You Can't Go Home

"You can't go back home to your family, back home to your childhood ... back home to a young man's dreams of glory and of fame ... back home to places in the country, back home to the old forms and systems of things which once seemed everlasting but which are changing all the time…"

Thomas Wolfe

“You can’t go back to Parkhotel Planac.”

No Crowds

Every year since 2005, we have skied in a wonderful, undiscovered region of the Dolomites called the Alta Badia. The advantages are many. It is a massive area of dramatic scenery, easy skiing, few lines, excellent food and comparatively low prices. For most of those years, we stayed at a brilliantly positioned hotel on the slopes outside the town of Corvara called the Parkhotel Planac. A comfortable 3 star with good food and charming staff, we were happy as clams and if you care, you can read about those halcyon days here.

But how it pains me to write the next sentence. Reader, they sold it. Yes, our hotel was sold and is under new management. All the things that made the place convenient and charming – the shuttle bus into town – gone. The gala dinner where the chef paraded something on fire around the dining room – gone. The carnival party (even during Lent) when we danced the night away with Chez Guevara and Scooby Doo – gone. What is left is a rather soulless place, desperately in need of renovation.

In fairness, the new staff tried to make us happy, the food was still pretty good, the rooms were clean and the position on the slope still fantastic. But now that the shuttle bus has been axed, you really need to bring a car if you are going to stay at Planac. As far as No Crowds is concerned, this was our last year.

As for Corvara, we still love it – for all the reasons we written about over the years. So we are searching for a new ski-on, ski-off 3* hotel in the Alta Badia filled with good food and good cheer..If you know of one, please do get in touch.

Photo Credit: Dubai Gary

Happy Lord Howe

In his 1933 novel Lost Horizon, James Hilton immortalizes Shangri La, an earthly paradise where humans and nature live in perfect harmony – a utopia one never expects to find in the real life. But it exists.

Lord Howe, a tiny island in the vast Pacific about 600 km northeast of Sydney Australia is just 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 never uttered a cross word nor did we hear one. We never made or received a phone call because there is no mobile reception. We never needed a car because everyone rides bikes. Remarkably, in the 5 days we were there, we never had an unpleasant moment.

Every inch of the island is gorgeous and much of it spectacular. The wildlife seem to know they are protected - like the large turtle who spent a lazy morning swimming with my girls in the lagoon. And even though Lord Howe is idyllic, it is hardly precious. Instead, the vibe is super relaxed and 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 hut at Ned’s beach and is based on an honesty system. The fish swim right up to you in the hopes of being fed and are way too smart to get caught by young girls with fishing poles.

The harmony that is Lord Howe owes much to the fact that it was 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 and plants, many of which are found nowhere else on the planet. With a limit of 400 licensed tourist beds and an airstrip that restricts flights to 36 seat aircraft there is little humans can do to destroy this earthly paradise.  But there is still tons of stuff for humans 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 a decent tennis ball on the island so be sure to bring your own.) Or you can happily do nothing.

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

Down the road from Arajilla is Pinetrees, operated by the same family since 1848 and the original place to stay for generations of Australians coming to Lord Howe. Capella Lodge at the other end of the island looked 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 the ointment on Lord Howe, it is the question of price. No Crowds does not often endorse really expensive travel experiences because the folks who tend to go to terribly expensive places are often not much fun. Well, that’s not the case on Lord Howe plus some things are worth the expense and I would argue that it is far better to save up for Lord Howe than to go somewhere else. Never has the notion of no crowds been more delightfully delivered than on this happy, harmonious island.

Occupy Thanksgiving

This year's remarks for our London Thanksgiving celebration:

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

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

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

Now over the years, we have worked hard to grow our movement, as you can see, but despite our best and honest efforts, we can not keep up with those greedy, corrupt, fat cat Americans back in America racing ahead with their football games and parades and day off. Now I ask you, who couldn’t produce a lousy turkey dinner if the whole country was given the day off to do it. We are the 99% who had to go to school today. We are the 99% who had to go to work today. And, honest, hardworking holiday makers 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 gone unnoticed. I have here emails from leaders around the world: Gorbachev has compared us to perestroika, the Peoples Republic of China’s State News Agency said the thanksgiving protests exposed fundamental problems with the US economic and political systems. The Canadian Prime Minister expressed solidarity noting that Canada has its own Thanksgiving that is fair, progressive and favors the vulnerable.

Speaking of which, we know it took courage to come here tonight. From all over the world, you had to endure Heathrow, the M25 and the District Line. You had to schlep oysters and chairs and pies. You have to converse and eat in battle like conditions. Health and Safety laws have already been breached and more will be breached before the night is over.

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

Rome Revisited

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

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

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

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