history of western art. I can't think of a better way to experience a great museum.

Photo of the Toilet of Venue ("Rokeby Venus") by Velazques - one of the many paintings we saw with a fabulous story attached.

Jane in the Rain - It Mattered Not

2010-02-05T14:02:00.008Z

"So where are you off to", my husband asked politely as I raced around the house throwing things into a backpack.

“I’m off to Box Hill with my Austen class. See you tonight.”

“Oh, is it an interesting house?”

“No, silly, it’s a hill – right outside of London. Great views. You know, it’s where they had that famous picnic in Emma.

Wait, your class is going to a hill? But it’s pouring.

Who cares? They don’t even know if Jane Austen ever saw Box Hill. If she can imagine it, well, so can I.

And imagine we did as we trudged through the rain, the fog and the mud. Thanks to our intrepid teacher, Alice Leader (you can read about Alice here and buy her books here ) we ‘saw’ Box Hill through the eyes of Jane Austen’s characters, even though, in actual fact, we saw next to nothing. We talked about how the servants and carriages would have made it up the hill, how the area would have been made ready for the fashionable business of dining “au plein air” and how Emma would have had her famous denouement with Mr Knightley. As our guide Mark so nicely put it, “The people change, but the place stays the same”.

While we Austenites were busy with our imaginings, we were passed by all kinds of walkers and mountain bikers, also undeterred by weather. Box Hill, is a country park of more than 800 acres, that is part of the National Trust which oversees more than 300 historic homes and gardens. It has much to offer anyone who loves nature and a fitting tribute to this other worldly place so close to London can be found in the opening line of Keats’ poem Endymion, which he finished while staying at the Burford Bridge Hotel at the foot of Box Hill:

A thing of beauty is a joy forever.

Byblos—history, haute cuisine and a harbour to remember

2010-01-19T09:15:00.007Z

This is exciting. No Crowds first post from Lebanon from intrepid travelers, Gary and Lorraine. I can't wait to follow.

So here is a quiz: where can you sit with a world-class view of the Mediterranean, drink local wines made in the French style, in a setting that reminds you of a French farmhouse, while looking at the ruins of a wonderfully preserved Roman-era castle...all for about $70 for a lunch for two? The answer, of course, is Byblos.

All the way down at the end of the Mediterranean, past Cyprus, the Greek Isles and the Turkish coast, sits a beautiful, but star-crossed country. Over its 4000 years of history, Lebanon has been invaded and/or occupied by Crusaders, Ottomans, Mamluks, Syrians, Israelis and of course the French (for 25 years, no less). In some cases, they were worse off for it, but amazingly, their culture has been enriched, deepened and made more tolerant in most instances. Today, the country gets stronger every day, building on 20 years of relative peace following the end of their civil war. Minarets stand next to baptisteries, crosses and crescents on neighboring religious buildings. Frankly, it’s inspiring.

Going south from Beirut is not recommended, but if you head north up the coast, after 40 km of a drive that will remind you of the best and the worst of the Cote d’Azur, you arrive at Byblos (also called Jbail). The birthplace of the modern alphabet and arguably the longest-standing continuously occupied city in the world, Byblos is thriving. Perhaps it’s hankering to return to the days when Perry Como and any number of European starlets plied its country lanes. Despite a recent piece in the New York Times, however, the town remains a quiet haven of incredible antiquities, accompanied by what appear to be some of the finest restaurants we have found in the Middle East.

Our meal at Locanda (09 944 333), nestled on a bluff overlooking the sea between the old souk and the castle ruins, was simple but incredibly elegant. First up was the necessary bottle of a dry, crisp rosé, this one from Chateau Musar (one of the three main Lebanese wineries). Our first courses were fattoush (chopped salad with wonderful little deep-fried raviolis mixed in) and Shrimp Osmalieh (fine sized prawns wrapped in vermicelli and sizzled in hot oil just enough to cook them through). For mains, we had a thin-crusted pizza rocca (fresh rocket and mozzarella and just a touch of tomato sauce), and something called “fish and aubergine”, which was an amazing experience. Basically, this is what fish and chips have always wanted to be, but will never become. The white flaky fish (I suspect snapper, locally called Sultan Ibrahim) was expertly battered and deep fried, so well that you would swear it never touched the oil. The chef used two sauces, first a lemon cream concoction that added a hint of sweetness, then a dark, piquant balsamic reduction (far more cultured than malt vinegar, frankly!). A pickled baby eggplant accompanied, marinated with flavours of Eastern spices I couldn’t begin to identify. To finish, the espresso was of course excellent, and we topped off the meal with a dram of Armagnac which said “hors age” on the bottle--I took that to mean that nobody could tell how old it was, but it was pretty old. Awesome, although that single choice was the most expensive item on our menu.

I can’t begin to do justice to the Byblos ruins. For a few dollars we were allowed into the compound, and had the chance to closely examine sarcophagi, Doric and ionic column capitals, the well preserved ruins of the ramparts and buildings, and a complete amphitheatre—no ropes, no rules, just us, a half dozen others, and a massive castle originally built by the Phoenicians. All this with a million dollar view of the sea just behind (and a couple of million dollar yachts cruising by, of course).

I would not want to conclude without mentioning the Jeita grotto. Not in Byblos proper, but rather about 20 minutes off the main road between Beirut and Byblos, the grotto is a natural limestone cavern with the dimensions of a small football stadium—you just can’t imagine the size and beauty. Dramatically lit with a walkway carefully constructed through the middle, the grotto is a collection of the most beautiful natural designs you can imagine. Stalactites are not just icicle shaped, but many resemble an undulating curtain extending several meters from the ceiling far above, or heavy curtains covering the walls. Others are finely detailed tubes with many sections inside, with an almost biological feel to them. We were told that the cave is the result of 12,000 years of drip, drip, drip (gives you an idea of what that leaky tap could create if it never got fixed). There is a lower level to the cave, which we didn’t have time to visit, where the tour is conducted on a boat down an underground river that ultimately supplies a significant part of the drinking water for the city of Beirut. The grotto is on the long list for the Seven New Wonders of the World, and voting is under way. It will get my vote.

If you go...you should check your country’s diplomatic website for warnings and precautions. Lebanon is still not a destination for the faint of heart, and the UK Foreign Office and US State Department still have current traveller warnings, despite the recent calm. On our trip, we found little or no evidence of unrest—no checkpoints, little evidence of soldiers outside of the national capital area (parliament), and a flurry of rebuilding and investment everywhere.

Photo of Gary + 5 Pillars taken by Lorraine.

48 Hours in Alpine Arcadia

2010-01-15T15:06:00.006Z

Salzburg. I will never tire of this town.

I was there recently thanks to the Hotel Auersperg who had not been able to honour a reservation we made last year because of a delay in renovation work. After my doing the mad scene from Medea on Trip Advisor about it, this customer-savvy establishment quickly offered us a two night stay on-the-house to make amends. We thought, let’s go mid week in January 2010. We’ll have the city all to ourselves and flights will be cheap.

We were right on both counts. Our British Airways flights from London were a reasonable £108 return and despite all their problems, I’d still rather fly BA than the discounters. Plus, I’ve never seen Salzburg so deserted or so beautiful. We arrived in the middle of a snow storm which would have brought London to a chaotic standstill but only served to make Salzburg more cozy and picturesque. On our first night, we walked in snow through the illuminated and deserted piazzas of the old town centre. It was archly romantic.

What to Do

Only in town for 48 hours, we decided to dip quickly into the three areas for which Salzburg is renowned: nature, history and culture. To commune with nature, we took a long snowy walk up the Kapuzinerberg mountain and enjoyed the spectacular views of Salzburg. To satisfy our interest in history we spent a morning in the Salzburg Museum. Newly renovated and brilliantly curated, this museum does a superb job of explaining Salzburg’s rich past. An evening of opera performed by students at the Mozarteum University was our culture highlight. Tickets were a snip at EUR 14 and it was incredibly fun to see such a young and talented cast deliver a sexy and energetic interpretation of Monteverdi’s baroque masterpiece, L’Incoronazione di Poppea.

Where to Eat and Drink

As for dining, we still think the informal Hertzl restaurant in the Goldener Hirsch Hotel is hard to beat and our new favourite when you have a hankering for good beer, large portions, small prices and a fun atmosphere is the Alter Fuchs (Old Fox) on the Linzer Gasse.

Shopping

We love to shop in Salzburg for traditional clothing, textiles and ceramics and January is the perfect time to do it. We bought beautifully made loden jackets and coats at Hanna Trachten on the Linzer Gasse, all reduced by 50 percent.

Where to Stay

And what about the Auersperg Hotel? Are we friends again? We most certainly are. This is a WONDERFUL hotel in every aspect. Quiet, well located with excellent service and comfortable rooms. The breakfast is superior. Not to mention that when things go wrong, this family-owned operation make things right. As I said in my new Trip Advisor report (still 'pending' ) - when in Salzburg, I see no need to ever stay anywhere else.

Addendum – Getting Home

Because of snow in London, out return BA flight was cancelled but we were able to race directly from Salzburg main train station to Munich Airport on an efficient and inexpensive train where, after several more BA cancellations, we were rebooked on Lufthansa and made it home – which is why, for all their problems, I still prefer to fly BA.

No Crowds 2010 Travel Resolutions

2010-01-06T10:47:00.001Z

More Wonder

Webster defines ‘wonder’ as a cause of astonishment or admiration. For 2010, we’ll be trying to recapture that sense of wonder about the world that got us interested in travel in the first place. We’ll be focussing more on the things that have helped make our trips surprising, mysterious and outside our normal experience and less on how to avoid the 1001 hassles of travel – we’re fed up with that topic. Aren’t you?

More Conversation

Last year was not a high production year for No Crowds. We found lots of excuses not to write. This year we’ll do better. And we hope that No Crowds will receive more insights from contributors such as Gary, Lorraine and Sandy who enjoy sharing their experiences with like-minded travellers.

And that’s it – more wonder and more conversation. Those are our travel goals for 2010. What are yours?

Thanksgiving in London

2009-11-12T10:09:00.009Z

We run the best Thanksgiving Soup Kitchen outside the United States. It’s a bold claim but let me offer some supporting metrics. During our time in London, we have served over 370 pounds of turkey to an estimated 420 people. This year we anticipate feeding thirty-three pilgrims hailing from France, Germany, Switzerland, Italy, Greece, the UK and the United States. And I’m confident that everyone who will celebrate with us this year would agree, London is the ultimate Thanksgiving destination.

For the uninitiated, London might seem like an unlikely place to eat turkey with friends and family but in fact, with roughly 150,000 hungry Americans living in greater London, along with tourists and curious Londoners, it is relatively easy to find an excellent turkey dinner with all the trimmings. Villandry in Marylebone, Christophers in Covent Garden and Smollensky’s on the Strand are all good options. Hotels such as Browns, Claridges, the Chesterfield, and the Royal Garden all have special Thanksgiving menus with more informal places like Bodeans (with live NFL action for diehards) and theTexas Embassy Cantina offering more down home options.

If you were to rent an apartment and prepare your festivities yourself, the best butchers such as Lidgate in Holland Park and Randalls in Fulham can source you a fabulous turkey at even more fabulous prices that puts the American butterball to shame. Just be careful about size, most English ovens are smaller than in the States. If you don’t want to cook, Whole Foods in Kensington can supply an traditional meal for up to 12 people with all the fixings.

If you are not yet sold on the idea to come to London for Thanksgiving, here is some more ammunition. Late November is a relatively inexpensive time to fly to London. By contract, moving around the United States over Thanksgiving is congested and expensive. In fact, being at least 5,000 miles away from the 25 million Americans who travel on Thanksgiving Day is a pretty good idea. Also, the day after Thanksgiving is a quite normal shopping day in London. You can have a very pleasant time wandering around the stores which are already beautifully decorated for Christmas and not particularly crowded. Compare that to the riots taking place in malls across America.

In addition, you will receive the warmest welcome from your London hosts. Londoners are rather intrigued with the whole notion of Thanksgiving and they are a bit envious of the fact that Americans take the day off just to ”count their blessings” with family and friends who eat themselves silly and all of this without having to buy any presents. Of course, there is always the story that the Friday after Thanksgiving is the only day a poor Brit with a hyper-active, vacation- hating American boss won’t notice if he is late to work. Well, you can’t win them all. In my experience, just like the original pilgrims, if you invite representatives of the indigenous people to join you, they are always happy to oblige.

And finally, you can achieve the ultimate Thanksgiving experience by paying a visit to the Mayflower Pub in Rotherhithe in southeast London from which the original Pilgrim Father set sail for Plymouth in 1620. This historic pub is authorised to sell both British and US stamps so come armed with postcards to confuse your family and friends.

After hoisting a pint at the Mayflower, pay a visit to Southwark Cathedral to see the memorial to the Mohegan tribal chieftan, Sachem Mohamet Weyonomon who had travelled to London in 1736 to complain directly to George II about British settlers encroaching on tribal lands. Sadly, Weyonomon died of smallpox before getting to see the King and was buried in an unmarked grave on the banks of the Thames near John Harvard and William Shakespeare. Weyonomon’s letter to George II finally reached the hands of a British monarch on Wednesday, November 22, 2006. Yes, one day before Thanksgiving.

So forget the traffic jams, the football games, the shopping malls and the Butterballs. For free spirits who want to “connect to their inner Thanksgiving”, go back to where it all really started and have the time of your life celebrating America’s greatest holiday - in London.

Photo Credit of Queen and Indian Chief at Southwark Cathedral AP

Why is Lucca so Lucky?

2009-10-24T05:48:00.008+01:00

Driving through the imposing medieval walls into the small Tuscan city of Lucca, we asked ourselves three questions:

Why does everyone look so happy?
Why is everyone on a bike?
Where is all the tourist hoopla?

Over the course of our three-day break, we found answers to all our questions.

First, everyone looks happy because they live and work in one of God’s green acres. According to Forbes magazine, Lucca is the second most idyllic place to live in Europe (after Patmos, Greece) and “has all the charm of Tuscany without the crowds … This is a quiet, though classy town, with lawyers and housewives peddling the narrow cobblestone streets past thousand year old churches and made-in-Italy fashion boutiques.” OK, that explains the contentment but …

Why does everone ride a bike? Because the busses don’t fit through the walled entrance and because most of the perfectly preserved historic centre has been pedestrianized. Locals and visitors alike find it more fun and easier to wiz around on bicycles. Bike rentals are everywhere and prices are reasonable (inquire at the tourist office). A highlight for visitors is to cycle the 4 km circuit around the broad, tree-lined ramparts.

But what about the tourist hulabaloo? As Lucca is a classy town and seems to appeal to a more discerning kind of tourist, the “tour bus, fake handbag and warped post card” options you find all over Florence and Pisa are in short supply. We did find lovely and fairly priced Italian linens in a shop called Butterfly on the Piazza S. Frediano and our daughter was able to find beautiful but affordable Italian paper and notebooks at the tobacconist on Via Santa Croce. Cultural offerings including churches, museums and ‘climbable’ bell towers were equally impressive and uncrowded.

Finally, we were delighted with our hotel and the restaurants. Thanks to the suggestion of Italian friends, we stayed at the mid-priced Hotel Ilaria, which was a great recommendation. This hotel benefits from an excellent location, charming staff, and lots of freebies including parking, WiFi, bicycles and drinks and snacks. Our rooms in the annexe, a former 14th century church, were large, nicely appointed and dead quiet. Rates include a generous buffet breakfast.

The best meal we had was at the Buca di Sant Antonio. This romantic restaurant has been a Mecca for the great and the good since 1782. The food and service were excellent. Also good was the Antica Locanda dell’Angelo where we feasted on budget busting truffles. We had a tasty €10-a-head lunch at Ristorante Gli Orti di via Elisa and the Café di Simo, with its belle époque interior, is a great place to see and be seen.

All in all, our three days in Lucca was hard to fault on any count. This town is indeed lucky, and we’ll be back.

Photo from Rex Maximillian's photo stream on Flickr.

Take a Two Minute Trip to the Arctic

2009-10-15T17:34:00.004+01:00

Who knew freezing your butt off could be so much fun?

When I heard that National Geographic had opened a store on London’s Regent Street, I thought:

It will be worthy

It will be well done

But exciting retail?

I doubt it.

Well, I was wrong.

Yesterday, on the way to look at kitchen counters at John Lewis (speaking of worthy but boring retail) I stumbled into the Nat Geo emporium and had a blast – literally.

Of all the things to do and see in this huge, glossy, dare I say it, sexy store, it’s hard to beat taking a spin in the testing chamber where you can try out your expedition gear in simulated extreme weather conditions while a thermo camera takes a pictures of your body’s temperatures. Even though I was in street clothes, the friendly member of staff was happy to let me have a go. Oh yes, it was super windy and cold but where else in London can you take a two minute trip to the Arctic?

In addition to the testing chamber, the store is filled with nifty products that would be great to have whether you are venturing down the block or around the globe. I found the shoes, boots, bags and backpacks particularly seductive. As you would expect from Nat Geo, there are inspiring pictures everywhere, a gallery, a space for presentations, a section for children, and a groovy looking café (the only busy place in the store) with world food and music.

It’s hard to imagine that this enormous store filled with relatively esoteric stuff will make lots of money but as an exciting retail destination and as an expression of the brand, it is a runaway success. In the guest book for the store’s current special exhibition on Finland, a young visitor, who obviously had a great time on his visit, put it this way: “I LOVE National Geographic” and that about sums it up.

The National Geographic store can be found at 83 – 87 Regent Street. There is another store in Singapore.

The photo of the testing chamber taken by Philip Meech & Tim Kavanagh is from the store’s website.

Is Your Hand in my Pocket Because You're Glad to See Me

2009-10-06T10:53:00.008+01:00

Yesterday, the UN ranked Norway the best place to live based on education, wealth and life expectancy which reminded me that I had an instructive email from Gary languishing in my inbox about the need for travellers on the road to be vigilant with valuables ... even in the best place to live in the world!

Soon after we rendezvoused with our friends on arrival in Oslo, one of them somewhat randomly mentioned multiple signs they had seen mentioning the need to stay vigilant about pickpockets.

Ah well, our friends don’t travel that much, I thought, and haven’t endured multiple “pickpockets are working this area” announcements at innumerable London tube stations. Isn’t that sweet (and maybe a bit naïve) that Marianne is concerned about such things?

The next day we had decided to join the tourist crowds, which we occasionally do, and go to see the astounding sculptures of Gustav Vigeland, Norway’s most well known (and randiest, if you take a moment to study his work) sculptor. Vigeland Park is a huge outdoor museum, and we enjoyed ourselves, despite, or maybe because of the steel grey weather. Recommended, in spite of the crowds.

Heading back to our apartment, we decided to make use of our OsloPass, which afforded us free travel on the entire trolley system, we headed to the station just outside the park gates. I was a tourist among tourists – cargo shorts, backpack, water bottle, camera. Waiting for the trolley, I took this random picture of a couple of people, one of whom (not facing me) would become more important.

The crowd built up, so by the time the train came, there were a couple of dozen of us waiting to get on.As we scrummed to board the train, said guy, newspaper in hand, thoughtfully motioned me and my backpack ahead of him. Interesting I thought, because I had seen him talking earlier to his friend, the guy who was now in front of me. Maybe they’d had enough of each other. No biggie.

Slowly, the guy in front of me stopped, and even backed up a bit, appearing to be waving others in ahead of him. Meanwhile the guy in back kept moving forward, jostling me and poking me with various elbows and knees. Was he just impatient or was that…a hand in my pocket? Suddenly, Marianne’s words came back to me as my mind spun with visions of spending the vacation cancelling credit cards and replacing driving licenses (after all who cares about the cash?)

What I did next came directly from my amygdala – no cerebral cortex involvement, I assure you. I screamed loudly “Hey, give me back my wallet!” and grabbed his newspaper arm (having understood the purpose of the paper now). Tellingly, he did not react at all, which was probably better for both of us, since I was ready for a fight and he was 20 years my junior. Everyone looked at me and waited to see what would happen. By that time I realized that he had not been successful – my wallet was still in my pocket. I know I should have dragged him to the local constabulary, but I was so relieved that I let him go and he melted into the crowd.

SO there is a moral to this story, which by the way, is not about Oslo, since it could happen anywhere. Yes, it’s about being vigilant, but more than that, it is about what a wonderful idea it is to make a scene. Acting like an obnoxious American has its advantages, and it was clearly the right thing to do here. Lorraine tells me that women, especially are taught not to call attention to themselves, even in such circumstances. I can tell you that the vacation would have been a very different one.

The image is from Viegland Park (thanks to http://www.ilovephilosophy.com/) and pickpockets or not - I really want to go there!

Thank You American

2009-10-02T11:06:00.002+01:00

I need a flight. That was one of my first thoughts after hearing that my aunt Anne had died. I need to be in North Carolina, not London, so I called American Airlines.

I explained to the woman on the other end of the phone, I don’t remember her name, that there had been a death in the family and I understood most airlines had special “bereavement” fares. It felt disrespectful even to ask. Someone has died, so can I get a cheap ticket please. But the American Airlines representative handled it all beautifully. She explained that the airline understood that there were times when a passenger was not able to book in advance. She checked availability on the next morning's flight, quoted a fare that I would have received had I booked way in advance, reserved a nice aisle seat at the front of the plane, processed my credit card and sent me my e-ticket, all in a matter of minutes.

I’ve said tons of ugly things about airlines in this blog. Still, I thought I’d use this chance to thank American for being so nice about one of the saddest requests I’ve ever had to make.

FYI – American Airlines has a daily non-stop from London Heathrow to Raleigh Durham Airport with a terrific new terminal where I cleared US Customs and Immigration in less than 10 minutes. Right now, I can’t think of a nicer or more efficient place for foreign nationals to enter the United States.

The Café of the Skinny Dipper, or, Bavaria au naturel

2009-09-22T08:25:00.006+01:00

Naked bathing in Bavaria with Gary and Lorraine???

Here's a fun story from the dynamic duo about revisiting old haunts - and the things you never forget.

Rottach-Egern, Germany—

Twenty-one years ago, the two of us traveled to Europe for the first time. The occasion for me was a client’s global management team meeting to take place at a small hotel on the Tegernsee, a beautiful alpine lake an hour south of Munich, and the opportunity for Lorraine was a two-for-one business class deal with Sabena – already leading the industry back then by flying empty planes across the Atlantic from Boston, where we were living at the time.

During the days, I worked intensively with the client’s senior team while Lorraine explored this new world, and then shared her discoveries with me over dinner each night. One particular story stuck with me. She had rented a bike at the hotel, rode it around the shoreline of the Tegernsee, and discovered a glorious café along the way, one that served beer, coffee and a few pastries on a lovely deck literally over the water at the end of a deserted dirt road. The setting was incredible, but the memorable event was when the woman sitting at the other end of her long table finished her beer, paid her bill, walked down the steps of the café’s deck, calmly removed every single article of clothing, and dove into the water.

Fast forward 21 years, and another business meeting has brought me back to Munich, this time on Emirates from Dubai, rather than poor Sabena from Boston. Lorraine decides to come along, and we plan a weekend to rediscover the Tegernsee and see what’s changed.

The first disappointment is that the lovely little rustic B&B that we stayed in back then, the Seehotel Ueberfahrt, has obviously been successful—it is now a 5 storey glass and steel monstrosity with five stars and room rates to match. We stayed elsewhere, needless to say.
But the news improves from there. This time my work was finished before the weekend, so we rented bikes together, rode down the shoreline past a few beaches, and voila! There it was. It had also seen its share of success in the last 20 years. The long tables were replaced by classy wooden café sets for seating two- and four-tops, and a high tech retracting roof had been added, with a nod to Bavaria’s sometimes unpredictable weather. The setting was every bit as beautiful – far away from the hotel crowd at the end of a long peninsula, it is truly a discovery, with a breathtaking view that takes in the length of the lake.

The menu had also gotten an upgrade. We were impressed with the range of traditional Bavarian dishes, although on this occasion, we settled for a mid-afternoon nosh of a Côtes du Rhône rosé and a fantastic trio of chocolate mousses accompanied by perfect fruits and berries. Just the thing to give you the energy for the rest of the ride…

Sadly, I can’t really tell you how to get there by car, because it seems to be relatively inaccessible that way. However, riding a bike or walking west along the beach from the Seehotel Ueberfahrt in Rottach-Egern will get you there quite efficiently – there are occasional signs to the “Strandcafe” to give you a clue. By boat, there is of course a dock, just across a small bay from the “Abwinkl” ferry stop. The GPS coordinates are N 47° 41.754’, E 11° 44.292’, so if you paste those into Google Maps or Earth, or your SatNav, you will have a very good idea of your target.

And no, for those of you who are still wondering, that event that made Lorraine realize she was in a different culture altogether twenty years ago was, sadly, not repeated.

Them’s the breaks.

A Room with a View

2009-09-21T11:27:00.006+01:00

Last week I went to Paris to try and finish a thesis on how social media networks are influencing activist politics in the Middle East.

I rented a cute little apartment on the 7th floor of a building on rue du Dragon in St Germain des Pres. You can rent it too and the link to the website is here. The apartment has a great view of the Eiffel Tower and is across the street from Cafe Flore, where Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir did a lot of their writing. Yes, the setting was atmospheric and inspiring but I think the neighborhood did more for them than for me. I'm still not done with the thesis.

But I am done with academic purdah and No Crowds radio silence. Enough is enough. Still, I am really proud that the No Crowds concept has survived the last four months thanks to the wonderful contributions of expert travellers and reporters, Gary and Lorraine. In fact, I love the idea that all kinds of people can use this platform to talk about all kinds of travel experiences. Long may it last.

Tomorrow, there's more from Gary and Lorraine, but for now, it's nice to be back.

Navigating Away from the Crowds

2009-09-01T11:22:00.015+01:00

Gary, top No Crowds reporter and resident geek enlightens us all on the why and how of using a handheld GPS on our travels.

So, you are a confirmed no-crowdite, unwilling to spend vacations within sight of more than a dozen other members of homo sapiens. When the traffic turns left, you turn right. When others queue at the airport, you take the train, or better yet, a tuk-tuk. When there is a fork in the road, you take it, just as Yogi Berra famously advised. You, my friend, had better own a handheld GPS.

You may already have a GPS (or Satnav, as they call them in the UK) either built in or added on to your car. But chances are it’s big and clunky or even physically built in, and goes catatonic when you take it a few feet away from a paved road. Enter the handheld. About the size of an iPhone, these units are wildly useful for all travelers, although you wouldn’t know that from the marketing literature. Are you going to be hiking? Biking? Driving? Boating? Traveling by train, bus or rickshaw? These babies have capability to support you in all of these modes, and among many other services, they can always answer that most important of all questions:

“Where on earth are we, and how do we find the hotel?”

A selection of things you can do with one of these units:

· Get turn-by-turn highway directions to the destination of your choice, wherever you are in the world (like your car GPS, but with a beep instead of the voice)

· Find gas stations, speed cams, hotels, restaurants and other important things

· When hiking or mountain biking, identify trails in geographic and topographic detail (i.e. how steep they are) and where they lead, as well as keeping a record of where you have been in case you need to retrace your steps.

· Plot boating trips on detailed nautical charts, with complete details about buoys, lighthouses, ports, obstacles and water depths. Boaters will also appreciate anchor drag and shallow water alarms.

· My particular unit even has information like “water temperature” and “depth”, which, although completely undocumented, make me think that it could be used while scuba diving.

· …and, if you are taking pictures, regardless of your means of conveyance, the unit will be able to encode each photo with information about exactly where in the world it was taken.

One example: The Garmin Oregon 300

As a confirmed iPhone lover, I couldn’t imagine using buttons and wheels to navigate around a map, so the Oregon seemed like a good solution, since it is completely touchscreen driven. It set me back about $350 from Amazon in the US, along with another $100 for a detailed road map and high level trail map and marine chart that covered all of Europe, from Poland to Ireland and Finland to Malta (detailed topographical maps are also available, if you’re an avid hiker). I gave this thing an unplanned test on the first day out when I slipped on a hiking trail, and managed to break my fall on a rock outcropping with the Garmin – smashing it on the rock screen side down, with all my weight behind it. End of story, I thought. As you can see, it came away with some impressive scratches (as did I), but nothing else, and continues to work perfectly. I think of the scratches as proof that I really used the thing, and wear them proudly. Try that move with an iPhone and see what happens…

It’s all about the maps

Once you choose the right GPS (or even before you choose it), make sure you can get the right digital maps, either on CD, a chip that goes in the unit, or downloaded from the maker’s website. Frankly, the unit is completely useless without them. Garmin, for example, has a dizzying array, but they let you view each map online to see whether it has the information you will need. The maps also need to be compatible with the actual unit, and that’s not always easy to figure out. But in the US and the UK especially, the available maps go to and beyond the detail of the old USGS topo maps we used back in the day when we were hiking the Appalachian Trail. The map specification is open, so for example, the Norwegian Trekking Association sells its own Garmin-compatible detailed trail and topographical maps on chips that can be loaded into your unit. And of course, there are a wide range of detailed nautical charts from around the world to make any weekend sailor happy.

There is also no end of things you can do, post holiday, with all of your GPS memories. EveryTrail (http://www.everytrail.com/) allows you to upload your trip information and photos to create a photoessay and map of your travels, and you can even let others “fly” your route in Google Earth and have your photos pop up like road signs, showing the sights along the way…
A century ago, John Masefield, the English poet laureate, just needed “a tall ship and a star to steer her by”. It may be a lot less poetic to be able to have that star in your pocket today, but hey – if it helps us each find our version of the “lonely sea and the sky”, who can blame us?