everthenomad

Markets of Israel

2009-11-03T19:12:00.023-05:00

I just returned from a weeklong journey around Israel. The highlights of the trip are many. While I'm sorting out my impressions – intense on several levels – I thought I'd post some photos from my wanderings around the markets of Tel Aviv and Jerusalem.

The more I travel, the more I love markets. They portray everyday life as it's been lived for generations, over hundreds of years. The sights, sounds, smells, textures and tastes of Israel enchanted me. While I can only share the sights here, hopefully they can transport you to a Middle East where life, simple, unrolls at a market pace.

Here are snapshots of the Carmel Market in Tel Aviv, the largest in the city:

Below are scenes from the bustling Arab souk in the old city of Jerusalem.

Lastly, my favorite, here comes the Machane Yehuda Market in Jerusalem:

EverTheNomad online & radio

2009-10-27T13:05:00.005-04:00

Shalom from Israel! I'm currently in Tel Aviv, busy running around on my first ever visit. While I'm gathering stories and photos for a series of Israel posts to come, I thought I'd let you know of my recent online and radio appearances.

An interview with yours truly just went live on JetSetCitizen.com. Please drop by and read what I have to say about travel writing.

Also, www.lonelyplanet.com is featuring a post about island life in Croatia that I wrote back in August. You can find it on their home page: It's number 5 on the slideshow, entitled Five Days in Croatia. Then click on Our guidebook author's in heaven!

I continue to write up interesting travel specials and news that I scour on my worldwide travels for ShermansTravel.com. Here's the latest post, on a new Bora Bora opening: www.shermanstravel.com.

Last week, I was interviewed about this recent trip to Bora Bora for the KPAM 860 Travel Show with Pat Boyle, in Portland, OR. I've done several radio interviews for this travel show, which I hope to be posting on my website soon.

Lastly, check out my new photo galleries at What I See of EverTheNomad.com: Bosnia and Bora Bora. Israel coming up next. Shalom.

Guest post: Mexico City

2009-10-23T17:50:00.010-04:00

This week, we travel to Mexico City for an exciting ramble through the city's colorful markets. Our guide on the journey is Lesley Téllez of The Mija Chronicles, a freelance writer who recently relocated from Texas to Mexico City and blogs about the adventures – from food to dance – in her adopted country.

EXPLORING MEXICO CITY'S MARKETS

I've lived in Mexico City for nine months now, and grocery shopping has become one of my favorite pastimes. Not in the supermarket – where the lettuce is often wilted and the garlic sold in little plastic mesh bags – but in the real markets. Every neighborhood has at least one. Often without any sign, they tend to have the same drab, painted-brick exterior. But inside, these buildings bloom with produce, flowers, comida corrida stands, butcher stalls, cheese vendors, dry-goods sellers and the occasional fishmonger.

At any market, there's a lot to see. And smell. And hear. The first time I went to one, I stared open-mouthed at the piles of fresh green-leaf lettuce and spring onions, while a woman in a checkered smock asked me, "Qué le damos señorita?" (What can we give you, miss?) I kept walking, ignoring the vendors' calls of "Qué le damos guerita? Qué le damos linda?" (What can we give you, light-skinned one? What can we give you, beautiful?) Everyone offered a little taste of their wares, a chunk of papaya, or watermelon, or avocado plucked onto the end of a knife. But to stop and taste meant you'd be open to negotiation.

These days I use the markets both to shop – in and out in 20 minutes, when I'm in a hurry – and to wander, for an hour, if I've got the time. Here are three of my favorite Mexico City markets, in case you ever find yourself in town.

Mercado San Juan
Mercado San Juan specializes in gourmet goods. It has a great selection of exotic dried mushrooms, and imported Spanish and Italian cheeses and meats. I once bought an amazing Parmesan Reggiano (grated while I stood there), for a fraction of what it would have cost at a gourmet Mexican supermarket. Mercado San Juan also sells fresh beef, seafood and lamb. Some vendors may even deliver it to your house. The market's specialty, however, is Asian products; fresh tofu sits in a plastic bucket on the west side of the warehouse, along with stacks of daikon, bitter melon, bok choy, and more. If you go, it's also worth stopping at the El Progreso spice shop just a few blocks away, on Calle Aranda. They offer mole pastes, corn and garbanzo bean flours, and pretty much any spice you might need, including whole star anise, cinnamon sticks, and dry mustard.

Mercado San Juan
Located on Calle Ernesto Pugibet, at the corner of Luis Moya, across from the Telmex building in the Col. Centro
Metro Stop Salto de Agua (Line 1)

La Central de Abastos
The Central de Abastos – a giant maze of concrete tunnels and warehouses, south of the city center – is the meeting point for every piece of wholesale produce in the Mexico City. It's open to the public, so if you don't mind trekking about an hour south, you can watch as vendors unload, load, and sell some 30,000 tons of produce. Entire tunnels are devoted to onions, garlic, apples. Wholesale cereal is sold from plastic buckets. Burlap sacks bulge with dozens of pounds of dried chilies and spices. There's also a section that operates as a regular neighborhood market, selling fruit, vegetables, yogurt and cheese by the kilo or less. They don't sell anything exotic here, by Mexican standards, but it's worth the trip for the spectacle alone. If you're hungry, dozens of food stalls offer tacos, flautas and roasted chicken.

La Central de Abastos
To get there: Take Metro Line 8 to Aculco, and then grab a pesero right outside the Metro station that says “Central de Abastos.” The stop is at the end of the line, past the long row of seafood empanada stands.

Mercado Lázaro Cárdenas
A Mexican friend turned me on to this market several months ago, saying she loved the carnitas at one of the restaurant stands. We visited together early one Sunday morning – Mexicans like to eat carnitas for breakfast – and sure enough, they were tender and juicy, covered in a tangy green salsa. The carnitas spot, known simply as Ricas Carnitas y Desayunos, is reason enough to visit this market. But there's another reason too: a café called Passmar. The owner roasts his own coffee beans, and has taken first place in the Mexican Barista Competition twice in the past three years. Order a latte, and they'll make a cute design in your milk. Plus you can shop for produce afterward.

Mercado Lázaro Cárdenas
At Avenida Coyoacán and Aldolfo Prieto, in the Col. Del Valle

The joys of solo travel

2009-10-20T19:28:00.012-04:00

Back in July, as I was packing up for a two-month sojourn in Europe, a book arrived in the mail – Wanderlust and Lipstick: The Essential Guide for Women Traveling Solo. Penned and kindly sent to me by fellow nomad and travel writer Beth Whitman, it seemed like the perfect on-the-road read.

So the book traveled with me. And I traveled with the book.

Now, I have scoured the globe extensively since the early 1990s. Many of these trips have been accompanied by family, friends and/or lovers. Many were solo. Most of the solo trips have been for work. I'll be very honest, I do prefer to hop the globe with a partner in traveling crime. On those solo work trips, I don't typically have time to dwell on the basics – the safety of the destination where I'm going, any possible health concerns, the getting from point A to point B. I just know: I have to go and I do what needs to get done. It's become second nature.

Of course there's a fair share of planning involved but it's planning done according to what needs to be covered in the guidebook. And there's also a fair share of danger involved, which is simply the nature of the beast. In my years of travel, I've managed to get out of numerous hairy situations (a road bloc in Bolivia, being lost in the Amazon, a broken boat on The Mekong in Cambodia).

Then I read Beth's book, on the flight back and forth to visit friends in Berlin in September. It was a bit of a revelation. First, it helped me get out of my travel writer skin and realize there are people out there who need encouragement to travel solo. Myself, I can't even count the number of times I ate alone in restaurants and had late-night solo drinks in bars in the name of research. In her opening chapter, "Why Travel Solo", Beth gives the right incentive and inspiration for women to just do it.

While reading the chapter entitled "Travel Ideas Generator", it dawned on me that plenty of people need travel ideas. Not everyone is like me, with at least ten dream trips planned at any given time (many of which never happen or take a while to materialize).

The chapter on "Getting Beyond the Excuses", which talks about overcoming fears and mental hurdles that prevent people from traveling, made me realize that I actually need an excuse to stay put. There's always somewhere else I want to be. I'm always planning that next trip. Admittedly, I suffer from a serious case of wanderlust. For those who need a guiding hand on how to shed the excuses, Beth's book is an ideal read.

Then there were the chapters on the practicalities of travel – from "Mapping Out the Details" to "Let's Get Booking" and "Red Tape and Formalities". Beth's engaging text is interspersed with fantastic travel advice, practical tips and a plethora of useful links. I like to think of myself as a seasoned traveler but I must admit the book presented a lot of tips and go-to websites novel to me.

One chapter actually changed the way I travel: "Staying Healthy on the Road." Except in the case of work trips, when travel insurance is typically covered by the guidebook company I'm writing for, I have been traveling without travel insurance. Until I read Beth's book. There was a click in my head of sorts that made me realize how irresponsible it was to travel uninsured. So I threw my carefree stance out the window and purchased travel insurance for recent and upcoming trips (a Bora Bora junket earlier this month and an Israel one coming up). $25 per pop for my peace of mind. Not bad. Thanks, Beth, for giving me the push I needed to become a more responsible (to self) traveler.

And talking about responsible travel... In her chapter of that name, Beth gives great insight on low-impact travel and a thoughtful set of advice on how to move through this world more responsibly. In her opening to that chapter she writes, "Tourism is intrusive by its very nature. When traveling, you will be interacting with locals and their environment. How you conduct yourself and the impression you leave behind will affect the residents, even in the most subtle of ways. And the more remote a region and its people, the greater potential of having an impact. Make your contribution to the world positive by incorporating low-impact habits when encountering locals and spending time in their surroundings."

I echo Beth's words. And I encourage both experienced travelers and wannabe world-hoppers to pick up a copy of her book.

Guest post: Seattle

2009-10-16T22:44:00.001-04:00

In this week's guest post, we explore the restaurants of Seattle with Fletcher Findley, a recent graduate of the University of Washington School of Law. Fletcher is a Seattle-based blogger-to-be, an avid traveler and a self-proclaimed foodie. Read on to discover Fletcher's restaurant favorites...

ON THE FOOD TRAIL IN SEATTLE

I’ve been living in Seattle for four years now. In that time I’ve learned two important things. She’s a city with a great deal to offer but she makes you work for it. You can read the tourist guidebooks and check out Yelp or Citysearch but if those are the only resources for finding your way around Seattle, the sad truth is – you aren’t going to discover anything you wouldn’t expect to see in any other city in the United States.

With that in mind, I’d recommend you give the traditional destinations like Pike Place Market a miss and spend a few hours and and a lot less money doing something that the locals take very seriously: eating! Pound for pound, pun intended, Seattle has chefs working hard to innovate and transform what going to a restaurant means.

Two of my favorite restaurants anywhere can be found in Seattle: Sitka and Spruce and Elemental. Both change their menus on a weekly basis, emphasize local products, and scour the earth for the perfect wines to match their dishes. Neither takes reservations. To be more precise, Sitka and Spruce takes one reservation per night for a party of six or larger but you should place it a few months ahead. This first-come first-serve style doesn’t make it impossible to get a table, largely because most people are so terrified by the prospect of not getting in that they never bother to try. I've found that if you arrive 15-30 minutes before seating times, you will have no trouble. Once you are in, you’re best off just handing the reigns to the chefs who actually own and operate the restaurants, sitting back, and experiencing the Seattle-style foodie bliss.

If you aren’t lucky enough to get in, or you are looking for a more low-key dining experience, Seattle’s got you covered. Avoid any restaurant that you may have heard of. Instead, check out one of Seattle’s many local hangouts. The Northlake Tavern near the University of Washington serves some of the best pizza on either coast, and has enough beers on tap to satisfy almost any thirst. Alternatively, the Pacific Inn Pub – a late-night destination of choice for hipsters of all ages – serves some of the largest and tastiest fish tacos I've ever encountered and features one of the worst pool tables I’ve ever played on.

If you find yourself lost in the middle of the night with no destination and an empty stomach, you can count on Beth’s Cafe. A 24-hour establishment that has repeatedly won the ‘best greasy spoon’ award on the strength of its 12-egg omelets, Beth’s offers sanctuary from the rain and a sure treatment for your hangover.

Finally, if you’re in Seattle and unsure of where to go, I recommend yelling at the first bearded kid who rides by you on a fixed gear bike and asking for a recommendation. Those guys pride themselves on at least thinking they know where to find the best of everything. Try them.

[photos by: Tonx, lgrst4, lindes]

Just back from Bora Bora

2009-10-13T17:19:00.035-04:00

I returned from the French Polynesian island of Bora Bora just a couple of days ago. Since, I've been writing away to meet my deadlines and feeling jet-legged. Hence my blog silence.

But Bora Bora's still on my mind. Words fail to describe the ultimate tropical beauty of this South Seas hideaway so here are a few photos to illustrate.

During my seven-day sojourn for a magazine assignment, I had the privilege of staying in overwater bungalows of the island’s most beautiful hotels and resorts. And not only that – I had spa treatments every single day! Not just any ole spa treatments; we're talking Polynesian taurumi massage with monoï (scented coconut oil); volcanic sand and black pearl body wraps; and holistic facials with plant extracts. On top of spa delights, I enjoyed three heavenly gourmet meals daily and had my first Jean-Georges dining experience at Lagoon Restaurant, St Regis Bora Bora Resort.

The luxury experiences aside (that I wouldn't be able to afford were it not for my fantastic job), a highlight stands out: the stingray and shark feeding excursion that our small group of journalists was signed up for one sunny morning. Sharks tap into some unexplained but deep-seated fear of mine so I was seriously nervous when we hopped on a tiny boat for a ride out to the ocean.

We first stopped onshore to pick up a bag of fish heads from our guide’s brother and then headed off into Bora Bora's legendary turquoise lagoon. Stingrays were first on the itinerary. As our guide started to lure the rays with the fish, I jumped into the shallow water. All of a sudden, rays started to approach from all sides, coming up and rubbing against my skin with ballet-like movements. It was a feeling akin to nothing I’ve experienced before – a slippery, slimy massage by a sea creature that has the power to harm you if you make a wrong move. Standing in that water was a definite test of courage. I can say I did it. It was short-lived.

Back on the boat, I tried to prepare for what really wrecked my nerves – swimming with sharks. We drove further out to sea and then stopped. Our guide threw the fish entrails off the boat and jumped into the deep waters. I sat on the edge of the boat with my snorkeling gear on for a few minutes, taking deep breaths and mustering the audacity to just do it. And then I jumped in. Below me circling around were small black-tipped sharks and a multitude of colorful fish. When I looked deep down at the sea floor, I noticed large more menacing-looking lemon sharks. My heart definitely beat faster, in a rush of sorts: I was swimming with sharks!! I really never thought I'd say that.

With the rays and the sharks out of the way – phew! – it was time for our Polynesian picnic on a motu. A string of these coral islets circle the island of Bora Bora. Many are home to exclusive resorts and private homes. Others are deserted. The motu we visited belonged to Marona, our charismatic Tahitian guide. When we arrived to Marona's motu, we were greeted by two huge pit bulls, one of them called Honey. When I laid my eyes on Honey, I seriously questioned the appropriateness of the name. But she turned out to be a honey. As Marona prepared a Polynesian feast and the dogs were fishing (I had never seen a canine at it until that afternoon), we had an impromptu photo shoot inside the giant head of a whale that Marona found on a beach. And then the food was ready. Our plates were made of palm leaves, serving spoons were seashells and everything tasted delectable – from the grilled tuna with fresh pineapple to poisson cru (Tahiti's national dish, similar to ceviche).

Talking to Marona felt like a glimpse of what real life is like in French Polynesia, beyond the luxe resorts and fancy restaurants. This man of all trades runs a tour outfit, cooks, plays a ukulele and teaches Polynesian culture to local children. I could have stayed for hours listening to Marona with stories and stories up his sleeve, to learn more about this fabled place smack in the middle of the South Pacific. If one day you find yourself in Bora Bora, make sure you sign up for a ray and shark feeding plus a Polynesian picnic with Marona's Temanava Tours (cell number 689.79.41.91). You'll be glad you did.

Guest post: Fez

2009-10-09T14:03:00.002-04:00

In this week's guest post, fellow Lonely Planet writer Helen Ranger of The View of Fez takes us for a Saturday morning wander around her adopted city of Fez in Morocco. Join Helen on a stroll through the medina and find out what a typical day in Fez looks like.

SATURDAY MORNING IN THE FEZ MEDINA

Remember that old song, 'There's a hole in my bucket, dear Liza, dear Liza'? I was humming that gently to myself this morning, thinking of my father singing it when I was a child. It brought a smile to my lips. Well, what would you do if you had a hole in your bucket? If you live in the Fez medina, you take it to Monsieur Tazi who made it for you in the first place. Mind you, it's a very special bucket, made of cedarwood, and used to pour water over yourself in the hammam, the traditional Moroccan steam bath. I have a couple in my bathroom that I use to store towels and soaps. They look great and smell wonderful. A metal band has come off and the bottom has fallen out, so it has to be repaired. Monsieur Tazi is pretty famous, being the last cedarwood hammam bucket maker in the country. All the smart spas in Marrakech order their buckets from him.

On my way down the street, I pass the usual places and smell the usual smells that I've come to take for granted. First there's a small yard built around a natural spring, and it's here that tanners wash the freshly flayed sheepskins before taking them to be dyed. Mules transport huge piles of skins up and down the street and it doesn't smell too good. Where else, though, can you hear mules clip-clopping past your house all day?

Down a bit further is the ferran, the neighbourhood's community oven. Bread is made here for distribution to local shops, and women take their loaves to be baked just before lunch. You'll often see women or children bearing trays with flat loaves covered with a cloth, on their way to the ferran. A much better smell emanates from this area. If you want some slow-roasted aubergines or peppers, or even a leg of lamb, you can bring it here and ask the bakers to cook it for you, for around a Euro or less.

Further down the street I meet Abderrahim who has an antique/junk shop has to show me a tarma that he's just bought. A tarma is like a room divider, made of cedarwood, and decorated with turned spindles and carving. This one is thick with turquoise paint that Abderrahim is gradually removing. They're from old Jewish homes, usually in Sefrou which is about 30km from Fez. Most often a tarma was used to divide the meat from the dairy in a kosher kitchen. While I admire it, I'm not in the market for one and this splendid specimen, probably around 300 years old, will fetch at least 2500 Euros. And that's just in Morocco: it would be hugely more expensive in Europe.

Back on my journey through the medina, I come to the fountain where a natural spring is fed into a large trough. Should you have a stallion (or even just a mule), this is where you come to wash it. Often the stallions have bright hennaed manes and tails, which means they're the ones used for weddings. For such occasions, they're decked out in red and gold brocade saddles and bridles and the groom rides it to the ceremony. The horses are used for circumcisions too; the little boy (usually around 2 years old) rides with his father to the mosque.

Local women come to the fountain to fill up their buckets with water. All houses are plumbed these days, but this water is free so it's sometimes worth the effort of lugging all those buckets through the streets.

Turning right, I carry on through a dark passageway held up by the ubiquitous scaffolding that supports falling-down buildings. I come out onto the main shopping street, but can't remember if I should turn left down the hill, or right up it. I've lived here for five years, but still have the capacity to get lost in the maze of tiny streets. I ask in a shop, and am directed up the hill. Yes, there is Monsieur Tazi in his kennel-sized shop, the floor of which is five feet off the ground. He hops up and sits cross-legged to tap away at his cedarwood buckets, pretty agile for man who must be at least 70. Breathing in the delectable scent of the cedarwood, I show him my delapidated bucket. It will be ready tomorrow.

To wend my way homewards, I carry on up the hill, stopping off to buy an English-language newspaper at the only vendor in the medina. I turn right at the snail stall. Here Bahou Hasnaoui plies his trade from a home-made stall. There's a large cauldron bubbling away, full of spicy broth and snails. There are plates of lemon-halves stuck with safety-pins and piles of bowls. The idea is that you buy a bowlful and use a pin to ease the snails from their shells, and then drink the broth from the bowl. The steam has a pleasantly warming smell, but I have to admit I've not tried the contents of the cauldron.

Just near my house, I stop off at the honey souk. It's located in a very old fondouk, or caravanserai where traders used to come to sell their goods. There's a large central courtyard where the trade would have taken place and the beasts of burden, mules, donkeys and camels, would have been tethered. Upstairs are rooms along the verandahs where the traders would have lodged. This particular souk specialises in honey and khlie. That's another Moroccan delicacy that I try to avoid. It's dried lamb or beef strips preserved in fat and sold in plastic tubs. But it's the honey I'm making a beeline for. I have the beginnings of a sore throat, and there's one particular honey that's well-known for its therapeutic properties, made from euphorbia flowers. You can ask to taste the honeys – in the back of the shop are huge blue plastic drums full of all different types: lavender, rosemary, mountain flowers, carob, orange blossom, thyme, fig, even caper, and, of course, the euphorbia. You'll be given a small tasting spoon that you can dip into each one. The spoon is not changed between dips and has probably been used by plenty of other people. Ah well, they do say that honey is antibiotic. I taste mine at home; it has a slightly medicinal flavour with a warming, almost burning sensation in the back of the throat. Perfect.

WanderWomen Write Contest

2009-10-04T14:56:00.003-04:00

Thought I'd spread the news of a fantastic travel writing contest for budding and experienced female travel writers: WanderWomen Write Contest by Wanderlust and Lipstick. I am excited to say that I will judging this contest together with four other travel writers!

I encourage you to enter your original stories for a chance to win a 12-day Health and Harmony Tour through beautiful Vietnam with Buffalo Tours. Additionally, each top winner of five contest categories will win a Bayliss bag from Overland Equipment AND a Coolmax Travel Blanket and Travel Pillow from Cocoon.

The Health and Harmony Tour provides the traveler with nothing short of luxury. The tour is focused on visiting splendid resorts and spas and learning and practicing Tai Chi in the most beautiful destinations around Vietnam. It also includes visits to Hanoi, Halong Bay, Hoi An and Nha Trang.

Buffalo Tours is an internationally renowned, award-winning travel company spanning Indochina. They offer a wide range of inspirational travel options in Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos and Thailand, from adventure travel and voluntourism to luxury travel.

Wanderlust and Lipstick is THE destination for women travelers. This growing media company includes a series of comprehensive travel guides for women, adventure tours and a website featuring tips and extensive information to ensure safe and enjoyable travel. President and publisher, Beth Whitman, has more than 22 years of travel experience as both a backpacker and businesswoman, and has been called "the guru for women’s travel."

Guest post: Santiago

2009-10-02T15:20:00.006-04:00

In this week's guest post, we travel south to Santiago, Chile, as the city wakes up to the southern hemisphere spring. Eileen of Bearshapedsphere, a Brooklyn expat now based in Chile's capital, takes us for a fun walk around town and a look at her four-legged co-citizens: the ubiquitous street dogs.

STREET DOGS OF SANTIAGO

Santiago, Chile is a modern-meets-antique city in the valley that lies between the soaring Andes and the coastal range. It's hot and dry in the summer, cool and smoggy in the winter, with its seven million inhabitants dressed for the occasion as we hurtle on through the seasons. At this time of year, spring welcomes us: umbrellas slip away, sleeves shorten and we wait for that strong summer sun to keep us warm into the evening. Oh, and the dogs come out.

In her book My Invented Country, Chilean author Isabel Allende talks about the Chilean street dog, musing that they look like dogs would if humans had never intervened – midsized, brown, with no distinguishing characteristics. I can’t speak to their appearance so much as to their re-appearance. In winter and cooler months you’ll see street dogs hunkered down in home-made doghouses that neighbors build for them and, as the days warm up, dozing lazily outside.

Think I’m kidding? See below.

Dogs that have no cardboard homes, or those that are suddenly seized by the need for a nap, can be found sleeping all over the place. They fully expect you to step around them, which of course you do, mindful of the admonition to let sleeping dogs lie. They’ll pretty much lie down anywhere. Even in front of the riot police. Yawn. That’s so predictable.

This, after a hard day of protesting. You might take a nap, too.

And what’s a parade without a few dogs running in and out of the masses? They’re so much a part of the city backdrop that no one even attempts to shoo them away.

People seem to really love the street dogs, putting out plates of food – sometimes kibble, sometimes cut-up hot dogs. But it's never bread, since these dogs know their place in the food chain and leave the bread for the pigeons, which are very appreciative. People even dress the street dogs in weather-appropriate “garments” as the season requires. Consider this dog, whom I like to call superdog, dressed in a cape fashioned out of a trash bag. It had been raining earlier in the day.

Street dogs seem to continue on a survival-of-the-fittest (or scrappiest) basis. Those who know how to cross the street with humans (not against the light) live to see another day. Those who don’t, well, don’t. The ones in Santiago seem to be self-trained to make their way across with people. I have actually had to turn back when crossing a street illegally that required me to hop a fence when I realized a dog had followed me – I could neither lift him over the fence nor leave him in the middle of the street.

All of this makes it sound like we live a peaceful existence with the street dogs. But where in the winter sleeping dogs lazily yawn at us from their doorways or cardboard huts, at this time of year (spring) dogs seem to shake out of their winter doldrums like the rest of us and get downright peppy, both playful and aggressive. For someone who bikes nearly everywhere, this can be a problem. I’ve actually had a dog clamp onto my shoe and pull my foot down as I pedal past Plaza de Armas late at night.

To which the correct response (or to any aggressive/annoying dog in Chile) is “Sale!” (Say: SAL-ay), meaning get out. That makes little sense since most of the time when dogs get rowdy, everyone is already outside. But philosophical dialogue aside – the dogs usually run away. I’m sad to say it’s because “Sale!” has probably often come paired with a kick or another form of person-on-dog violence. But, really, between my peacefully-pedalling leg and the mandible of a carnivore, “Sale!” it is and off they go.

Periodically there are campaigns to rid the city of its street dogs, campaigns that people deem cruel but necessary. Especially around La Moneda, the presidential palace, where protests take place and dignitaries come to rub shoulders with other dignitaries, the idea of having a posse of street dogs come up and attack is less than savory. Plus it does nothing to foster Chile’s desired image as up and coming, not violent and dog-bitey.

So something happens. A group culling, you could say. People are up in arms about it for a week, or maybe three, and then everyone gets puppies for their birthday or because they had a breakup and feel sad. Few people get their dogs “fixed” so they go out and mate and there are yet more puppies, a veritable melting pot of puppy creation, with German shepherd roots and a finish of poodle or hound. At least some of these are destined to snooze on the street like they have not a care in the world, and some are destined to try to give you a good chomp when you go by.

All of this seems so strange in light of the fact that people here seem to really, really love their pets. There are more veterinarians and pet-supply stores in Santiago than I’ve ever seen in any other city. Which just brings to light again the great contrast that is this place I call home. Soaring mountains with gentle hills, ultramodern office high-rises with gas canister deliveries being made by cargo tricycle, and my (Chilean-American) friends' dogs who spend their days like this:
And that is a whole other blog post about culture and class and effort and status quo and purposeful living. But for now, look: dogs!

Berlin beckons

2009-09-28T09:14:00.020-04:00

I spent five days visiting friends in Berlin last week and walked away from the German capital with a conclusion: If I were to move back to the old continent, Berlin would be my city of choice. It's definitely, methinks, the coolest capital in Europe. Things I love about it: the laid-back vibe, gritty glamor, creative energy, affordable rents, offbeat characters, down-to-earth bars and cafes...

Here come the highlights of my stay, made possible by my dear Berlin friends who all make me want to move there in a snap:

* Taking in the sunshine one fine afternoon at Görlitzer Park in Kreuzberg, a favorite swath of greenery for a sundry crowd of locals and tourists who congregate here on warm-weather days for a spot of park fun

* Cheap but tasty lunch at Rissani (Spreewaldplatz 4), a no-frills Moroccan diner near my friend's place in Kreuzberg, where we had copious amounts of schwarma and falafel for just a couple of euros

* A heartfelt talk, glass of Shiraz in hand, with my friend Sol at Fatima's Hand (Grimmstrasse 23), a cozy basement bistro run by a lovely Turkish woman near the canals in Kreuzberg, which doubles as a hair salon during the day

* A four-hour lunch and chat at Freischwimmer Berlin, a riverside resto and bar, with my fellow Lonely Planet writer Andrea Schulte-Peevers, THE Berlin expert and author of many editions of the Lonely Planet Berlin guide

* Dinner at Il Casolare Trattoria (Grimmstrasse 30) on the canal, a buzzing Kreuzberg institution that serves the city's best pizza, according to those in the know, at good-value prices (we paid €20 per person for heaps of food, drinks, and dessert)

* Saturday night clubbing till 7am at a secret location I won't disclose

* A Sunday afternoon browse around the sprawling Mauerpark flea market in Prenzlauer Berg, where I bought a funky wallet, said hello to a friend who was selling T-shirts and caught the evening karaoke in the park – a fun event not to miss!

* Wiener schnitzel at the all-white Schneeweiss in the neighborhood of Friedrichschain, a trendy but non-pretentious spot good for a special dinner out

* Falafel at Mo’s Kleiner Imbiss (Graefstrasse 9) in Kreuzberg, a mom-and-pop storefront where the heavenly sandwich (€4) features a delicious nut paste with ground ginger and pomegranate seeds, grilled haloumi, and nice salad

* The cappuccino at Bonanza Coffee Heroes, claimed by die-hard coffee drinkers to serve the best java in town, and the organic key-lime pie made by my dear friend Sol – make sure you taste a slice!

* Dinner of veggie appetizers, lamb and bison at Cafe Jacques (Maybachufer 8) by the Kreuzberg canal, a candlelit North African resto perfect for a romantic night out and known for its fish and a good selection of wine

Guest post: Jamaica

2009-09-25T15:00:00.000-04:00

In this week's guest post, we join Kaci Hamilton of Write Around the World on a fun food spin of her beloved Jamaica. Born and raised on the island, Kaci takes us away from Jamaica's gated resorts and hotel compounds that most visitors never (dare to) leave. Instead, we skip the vacationing hordes for a fresh insider's look at where to eat the island's real-deal seafood, including the best grilled oysters.

FOOD TOUR OF JAMAICA

It’s taken me some time, but I’ve finally come to the conclusion that I love food. And like Julia Child, I’m good at eating it. I love cooking it, I love shopping for it, I love the experience of sitting around a table, wine glass in hand, empty plates, head-spinning (or belly-busting) conversation going on and feeling that general, satiated, feel-good, post-meal high. Living in Jamaica, I get to indulge my love constantly, with the hodgepodge of cultures that make up our cuisine, and so my inspiration came immediately. I thought seafood. And I thought road less travelled.

The new (ok, maybe not so new) hotspot for fish and seafood is Port Royal, the infamous pirate and buccaneer port of call in Kingston. Locals venture the 30-minute drive to devour fried and steamed fish, fish soup, and conch. I, however, decided to stop at a spot 15 minutes into that drive, in Harbour View, at a collection of tarpaulin-and-wood tents, to visit my local fisherman friend, Gilly, and pop my oyster cherry.

Considering that I love food, it may seem surprising that I have never tried oysters. I am ashamed to admit the look and supposed texture completely turned me off. Yes, I was being completely judgmental. But I had heard that Gilly makes a mean grilled oyster and it was now or never.

Harbour View is perhaps just as known among locals for seafood, but the set-up is much more rustic and bare-bones than most places. Scavenging dogs can be seen running with Styrofoam boxes in their mouths, stalls with two of everything — from cranberry juice to cigarettes — stand ready to sell one of them, and a tiny television set blasts images from the bootleg DVD it’s showing. Hitched on the side of the road, right next to a roundabout, it seems an unlikely spot for lots of cars to pull up and chill. But it works: the vendors are out almost every night, and the people come.

I dragged my friend Barbara along (camerawoman extraordinaire) and by the time we were done, we had slurped our way through four dozen of those little things. Gilly had two different kinds of sauce, one sweet, the other spicy, made with thyme, pimento, carrots, scotch bonnet, vinegar and water. Barbara favoured the sweet, I, the spicy. Literally, we couldn’t get enough. I couldn’t believe I had run away from this tender, yummy scrumptiousness all this time. Granted, these weren’t raw but if oysters could taste this good, I needed to pay attention.

In true Top Chef fashion, I have to describe just what came together in such magical symphony on my tongue. The tender, juicy texture of the oysters, coupled with the supple smoky aroma from the grill, further enhanced by the tart, yet sweet piquant sauce: it was a triumvirate of culinary pleasure. There was velvet, and savory and a delicious burn. I think Padma and Tom would be proud.

The vendors at Harbour View have been at their current location for the past 15 years, Gilly for about 12 of those. After my four dozen oysters, I met one of Gilly’s long-time customers, who was downing oyster after raw oyster from a pile in front him. It turns out he was Gilly’s long-time customer for a reason. Actually there were six, and all of them boys. Nearby, I overhear some guys joking about long lasting sex and Viagra-esque side effects as a result of dining by Gilly’s. Next to me Barbara is looking dreamy with a mischievous grin on her face. I guess the fourth ingredient in grilled oysters has to be all the jokes about the aphrodisiac tendencies.

On my last batch, I tried a pale-pink hot sauce, and it was the kind that makes your lips burn when you exhale and the backs of your eyes tear up. I took care of it with an ice-cold Red Stripe. We settled our bill, a total of JM$940 — about US$10 — for three Red Stripes and four dozen bites of heaven. Can’t say fairer than that.

And, now, to see Kaci in action on her Thursday night food outing, check out this video.

Whitewater rafting in Bosnia

2009-09-21T13:44:00.003-04:00

Whitewater rafting on Una River in Bosnia has been a fantasy of mine for quite some time. Years ago, a friend who was shooting a Czech film where the rivers of Una and Unac meet showed me photos that looked so lush and wild that I told myself – I just have to go there! This past summer, a Bosnian friend in New York was sharing his pictures from a recent trip back home. Looking at what seemed like untouched wilderness, I made the decision on the spot – I must go, now. Or, at least, in the near future.

As soon as I arrived to Croatia in July, I dug out my precious Bosnian connections. In just a couple of days, I had a whole rafting trip arranged for a group of five: yours truly and four high school-era friends from Zagreb.

Fast forward to the first Friday of September. It's evening and we're leaving Zagreb for a 2.5-hour drive toward Bihać. This small and pleasant town in northwestern Bosnia and Hercegovina, by the border with Croatia, sits on the banks of Una River. We arrive after 9pm and meet Almir, our man in Bosnia. After unloading at the B&B where we booked our one-night stay, Almir takes us for a stroll through town. It appears to be a young, vibrant and friendly place. We have dinner at a riverside terrace of a hotel restaurant, right by a small waterfall. This is where I realize that water is the lifeline of Bihać, its strength, its potent power. In and around town, it's all about river, streams, springs, rapids, and waterfalls.

We spend the night at Teta (Aunt) Bogdanka's place, a recommendation by another Bosnian friend. I have a fantastic night's sleep in one of the neat, clean and tidy rooms of her recently opened B&B, where per person rates are just €10! This is definitely the place to stay if you find yourself in Bihać. Teta Bogdanka doesn't speak English but she's such a friendly and motherly character that you'll find a way to communicate, no doubt. This is the address to look for: Đačka Ulica 51, near the high school. Bogdanka works in the ground-floor store so peek in during opening hours or call one of her numbers to book (387-37-312-904/387-37-312-896).

We wake up the following morning to gray overcast skies and insistent rain. Not ideal weather for a day of on the river! But there we are, trying to invite at least a ray of sunshine to pierce through the clouds. Almir comes to pick us up for a drive to the village of Lohovo, a few kilometers out of town, where our rafting adventure begins.

A few words on the rafting agencies in Bihać. While there are several in town (a google search will testify), some operating for over ten years, not all are trustworthy and respectful of the river. I was lucky to get insider advice that took me to Green River Rafting, the best and most professional of the outfits in the area. Their overnight package costs between €75 and €100 per person (depending on the group size and season), with two breakfasts (on the day of arrival and departure); a day of rafting; all equipment; and a dinner with party. And it's totally worth it.

Upon arrival to Green River Camp, we are served a hearty breakfast of locally made cold cuts and cheese and homemade bread. After filling up for the day afloat, we're given the gear – neoprene suits and slippers, life jackets, and helmets. We then board a bus that takes us to the kick-off point: Štrbački Buk waterfall. Here, we are briefed by our skipper and board the rafts. And this is where pure fun starts – an adrenaline-charged adventure that made me feel like a child who just discovered a new endlessly amusing toy. At every waterfall we descend and every rapid we go down on, we all scream with joy and, admittedly, a little fear thrown in too. Especially after seeing several rafts behind us capsize! But risk is part of the fun.

The escapade lasts almost five hours. The entire time there isn't a drop of rain. The rain gods smile at us. Even some sun rays peak through. After about two hours, which are the most action-packed part of the trip, it is all about paddling, paddling, and more paddling – a serious workout for all eight of us in the raft.

In April, which is the prime time for rafting on Una, there's less paddling involved since the water level is higher, the rapids stronger and the current just carries you downstream. We went toward the end of the season, when the grade drops to 2-3. This meant we had to even get out of the raft a couple of times and walk through the river to avoid the shallow parts. Plus there was more paddling. I'm now aching to go back next spring, to experience some real-deal grade 3-4 rafting.

After the last waterfall descent, with 17 kilometers of paddling behind us, we come to the end of the river journey. It's only then I realize that I am freezing cold, with bluish lips. We walk back to the base camp, where we warm up and enjoy a dinner of barbecued meat (including delicious ćevapčići, small and spicy ground meat sausages), potatoes and salad. I give in to the river and collapse around 10pm while the party downstairs, fueled with beer and rakija (a strong grape grappa), rages till the wee hours.

The following morning, after a breakfast of pita (Bosnian pastries filled with either meat, cheese, spinach or potato), we drive on to the village of Martinbrod some 50km from Bihać. Scenically located at the foot of Una where it meets the canyon of Unac River, this is where the travertine (a terrestrial sedimentary rock) created numerous canals, rapids, islets, and waterfalls. We check out the biggest one, 25 meters high. Right next to it stands an abandoned half-destroyed house, a remnant of the brutal war in Bosnia. As I stand on the small wooden platform overlooking the waterfall, I picture a happier time in the past, when someone actually lived in this little house, falling asleep and waking up to the sound of rapidly falling water. I can only imagine how much that someone, wherever they may be in the world or beyond, must miss this sound.

Guest post: Seoul

2009-09-18T06:53:00.016-04:00

Anna of Annamatic moved to Seoul, South Korea from New York City four years ago when her husband got a job at a Korean firm. Since then, she's been working across time zones as a freelance designer for Stateside clients (check out her portfolio and visit her crafts shop here) and spending most of her weekends trying to explore and eat her way through all the nooks and crannies of this constantly morphing metropolis. When I invited Anna to guest post on Seoul, she decided to dedicate the article to the side of the city that is fast disappearing in the name of redevelopment. Read on for a truly fascinating insight into the soul of Seoul.

DISAPPEARING SEOUL

It's become somewhat of a cliché, when describing large Asian cities, to note the juxtaposition of ancient and modern by describing the cheek-by-jowl placement of old palaces and gleaming, neon-clad office towers. Seoul – like Tokyo, Hong Kong, Bangkok and Shanghai – certainly has plenty of that. Yet, for some reason, I'd never really been enamored by either side of that dichotomy here. The royal palaces seem far removed from the average Korean's everyday existence. The shopping districts glitter with foreign imports that I can buy more cheaply elsewhere. Instead, again and again, I'm drawn to the odd, lumpy neighborhoods hidden in alleyways, tucked away in unfashionable districts and cowering in the shadows of those ever-present wrecking balls.

On weekends, my husband and I pick a neighborhood on the map, hop onto the subway and spend the afternoon roaming nondescript back alleys. We pick our way among dwellings snugly perched on hillsides, accessible only by narrow concrete steps. We hunt down neighborhood canteens serving home-cooked stews, tucked in alleyways too narrow to squeeze a Kia sedan. We explore each "-dong" (neighborhood) block by block.

First, a little bit of background. Much of the Seoul you see today emerged from the rubble after the end of the Korean War when, in a flurry of construction, a new, utilitarian and none-too-pretty concrete skyline materialized. The initial building boom wasn't too well thought out – some apartment buildings and department stores collapsed right after they were erected – but over time something unique to Seoul came into being.

In some neighborhoods, the hanok (traditional one-story Korean houses with courtyards and tile roofs) were bulldozed and replaced with boxy (but then-state-of-the-art), five- or six-story structures where families relocated to start a new life. Other neighborhoods, graced by their inhospitable locations on steep hillsides, were spared the wrecking ball for another day. But hardy residents throughout – mostly grandpas and grandmas, since younger folk have all moved to more commute-friendly apartment complexes – have over the course of the last four decades, adapted their homes to modern living in typical pragmatic fashion. That is, by molding oddly shaped additions out of concrete and corrugated steel, stacking kimchi pots and drying peppers on rooftop patios, and weaving squash vines around doorway trellises.

These days, the remnants of the post-war developments are crumbling and the skyline that's developing in their stead is a disturbingly uniform forest of apartment buildings differentiated only by their luxurious-sounding brand names – Lotte Caste, Richensia, Hill State. The concrete towers bear little witness to their neighborhoods' colorful histories, erasing from the landscape the corner shops where neighbors traded gossip while children played in the street. In a rush to turn Seoul into a "world-class" city attractive to tourists and foreign investors, the city government and local developers have been destroying, "-dong" by "-dong", the very bits of urban soul and everyday life that make this city unique. The constant background soundtrack to our past four years in Seoul has been a cacophony of rumbling bulldozers and whining drills.

Seoul can be a hard place to get to know. For first-time visitors who can't read or speak Korean, much of the city is indecipherable and seemingly out of reach, so travel guides and tour buses are certainly an easy solution. But almost every world traveler asks, upon landing in an unfamiliar country and settling in at their hotel, "What can I find here that I can't find anywhere else?" Seoul's answer to that question lies hidden in plain sight, a few minutes walk from major subway stations but absent from most guidebooks. There's nothing here to give the following neighborhoods historic designation. One might even say they're unremarkable, mundane, even boring. But perhaps there's no better way to get to the heart of a culture than to experience what the local version of "boring" is, for it's most certainly very different from what you would consider "boring" back home.

During your stay in Seoul, take an afternoon to tuck yourself into an unremarkable neighborhood of Seoul – browse the colorful clutter of a local hardware store, pick up an energizing Vitamin C drink from the tiny neighborhood pharmacy, and thumb through some comic books at a manhwa lending library. Few of the signs will be in English but a surprising amount of communication might be achieved with hand motions and smiling. When you run across a neighborhood market, follow your nose, pull up a stool, and order up some fried seafood pancakes. When the sun sets, share some steamed mussels and a bottle of soju with some friends at a pojangmacha street food stall before taking a taxi back to your guesthouse.

So, without further ado, and before it's too late – I hear the staccato hammering of a jackhammer taking apart the house next door even as I type these words – I present my "take-the-subway-and-then-get-lost-in-a-random-neighborhood" tour of everyday Seoul...

Ahyeon-dong (아현동)
Line 5 Aeogae Station, Exits 3 and 4 (애오개역)

Although the ground breaking for this area's latest apartment development is yet to begin, the little neighborhood right outside exit 3 has been almost completely demolished. You might still spy some abandoned shops and gutted houses if you go before the end of 2009. To the east, from the playground of the Hwan-il Middle School, there is a great view of the city's patchwork of rooftops. Wander in a northerly, uphill direction towards Chungrim-dong to explore more narrow back alleys slated for destruction. Recently posted wheat-paste signs have been advertising a New Town development project, promising compensation for neighborhood denizens who move out of their homes peacefully.

Mullae-dong (문래동)
Line 2 Mullae Station, Exit 7 (문래역)

Mullae-dong largely consists of industrial metal shops. There are few residential services here and it becomes a ghost town on the weekends. Go on weekdays to see them in all their noisy, clattering glory. Tucked in this neighborhood are also a few artist studios decorated with quirky murals.

Tongin-dong (통인동)
Line 3 Gyeongbokgung Station, Exit 2 (경복궁역)

In every guidebook, Gyeongbuk Palace is listed as a must-see tourist destination. But when you're done checking it out, take an hour or so to explore this little neighborhood located just a few hundred meters to its west. First, locate Tongin Market to enjoy some rice cakes stir-fried in soy sauce, an old-fashioned snack. Then, work off the calories by exploring the neighborhood just behind the market, a sleepy area with dated storefronts that seem straight out of the 1970s.

Yeongcheon Market (영천시장)
Line 3 Dongnimmun Station, Exit 4 (독림문역)

There are outdoor food markets scattered throughout the city; Yeongcheon Market is but one example. Located south of Dongnimmun Station on the other side of the elevated expressway, Yeongcheon serves the residents of Hyundai and Geukdong apartment complexes nearby. It reaches its peak of activity right before dinner. Pick up a bag of fried doughnut sticks for 1,000 Won, haggle with the produce-selling aunties over the price of lettuce and cucumbers and savor a market experience devoid of tourist touts.

Gyeongdong Market (경동시장)
Line 1 Jegidong Station, exit 2 (재기동역)

Here, you can find ginseng, herbs and all sorts of medicinal items that are supposed to give you health, strength and ... well, libido. It's good for just taking in all the interesting sights and smells. Somewhere in here is the best naengmyeon (cold buckwheat noodles) in the city.

Dapsimini Antiques Market (답십리고미술상가)
Line 5 Dapsimini Station, exit 1 or 2 (답십리역)

Skip the guidebook-touted antique shops in Insadong (overpriced) and Itaewon (fake) and head to Dapsimini Station instead. Even if you're not going to buy, it's fun to wander among the dusty shops and look at all the old furniture and ceramics. The market hasn't been seeing a lot of business lately – many young affluent Koreans prefer to decorate their homes with brand-name imports – so please pick up a little something to help keep these sellers in business. There are a lot of cheaper smaller items, like embroidered pillows and vintage cutlery, that can make nice souvenirs.

Kwangjang Market (광장시장)
Line 1 Jongno-5-ga Station, exit 8 (종로5가)

If you're looking for a bustling market experience, this is one of the largest markets in downtown Seoul. It's like a mall for retirees, packed to the ceiling with housewares and clothing available in a full range of grandma- and grandpa-friendly styles. Go around lunchtime on a weekday to people-watch at peak time and to eat some awesome handmade noodles and Korean pancakes. Stall number 21 has my favorite dumplings in all of Seoul.

One day in Ljubljana

2009-09-14T14:50:00.002-04:00

Last week I made an overnight visit to Ljubljana, the small and delightful capital of Slovenia. An easy 2.5-hour train ride away from Zagreb, my base at the moment, it offered a nice city break. My reasons for the trip were of personal nature but I managed to have a glimpse of Ljubljana as a first-time visitor (even though I've been to Ljubljana at least ten times). In fact, I try to do this with all the cities I visit regularly.

Lying between the Alps and the Adriatic, with a vibrant culture and art scene, great shopping and sightseeing aplenty, Ljubljana is an ideal destination for lovers of Central European flair. And Europe it is indeed. It's the first and so far the only one of the ex-Yugoslav republics-turned-independent countries to have joined the European Union, in 2004.

Ljubljana's rich history spans five thousand years. Imagine what happens in and to a city during such a long period of time! In its old town, medieval structures and ancient Roman monuments blend with Baroque and Art Nouveau masterpieces. Ljubljana Castle on a hill above town, inhabited as early as the 12th century BC, is the city's definite landmark. It doubles as a sight not to miss and a venue for concerts, performances, and exhibitions. Check out www.ljubljanafestival.si.

If you like to browse through random bric-a-brac and hunt for old treasures, check out the antique flea market. Held on Sundays between 8am and 2pm at the Cankarjevo Nabrežje embankment, it features stalls and stalls of decorative items, collectibles, art pieces, and nostalgic miscellania. It was Monday when I visited Ljubljana so I sadly missed the flea market.

Sunny skies and warm temperatures were a perfect accompaniment to my one day in the city. The streets and squares were jam-packed with people soaking up the sun rays, taking in the last breaths of summer. We took a couple of tea breaks in alfresco cafes and strolled along the tree-shaded Ljubljanica riverside with its numerous bridges and stone terraces lined with weeping willows.

There was something I just had to do – stop by Lola, a lovely gift shop on the riverfront (Gallusovo Nabrežje 1) where a couple of years ago I bought a colorful pair of slippers handmade by a local designer. I've worn them so much in my Brooklyn apartment that they fell apart last winter. I had been pining for another pair since. Mission accomplished – now I have another pair of funky slippers to bring back to Brooklyn.

With the shopping done, we had a snack on the riverfront terrace of what many claim is Ljubljana's best pizzeria, Ljubljanski Dvor (Dvorni Trg 1). A couple of hours later, there was time for lunch so we headed to Cantina Mexicana (Wolfova Ulica 4) in a charming passage off the riverside, where the Mexican food is surprisingly tasty and the portions huge.

As for lodging in Ljubljana... If you're traveling on a budget, the best place to stay is Hostel Celica, a former military prison converted into a hip and happening hostel and cultural center. Each of the twenty prison cells (starting at €18 per night, with breakfast) is designed by a different local artist; there are also regular doubles and dorms. Celica features a bar and restaurant, as well as a gallery. I went a different route and booked my one-night stay through City Breaks Europe, short-stay apartment specialists with furnished apartments in 14 cities around Europe. I had a fantastic experience: the apartment owners waited for us at the train station at midnight, drove us to the apartment (small, pleasant, clean and close to the center; see Ljubljana Apartments), we had a good rest and left the following morning. A breeze.

Ljubljana is a bike-friendly city – on warm days, just about everyone seems to be on their bikes, riding along the many bike paths. It's a great way to get around the compact city, especially on warm days (winters tend to be bitingly cold in Slovenia). Bike hire is easy, cheap and available at several locations around the city; read up on bicycle hire.

To go further afield and explore Slovenia off the beaten trail, Be Alive Ecotours is a terrific option. This small operator offers trips to undiscovered regions of the country. They promote sustainable tourism by partnering with small farms that offer comfortable lodgings and home-cooked meals of locally grown organic ingredients. On their excursions (lasting between two and seven days), you can roam around national parks, enjoy horse-drawn carriage rides under the full moon, and hike through fields of alpine wild flowers.

To find out more about Ljubljana, visit www.visitljubljana.si. For more on Slovenia, go to www.slovenia.info.

[photos by: fstifter, nickster2000, peshovski, pninaN]

Guest post: Baltimore

2009-09-11T13:12:00.001-04:00

In this week's guest post, we travel to Baltimore for a super-fun city tour with Anne Ditmeyer, a graphic designer and travel blogger who runs Prêt à Voyager. After five years in Baltimore, Anne has just relocated to Paris this fall. Despite moving away, Baltimore will always remain near and dear to Anne's heart, as you'll clearly see from her article. Don’t miss the Baltimore guide she co-wrote. And now ... have a blast in Baltimore!

BALTIMORE: THE GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH

Well, hello there, Hon! Dare I ask you what you know or think about Bawlmer (aka Baltimore to most of you)? The city benches may claim it as the “Greatest City in America,” others call it Charm City, USA, to locals it’s Smalltimore but today it’s the Greatest Show on Earth. Sit back and behold some of my favorite wonders of this city that gets cast in the shadows as the ugly step child of DC, New York and Philly. Yes, only a threesome could create a city like this! Just kidding.

The American Visionary Art Museum [AVAM]
You’ll struggle to find any museum in the world quite like the American Visionary Art Museum, a fantasy land of untrained and outsider artists. Once you see the multistory whirligig created by 80+-year-old artist Vollis Simpson, a façade covered by the world's largest community mosaic project, and a cosmic egg in the plaza of museum grounds, it is pretty much guaranteed that you’ll never look at art the same way again. Just wait until you get inside to the titanic ship created entirely out of toothpicks! The museum is the perfect first stop to the world of Baltimore kitsch and creativity. Don’t forget to check their calendar for great classes – mosaics, bookmaking, LED workshops, sock monkeys and more – and one-of-a-kind parties. The museum's gift shop, Sideshow, is not to be missed.

The Kinetic Sculpture Race
While Baltimore can’t claim ownership of the Kinetic Sculpture Race (that credit goes to California, and a very special man named Hobart Brown), I’d venture to say that this city embraces the race better than any other. The premise is: anyone can enter their own (wo)man-powered kinetic (sculptural) vehicle. But it’s more than a vehicle – beyond traveling 15 miles across and around the city, each must be able to travel on land, in water, through sand and mud. While the vehicle needs to do each one of these things, the kicker is the fact it need not do it well, for the real winner of this race is the most mediocre – the one that finishes in the dead middle of the pack.

Along the race, pilots and their pit crew bring smiles to those they pass on their journey, with the crazy costumes and antics that ensue. Fifi the pink poodle and Bumpo the elephant are the staples. The 2009 race saw a record number of vehicles, including a personal favorite called “Hot Beef Injection” where burgers and dogs where grilled onboard along the route. Oh yes, bribes (and sock monkeys) are required for the Kinetic Kops who help keep the peace and make sure the race runs smoothly on race day. Mark your calendar now for the first weekend in May 2010.

Charm City Roller Girls
Although not unique to Baltimore either, the Charm City Roller Girls embrace the true spirit of the sport in a way you can’t find just anywhere. I don’t know if it’s the bad-ass tattoos or the fact that many of the participants are actually moms who wear many hats but these girls are hardcore and will make you happy you’re just a spectator and not actually participating in the bout. While the sport is getting bigger and spreading from coast to coast, I’d challenge to say that Baltimore does it bigger and better than anyone. It’s a city where it just fits. And if you can’t make it to Baltimore anytime soon, roller derby is generally not an event to miss in your lifetime. Promise.

Hampden & Hon Fest
Why visit the Inner Harbor (hellllllo, tourists!) when you can visit Hampden, the very Baltimore neighborhood composed of lifers and hipster implants? Over the past several years the neighborhood has really taken shape and is living proof that “going local” has its charms and way more to offer than a strip mall full of chain shops and restaurants. The giant pink flamingo on the exterior of Café Hon, an homage to Baltimore’s own John Waters and his film Pink Flamingos, is the best evidence you’re not in Kansas – or DC for that matter – anymore.

But let’s back up and introduce the “hons.” First picture an old grandmother type – think 60s, hair in a bouffont ‘do (or perhaps curlers still in the hair), sporting cats eye glasses, lots of make-up (mantra: “you can never wear enough blue eye shadow”) and decked out in a patterned housecoat or anything spandex, especially animal print (see Hairspray – the original – as a point of reference). And of course they call you Hon (affectionate, as in honey). So maybe you won’t actually see these “hons” wandering the street if you visit Hampden, but every June they come out in hoards. Literally. Welcome to HonFest. The “Miss Hon” contest is always a highlight where beauty and talent collide; the corresponding “Little Miss Hon” competition is for the young ones with high aspirations. And if you’re feeling left out of the fun, you can always stop by the “Glamour Lounge” for your very own teased hair and lots of hairspray.

The Miracle on 34th Street
If you’ve ever wandered into one of those year-round “Christmas stores” and found yourself completely overwhelmed and thinking: "This is completely over-the-top and unnecessary!", welcome to 34th Street (aka the Christmas Street) in Hampden. The Hons may be hibernating for the winter but this street goes all out for the holidays.

The first Saturday after Thanksgiving Santa rolls in on the back of his pick-up truck to ring in the season. Lights are strung across the street, Christmas music blares, and bulbs are too many to count (as are random tchotchkes and inflatable holiday paraphernalia). It also may be the only neighborhood where you can find a hubcap Christmas tree (yes, a tree composed completely of, you guessed it: hubcaps). The best part of all: unlike a trip to the mall, this street doesn’t feel commercial at all, just a little tacky. It’s an over-the-top way to ring in the holidays, all the way until New Year’s when a grown man parades the streets wearing only a diaper!

Fluid Movement
While I don’t know if there’s ever been a study, if I were to guess I’d put Baltimore up on the top of the list of “Most Costumed City in America.” No event makes that clearer than the annual Fluid Movement water ballet that happens late July/early August at the Baltimore City pools.

For anyone who hasn’t seen it (that’s most of you), the best way to describe it is summer camp for adults of various swimming abilities who dress up in wacky, low-budget costumes to perform in a more-or-less synchronized fashion with a mission of spreading joy and laughter. This event is not for anyone who takes life too seriously. Having been both a spectator and performer, I can guarantee there is no better way to celebrate summer – with true Baltimore flair – than with the water ballet.

Snow Balls
While every city has their signature treats, Baltimore’s claim to fame is one of the more unique ones. Shaved ice with flavored syrup may sound like your run-of-the-mill summertime snack but in Baltimore they are known as “snow balls”. And they’re not complete until topped off with marshmallow fluff! Note: you are not alone in being skeptical about this snack. It’s the case for all of us. I know it sounds bizarre but I was even able to win over a friend who was schooled at the Culinary Institute of America with an egg custard + fluff snow ball.

It may sound like you need to be “in” to be a part of all the events listed above but in reality that’s not the case at all. The circus sideshow that is Baltimore is everyone-inclusive, the-more-the-merrier, audience-participation-required kind of act. Sitting on the sidelines can still be fun but you’re guaranteed a good time if you let down your guard and dare to do something different – and something you can’t do just anywhere!

Guest post: Colombia

2009-09-04T13:41:00.004-04:00

This week we travel to Colombia with fellow blogger Ernest White II aka Fly Brother. Ernest recently wrapped up his four-year stint in Colombia, where he worked as a teacher in Barranquilla on the Caribbean coast and in the capital of Bogotá. I caught Ernest just before he moves back south to Brazil later this fall and asked him to reminisce about his time in Colombia for the guest post series. Enjoy Fly Brother's story!

KEEPING WARM IN BOGOTÀ

Sweaters and thermal underwear aren't typically associated with South American nations bordering the Caribbean Sea but in the capital of Colombia, I had to have my warm duds packed. Bogotá sits perched stratospherically in the Andes at 8,600 feet above sea level, where altitude and frequent rainy cloud cover conspire to keep temperatures hovering in the 50s and 60s. Colombia's equatorial latitude ensures the city a Frigidaire-like ambiance year-round; ergo its national nickname, La Nevera, “the refrigerator.”

With heating systems being a luxury, most houses have barely more than a fireplace to keep things hot; my old apartment in Bogotá's historic district was situated in a drafty, Iberian-style colonial home, built with an interior courtyard intended to cool the structure in toasty Spanish summers but only served to suck out what little body heat I could muster in the Andean heights.

Occasionally the chill is broken by bursts of intense sunlight, which could last for a few minutes or a few days, but only until nightfall or the next inevitable rain. Mamas and abuelas supplement this precious little heat with hearty stews like ajiaco – packed with chicken, corn, and seven different types of potatoes – warm wine and locally made spirits, and elaborate hot chocolate servings with bread and cheese for dipping into the cocoa. Folks from tierra caliente, the tropical, lower elevations fanning toward both coasts and the Amazon basin, spice up the capital with their energy, music, and dance in itty-bitty matchbox salsa spots and vallenato halls. Tourists and be-suited executives fuel Colombian café culture after work at coffee houses like Oma and Juan Valdez, then hit the Zona T (near the Centro Comercial Andino (Carreras 11, 13, and 15 between Calles 79 and 85) or Parque 93 (off Calle 93 between Carreras 12 and 13A) for sometimes (illegally) super-fueled late-night raves.

Then on Sunday mornings, when the principal streets are given over to pedestrians until 2pm, the entire city turns out to redeem itself with either a cleansing pilgrimage up to the summit of Monserrate or by sweating their sins away by bike, roller-blades, or a brisk jog. Sometimes the sun is even out.

I would usually hit the gym, then opt for a remarkable $6 seafood dinner at the unremarkably named Sabores del Pacifico (Flavors of the Pacific; on Carrera Septima in Centro). Then I'd scoot home to my apartment with the intention of beating the almost always-impending rainstorm but almost always dampened by the first fat drops of a high-altitude tropical downpour, strip off the wet clothes, throw on the pajamas, start the fireplace, and wrap up in layers of woolen blankets to watch a movie or CNN. That's keeping warm in South America.

Scenes of village life

2009-08-31T13:05:00.015-04:00

A few days ago I returned from a family reunion at our house in the countryside of Croatia. I am still mulling over a vivid memory of my last afternoon there. On that Friday morning, my brother, sister-in-law and nephew left for Barcelona (where they live). My mother and I stayed at the house alone. Come afternoon, we went out to run some errands in the village.

First on the list was a visit to my father's grave at the cemetery of the 13th-century village church. I dropped by to say hello to my dad and grandmother, and further down the slope, my great aunts and great-grandparents. And I stopped to admire the surroundings of their resting place – the green vistas of undulating hills all around.

The next stop was the village shop. We stocked up on groceries here and had a chat with the local old-boy flirt and the village head as he was mowing his lawn. Then we visited a family friend, a lady who was once the old priest's companion (and more, the rumor goes). I have crystal-clear memories of my grandmother and her three sisters – all four vehemently atheistic – in our kitchen playing cards into the night with the late priest and his lady friend. It's been years since I saw her, now an old lady. So we sat down for a chat, a glass of wine and a bit of reminiscing.

My mom and I were after farm fresh eggs so next we were off to visit another village lady where we packed ten eggs into newspaper and chit-chatted for a minute. Off we were then to get more eggs from the man next door whose wife allegedly just packed up and left him.

Armed with twenty fresh eggs and plenty of local gossip, we walked through the village center as the sun was fading, back down the slope towards our house. As we walked and talked, clouds moving across the verdant hills, it dawned on me I was just treated to a brief but juicy slice of village life. A bit different than running errands in New York City, that's for sure!

Guest post: Portland

2009-08-28T14:30:00.005-04:00

On a recent press trip, I met the lovely Portland-based food guru Ivy Manning. Ivy's passion for food and in-depth knowledge of Portland's dining scene inspired me to invite her to guest post in my series. When I read her post, I wanted to book a flight to Portland ASAP to savor the spots she talks about. You can follow Ivy's exciting culinary adventures on her blog, Ivy's Feast. But first, let's hit Ivy's favorite Portland restaurants.

A GUERILLA DINING GUIDE TO PORTLAND, OREGON

I have never been the trendy type. In school, I did not sit with the popular crowd at lunch, in college, I lived in the "uncool" dorm. And in 1994, I enrolled at Western Culinary Institute in Portland, Oregon, probably the un-hippest culinary school in America.

Imagine my surprise then, when my adopted hometown suddenly became the darling of the culinary world. When I moved here, there were only a few great restaurants (Paley's Place, Wildwood, and the now-shuttered Zefiro) that were doing interesting things with the area's bounty. Then, in the late '90s, the lowly cooks working in these great restaurants spread their wings and opened their own places. And the number of great restaurants using local ingredients has grown exponentially since. Now, I live in and write about food in arguably the hippest foodie town in the country.

Just page through The New York Times dining section on any given day and you'll see writers like Maura Egan and Matt Gross gushing about Portland's insouciant locavore culinary style. Flip through Food and Wine and you're likely to come across an article about the charms of our farmer's markets. And our food cart scene? There's tons about that in the media, too.

Say you're an intrepid traveler and foodie and you're dying to visit Portland to taste what all the fuss is about. With so many great restaurants, you're probably wondering how you could possibly dine in all of them. To borrow the famous Volkswagen slogan, think small. I offer you this short list, a "guerilla dining" guide, which recommends a nibble and a matching drink at some of my favorite spots in Portland. Of course, you don't have to visit them all in one go, but it sure would be fun to try! Happy nibbling!

First stop: the sleek, elegant Ten01 in the equally slick Pearl District (just across from Powell's Books). Ask Kelley the bartender to make you a Turn to the Prince – made with locally distilled Krogstad Aquavit, keffir lime leaf, lemon juice, and soda. Then tuck into the homemade potato chips with a creamy chicken liver dip, a luxury take on chips and dip.

Next, to Ping. Owner Andy Ricker's casual joint (think plastic tablecloths, a wall of antique radios and open industrial kitchen) seems to be adding some much needed life to the dingy Chinatown district. His ode to Southeast Asian street food is perennially busy; your best bet for a table is around lunch or early happy hour. Try the crispy-chewy Indonesian lamb skewers and a Shochu cocktail, made with a Japanese libation that is positively addictive.

If the sun is setting and the weather is fair, ascend to Noble Rot. The terrace has gorgeous views facing west towards the city skyline and you can get a salad made with greens grown on the roof right above you. Trés green, yes? While there, pick from one of their wine flights; there's usually an interesting Oregon Pinot Noir sampler on deck.

A few blocks south you'll find Beaker and Flask. Wunder-mixologist/owner Kevin Ludwig has rattled his shaker at some of the best spots in town, so expect very interesting beverages like the "Daddy Issues," a pleasantly tart mix of vodka, grape juice, Campari, and orange bitters. The food is serious, too. Chef Benny Bennington honed his skills at the lauded Paley's Place and it's apparent in dishes like his light ricotta gnudi with fresh sweet corn. It's so commodious here; it's become a second living room for Portland's best chefs at shift's end.

For something a little meatier, visit Laurelhurst Market. Only from the meat-centric chef/butchers behind Viande and Simpatica Catering could a spare butcher shop by day-steak house by night work. Here you'll find the best locally sourced meat done up in sophisticated Portland style. For a quick bite, the roasted marrow bones with crusty bread and a beefy glass of Oregon Pinot Noir can't be beat. But you'll likely want to stay for the steak frites.

Finally, there's Por Que No. These two colorful little taquerias (on N. Mississippi and SE Hawthorne) are all Día de los Muertos figurines and folk kitsch. Which sets the stage splendidly for their authentic Mexican tacos made with sustainably raised meats and handmade tortillas. I especially like their chipotle rubbed chicken version. To wash it down, the sangria (red or white) mixed with seasonal frui are just the thing. Mmm, tastes like vacation…

Istria I love

2009-08-24T17:30:00.016-04:00

I just returned from a three-day getaway in Istria with a friend and her four-year-old daughter. We based ourselves in Rovinj, known as the peninsula's most beautiful seaside town. Beautiful it is indeed but absolutely overrun with tourists. Our two trips to the beaches around Rovinj made me remember all the reasons I shy away from mass tourism. Perhaps I'm spoiled by the practically private beach at my friend's house on the island of Korčula, which is the highlight of my Croatian summers. The truth is, we did hit the peak of the summer season on the Istrian coast. It was such a breath of fresh air to drive away from Istria's seaside and into its verdant interior. For me, this spectacular hinterland is the prime reason to come to Istria.

After a 60-meter descent to Baredine Cave (touristy but fun to visit) near Poreč, we made it to my favorite place for dinner, Kamene Priče restaurant-bar-performance space in the medieval stone town of Bale. On the leafy terrace of this whimsical place is where I finally relaxed, managed to take some deep breaths and gave way to the scents, the evening breeze, the star-dotted skies above... I felt glad that the tourists remained on the seafront promenade of Rovinj and I was in Bale, with just a handful of other kindred spirits. There was nowhere else I pined for. Here's why...

To visualize more of Istria and what I love about it, see my Lonely Planet travel videos.

Guest post: Congo

2009-08-21T17:38:00.003-04:00

On my online wanderings, I recently came across From Congo, a blog penned by an American woman living in Congo. What particularly drew my attention and inspired me to invite Dawn to guest post was her work with SHONA, a small sewing community for handicapped Congolese women. In this post, Dawn takes us to the city of Goma in Eastern Congo, for a glimpse of life in this troubled faraway outpost.

GOMA, EASTERN CONGO

Perhaps you have never heard of the city of Goma, in Eastern Congo. Or, if you have heard of it, what immediately comes to mind are images of a city teeming with refugees in the midst a war zone. Or perhaps the picture that sticks in your head is of a city at the base of an active volcano which erupted in 2002 and covered a third of the town in lava.

All of these are valid images of Goma, this city nestled on the border between Congo and Rwanda. Between war, refugees and erupting volcanoes, Goma faces an almost unbelievable number of disasters. When my husband and I first considered moving here about three years ago, I distinctly remember running an internet search on Goma and coming up with results entitled “living in the shadow of doom”. It was a bit discouraging. But for all that, Goma is a place well worth a second look. So I invite you to join me on a short city tour.

Like most tourists, we will fly into the Rwandan capital of Kigali and drive for three hours through rolling green hills to arrive at the Rwandan border town of Gisenyi. You will be struck by the understated beauty of this old colonial town situated on the shores of sparkling Lake Kivu. The road to the border winds directly along the rocky shores, and reminds me of driving along the coast of California.

But that only lasts for a couple of miles. Once we arrive at the border, everything changes. For $35, we buy a single-entry visa into Congo. As soon as we cross the border, we find ourselves in the city of Goma. The crowds, the dirt, and the volume all expand exponentially. While Gisenyi is an understated town, Goma is a city that demands your attention from the second you enter it.

From the border we will head up about two miles to the center of town. Goma is infamous for bad roads, but you may actually notice some newly paved streets and newly placed street lights. As part of the recent Congolese Independence Day celebrations, a lot of road work was attempted here. Some, amazingly, was even completed.

When you look down at your feet, you will immediately notice that the red dust of Rwanda has turned to the grey lava rock of Goma. The lava is everywhere. Shops and houses are built on top of the lava, and even walls are made out of it.

Goma is a city of hustle. As we walk along the roads you will see young men pushing chukudus (wooden bicycles loaded with goods for transport), weaving in and out amidst the multitude of motorcycle taxis. Young boys pass by with buckets of sodas on their heads, and girls with peanuts and fruits. Shops blare Congolese music into the streets and children gather outside the doorways to watch the music videos playing on screens inside.

In October, when fighting threatened to overtake Goma, the streets suddenly emptied. Shops were shuttered, vendors hid their goods, and everyone went home. But even then, I was astounded at how quickly the hustle returned. Even with soldiers facing off at the outskirts of the city, the vendors came out and shops reopened for business. I never cease to be amazed at the human capacity for resilience.

No one has taught me more about this resilience than the small group of handicapped women that I work with here in Goma, who are surely some of the most vulnerable people in the world. These four young women grew up in the rural areas of Congo that are at the center of ongoing fighting. They, like many people in Eastern Congo, have been forced to flee their homes. But how do you flee when you can’t even stand?

Yet amazingly these women have found a way to create a better world for themselves. Today they live on their own and provide for themselves. If we stop by their home, we may find them in the middle of studying French and Math, or in the midst of their work, sewing crafts and clothes. We sell these handcrafted items on our website, www.shonacongo.com. Through the profits these women have not only found real independence and dignity but also the gift of being able to help provide for others.

If we stop for a minute at their home and listen to these women talk, you will find that they have lived through incredibly difficult experiences. Yet today they are working with such hope and joy.

And this, to me, is the essence of Goma. In the midst of incredible obstacles, or perhaps because of them, you will find a people filled with an inspiring amount of hope. If there is one thing that can be said about the people of Goma, it is that they never cease to hope for a better tomorrow.

So come, check out Goma. You can see the volcano and learn about the war. But stay for a second look, because the most stunning part of Goma are the people themselves. Indeed, Goma is the type of place where you arrive thinking about all the disasters but you leave remembering the people.

Croatia through Lomos

2009-08-18T13:00:00.000-04:00

It's summertime in Croatia, the most popular time to visit one of the hippest countries in Europe. It's so fashionable, in fact, that I typically try to escape the crowds and trendy locales and head to places out of the way. One of those is my friend Ozren's house on the southern Adriatic island of Korčula, not far from Dubrovnik, where I just spent ten days of blissful island life. Thought I'd help you visualize this drop-dead gorgeous spot, one of my favorite places to be in Croatia, through fantastic Lomo photography by my multitalented friend Ramona Mavar. Here are the scans of Ramona's great snapshots, for your viewing pleasure. Without further ado, enjoy a snippet of Croatia through Lomos!

Guest post: Saigon

2009-08-14T13:08:00.003-04:00

In this week's installment of the Everthenomad guest post series, Liz Ledden of A Girl in Asia takes us for an exciting tour of Saigon, Vietnam's largest city. Liz currently calls Saigon her home so you're in expert hands of a local guide. Enjoy the article!

THE NEW FACE OF SAIGON

Saigon is not all bowls of pho, conical hats and roaring motorbikes. Sure, you’ll eat, see and hear each of these things in droves, but Saigon is a city shaking off the shackles of the past at a breakneck pace. It is now home to cool cafes, funky nightspots, sleek wine bars, international fine dining and amazing shopping spots that belie the Saigon of old. The city is forging ahead with relentless construction, and new places to eat and drink are constantly opening.

Saigon still manages to retain pockets of charm, though, in the form of French colonial buildings, quaint coffee shops and hidden alleys that are home to amazing food finds. You might spot a vintage Vespa or two amongst the shiny new Hondas cruising the streets – it’s this mix of old and new that gives Saigon its spirit. Some of my favourite places in Saigon sum up the city’s forging-forward mentality and ingenuity.

The city’s cafe scene is home to some Euro-style gems, with deli counters, freshly baked cakes and Lavazza and Illy coffees. Au Parc Cafe is set in a beautiful, high-ceilinged building with gorgeous tiles, wrought iron chairs and mosaic tiles, and a blackboard displaying the daily specials. The desserts are a definite highlight here, with their must-try item the insanely decadent ‘chocolate nemesis cake’. La Fenetre Soleil is another of Saigon’s standout cafes, with its French/vintage feel interior and extensive snack and drink menu. It also seamlessly combines a Japanese influence (try a bowl of edamame with your Vietnamese iced coffee!). It’s the kind of place you can lounge around all day.

There are also Vietnamese-style cafes at every turn, and these range from huge, multi-storied contemporary coffeehouses to tiny, family-run neighbourhood cafes with simple interiors and super-strong local coffee. The monolith-type cafes can be found in abundance near a roundabout named Ho Con Rua at the intersection of Pham Ngoc Thach and Tran Cao Vanh streets. The roundabout is a fascinating sight in itself with its towering concrete lily pad and pathways over a pond (very Asian kitsch!). As for the tiny, neighbourhood-style cafes, a centrally located favourite is a no-name, old-school Vietnamese coffee shop just around the corner from Dong Khoi Street at 24 Ho Huan Nghiep. Tiny in scale but big on retro sensibility, this cafe is the last of a dying breed along a rapidly gentrifying strip (it’s in the shadows of a Versace store and across from a construction site of a new 5-star hotel).

Saigon is definitely a city for food-lovers as well as caffeine fiends – there are great meals to be had from the variations of Vietnamese cuisine through to Middle Eastern, French, Spanish, Japanese and more. Banh mi (a Vietnamese baguette filled with meat, salad, fresh herbs and chilli) is a delicious snack or lunch food to try; some of my favourite places for a quick fix include Banh Mi Bistro on Vo Thi Sau and King Baguetteria on Tran Quang Khai (where the banh mi sells for less than US$1!). The shredded chicken is always a winner in my humble opinion, but most banh mi places will also feature options like tuna, pork and sometimes scary-looking pâté. Across the road from King Baguetteria, a street vendor can often be found selling banh mi from a cart at half that price again, specialising in a tasty grilled pork filling.

To sample an assortment of Vietnamese rolls like pork and prawn wrapped in fresh rice paper, or others wrapped in mustard leaves, I love TIB Express, located across the road from Ben Thanh Market. For something a little more upmarket and for a wider range of Vietnamese dishes, Hoa Tuc in the Refinery grounds is a favourite. The setting is stylish with its wall decals and elegant decor, and the food all beautifully presented and flavourful. Their fresh salads (like banana flower and lotus seed) are outstanding.

When craving a Japanese food fix, I head to K Cafe on Hai Ba Trung for the freshest sashimi. Despite its decidedly non-Japanese sounding name, K Cafe is a stalwart amongst the city’s Japanese expat dining scene. I also head to Ty Coz for hearty French cuisine at almost too cheap to be true prices, Byblos for tasty Lebanese and the Mosque on Dong Du Street for delicious curries and Malaysian-style fried chicken.

Drinking options in Saigon range from the humble bia hoi (read: home brewed beer joint) to backpacker joints and the flashiest of cocktail bars. My taste in Saigon bars is skewed towards the latter, so when the mood for a ginger mojito or lychee martini strikes, I head to Q Bar, Amber Room or Cepage. Cute wine bar Qing is another favourite, along with QD Bar & Lounge (see photo) – a brand-new stylish wine bar with a sophisticated atmosphere.

Shopping is a favourite pastime of Saigonese and Saigon visitors alike – and the city definitely caters to those with a wide range of tastes and budgets. While chain stores and high end designer brands are readily available in Saigon these days, it’s the more unique offerings I’m drawn to. One is a handbag emporium, Ipa-Nima, featuring bags, purses and wallets designed by a chic ex-lawyer. New collections come out each season, and the bags are stunningly unique creations featuring leather, embroidery, ribbon, sequins and more in a rainbow of colours. There are boutiques in both Saigon and Hanoi, and now in various locations around the world, such is the label’s success.

For contemporary Vietnamese designed fashion, Valenciani is a stylish boutique with a focus on glam cocktail frocks, while for gorgeous baby and kids wear featuring Vietnam’s famous embroidery, Ninh Khuong (with various branches including Le Loi and Dong Khoi) is simply gorgeous.

One of the best bits about Saigon is that there’s always something new happening – a bar opening here, a new shop there, yet along with all the changes the city manages to retain its Vietnamese flavour. And did I mention the amazing food?!

Guest post: Australia

2009-08-07T13:00:00.002-04:00

In this week's guest post, we travel far down under, to the easterly tip of Australia, for a walk around the coastal town of Byron Bay. Our resident guide on the journey is Kim Wildman, fellow travel writer and world-hopper who blogs about her trips at Wild About Travel + Writing. Enjoy Kim's article!

BYRON BAY

Living in Byron Bay I consider myself truly blessed. And who wouldn’t? Located on the most easterly tip of Australia in Northern New South Wales, this mesmerising coastal hamlet with its stunning beaches and balmy climate has become synonymous with the modern ideal of paradise. A one-time hippie hangout, it today attracts everyone from laid-back surfers and foreign backpackers to celebrities and cashed-up urbanites all keen to count Byron’s blessings as their own.

Natural attractions

For most visitors Byron’s natural attractions are its biggest drawcard, the crowning glory of which is the Cape Byron Headland. This 92-hectare reserve straddles the most easterly point in Australia and is home to one of the country’s most iconic lighthouses. It might be high on the tourist trail, but the five-kilometre walk from Watego’s Beach up to the lighthouse is a ‘must do’ at any time of the day, especially at sunrise. From June to November, keep an eye out for migrating humpback whales.

If lazing on the beach is more your thing, busy Main Beach, at the end of Jonson Street, is the heart and soul of Byron. To escape the crowds, join the locals at Tallow Beach; a magnificent seven-kilometre strip of sand on the southern side of the headland which stretches all the way to Broken Head Reserve. For die-hard surfers, the best breaks are at The Pass, while families will love picture-perfect Watego’s Beach which is one of the few northerly facing beaches on the east coast. Down at Belongil Beach, clothes are an optional extra, though anyone interested in history might like to check out the wreck of SS Wollongbar which was washed from Byron’s jetty in the 1920s.

Decadent dining

Byron Bay’s egalitarian spirit is best epitomised by its dining scene, which ranges from casual beach cafes to fine dining establishments. My favourite spot for a sunset drink is the longstanding Balcony which buzzes from sunup to well past sundown. Most people come to drink in the view, overlooking Byron’s main drag, but the menu is also a worth a look. Try the paella valenciana – it’s superb. For the best seaside seat, book a table at Fishheads. Located in a converted old bather’s pavilion right on Main Beach, this once humble little fish and chip shop is now the hottest seafood restaurant in town.

If you want to dine like a local, the best thing to do is to head to the Green Garage to stock up the pantry. This fabulous organic grocer stocks all kinds of locally sourced goodies from crate loads of seasonal fruit and vegetables to gourmet delicacies and all-natural lotions and potions. There’s even an in-house chef, who’ll cook for you while you shop. For local markets, the biggest and most well-known is the Byron Bay Market, held on the first Sunday of every month. But for the best fresh produce, you can’t beat the Byron Farmers’ Market held each Thursday morning on Butler Street Reserve.

Fancy fashions

Byron’s fashion scene is booming, thanks to a myriad of innovative local designers and boutiques. For the best buys, skip Jonson Street, which is beginning to look like a strip mall, and take a wander down Fletcher Street where you’ll find an eclectic mix of fashions. In Sweet Papillon, local jewellery designer Nicole Sharratt creates exquisite, one-off hand-made pieces. For homegrown Aussie labels such as Sass & Bide and Alice McCall, Madame Pompidou is the place to shop, while nearby Hunter stocks all the best international brands.

A little bit further out of town, Byron’s Arts and Industry Estate is the place to go for hidden local designers, unusual handmade items and unconventional treasures. Shops like Slingfings and Bird on Banksia Drive prove that fashion can be sustainable using recycled fabrics and materials to create a funky range of handbags, garments and homewares. In keeping with the “green” ethos of their designs, both companies run on solar energy.

Mind, body and soul

In spite of Byron’s gentrification, it still maintains its zeal for the mystical, magical and spiritual. Perhaps it is simply a hangover from its hippie heyday, but Byron now lays claim to having more spiritual guides and alternative healers per square kilometre than anywhere else in the world. The locals make light of their reputation joking that if you shake any tree in town, a hundred healers will fall from its branches.

From psychics, astrologists and numerologists to massage therapy, homeopathy and aromatherapy there are plenty of ways to rediscover your inner Zen. My favourite place to start is the Spa and Wellness Centre at The Byron at Byron. Hidden under a canopy of subtropical rainforest near Tallow Beach, this world-class day spa has an expansive menu of treatments including heated stone massages and Moor mud body wraps as well as the only Vichy shower in Byron. Alternatively you can take your mind and body on a holistic journey of healing with yoga classes at the Byron Yoga Centre.

Whether or not you buy into Byron’s New Age hoodoo, there’s definitely something appealing about it. With its natural wonders and way of life that is a veritable salve for the soul, you’ll soon be hoping that all journeys end at Byron Bay.

For more information on Byron Bay, visit the Visitor’s Centre (Old Stationmaster's Cottage, 80 Jonson Street) or go to www.visitbyronbay.com.

Island life in Croatia

2009-08-05T11:28:00.008-04:00

Exactly a week has passed since I arrived to the island of Korčula in the southern Adriatic. It feels like a long month and a short-lived day at the same time. When I am enjoying myself, I've noticed, time seems to stand still and fly simultaneously. Back in New York, I pack in so much and so many experiences into one week that my head often spins with the multitasking of everyday life. Here on the island, life is slow.

I wake up in the mornings around 8.30am and do a wake-up yoga session on the terrace overlooking the sea and the islets and islands across the way. I then have a breakfast of cereal and green tea, again on the terrace. Life happens alfresco here; indoors, I only use the bathroom and the kitchen and I sleep. After breakfast, I walk the steps down to the beach (a one-minute stroll) for a sunbathe and a swim. I gave myself a task of swimming backstroke to a white buoy some 300 metres away and back, twice a day. I skipped the swims the day before yesterday due to tall waves and strong winds, and yesterday afternoon because a storm seemed to be on its way. Apart from that, I've been feeling proud of my discipline to stick to my daily "tasks".

After the swim, it's hammock time! I lie in "my" hammock underneath pine trees (I share the house with five friends each summer yet the hammock is always my spot, since hardly anyone else seems drawn to it in the same intense way). I swing for a while, meditating the blue of the sea in front of me and the green of the trees above. I let myself be taken over by the Mediterranean scents of pine, sea salt and lavender; the wind or breeze (depending on the day); the sound of the waves and, apart from an occasional motorboat passing, silence... Then I read. I finished three books and reading the fourth in the six days I've been here. After reading, I doze off, sometimes fall asleep. Usually it's the craving for food that wakes me up. I walk up to the house to fix myself a lunch. My favorite has been fish pâté (today it's freshly made by my friends from the fish we had at dinner the other night – incredibly delicious!) on corn bread and a salad of tomato with organic olive oil from the olive grove in the island's interior, owned by my friend's parents (who also own the house where I'm staying). Then I'm back in the hammock or the lounge chair on the terrace, reading. Until time comes for the afternoon swim and sunbathe.

In the evening, there's a daily feast of a dinner. My friends do magic in the kitchen so we've been having sumptuous treats every night since I arrived. One night there was octopus baked with veggies, there was grilled fish several evenings, and a juicy barbecued steak another night. Tonight we are having fish again, since my friend caught some lovely looking specimens in his net yesterday. All is accompanied by fresh salads and sinful deserts. After dinner, we chat or I just space out looking at the bright stars and moonlight above. This is how I've been spending my days on Korčula. A few more days remain.

Did I forget to mention the magical moment from a couple of days ago? The sun was going down during my "hair appointment" on the beach. Read: my friend Ramona was cutting off my pretty long hair by the sea. As she was chopping off the hair I'd been letting grow for a year – a particularly difficult year for me – and the sun was slowly fading, I decided the hair-cutting was to be a symbolic fresh start. From this moment on, good things and positive changes will come my way. At that moment, I see a big ripple in the sea, very close to the shore. Wondering what it was, I point it out to Ramona. And there he was: a lone baby dolphin making jumps out of the sea, diving in and out until he disappeared on the horizon. It was one of those moments that you wish you could freeze and rewind when things get tough and emotions run low. That singular joy of experiencing something out of the ordinary and knowing how special it is, as it's happening. How rare. And how beautiful.

Guest post: Turkey

2009-07-31T14:00:00.003-04:00

Anil Polat is a traveler and travel enthusiast who has spent his entire life traveling, studying cultures, and picking up tricks along the way. He writes foXnoMad to help you travel smarter. I've asked Anil to write a guest post about his home city of Ankara, Turkey. Read on and enjoy!

HIDDEN ANKARA

Ankara, the capital of Turkey, doesn't get the respect from tourists it deserves. Ankara is what Washington DC is to New York and often hidden by the bright lights of Istanbul. I spent much of my childhood in Ankara uncovering the hidden beauty of this city.

Peeling the layers off Ankara leads you to see more of Turkey's past and present, and opens up the rest of the countryside, unlike a trip to just Izmir or Antalya ever could.

Start Off Right

Don't sell yourself short by taking a plane from Istanbul or another city directly to Ankara. While there is a very modern and comfortable train connection between Istanbul and Ankara, you'll see more of the countryside by an afternoon bus ride which takes about 5-6 hours. The mountains of Bolu, a city between Istanbul and Ankara are one of the most beautiful sights I've ever seen, especially as the bus weaves in and out of the clouds through the high mountains. The bus stops along the way have great buffets with traditional Turkish dishes, kebabs, and strong Turkish black tea, for low prices.

Almost all of the major Turkish bus companies will have wireless Internet connections and serve drinks and a meal. I'd recommend taking Ulusoy or Varan, which are slightly more expensive than other options but certainly worth the extra comfort.

Walk The Local Bazaars

They aren't glamorous and made for tourists which is why the local bazaars in Ankara are worth wandering around. You'll see everything from not-so-authentic designer clothes (or overstocks) to kitchenware and every pirated DVD movie and piece of software you can think of, usually only for a few bucks.

There are several major markets ("pazar") around Ankara, the Maltepe Pazar (near the Maltepe Mosque, which makes for great photo opportunities) and the Bahcelievler Pazar are two good ones to check out. Also a delight, the new Ankara "Organik" Pazar in the Ayranci covered market has a wide spread of locally grown organic fruits and vegetables - perfect to take back with you and snack on or cook with (depending on where you are staying).

Bar Hop Turkish Style

There are plenty of Western-style bars and cafes clumped together in the Cankaya, Bahcelievler, and Tunali neighborhoods in Ankara. Live music and good food are easily found and you can get great recommendations on what's hot from hotel staff or your hostel-mates. Turks are likely to give you recommendations for French or Italian restaurants but you'll really get a taste of the culture by heading to a "meyhane". These traditional restaurants serve meze (appetizers) that keep coming and the unofficial national drink of Turkey, raki. Set aside a few hours for a variety of countless traditional Turkish meze, drink raki like a Turk, and sing and dance like a local.

It Doesn't End There

Ankara isn't a tourist town. There are sights like Anitkabir and Atakule - both worth checking out - but you'll be disappointed if that's all you're looking for. Ankara is a city with a hidden cultural core, a crossroads between modern and old Turkey. Living like a local during your stay there will open your eyes to it.

[photos by: Caucas', Sr. Samolo, elif ayse]