I haven’t posted anything in the past several months since we’ve been setting up a new consumer website/blog/newsletter called “NeverStopTraveling,” which will be published weekly. It’s targeted at travelers 50+ but don’t let that deter you if you’re not quite in that demographic yet — it has plenty of good information for everyone.

The idea was to fold “The Trends” blog into the new site along with another newsletter I’ve been publishing.

“NeverStopTraveling” was launched last week. I was embarrassed to find out this morning, however, that although the newsletter subscribers had received the new publication, you and your fellow Trends reader had not. Please accept my apologies and be assured that your name has now been properly added to the NeverStopTraveling subscriber’s list.

If you’d like to see the first issue of NST (which I hope you will) please click here. You’ll notice that it contains some great information (ever wondered if, and how much, an airline is  required to pay you if you’re bumped?) as well as good photography and video.

The next issue, which you’ll receive  next Wednesday, has a story on renting a country (seriously) as well as the sequel to the bumping article — loopholes that some airlines use to not compensate you when bumped.

Again, please accept my apologies for the delay and the lack of communication over the past few months but we’re back on track once again.

Best regards,

Jim Ferri

For example, a few weeks ago I needed to overnight at Heathrow, something I hate to do since London hotel rooms now cost more than mortgages on medium-size American homes. But I knew to head for my computer since a hotel chain’s best rates are often found on its website. I went online and booked a Holiday Inn close to the airport.

When I arrived at the Inn I saw the quoted rate for the room — prominently displayed on the wall behind check-in, probably to demonstrate that everyone was being taken advantage of equally – was £239. Don’t bother with your calculator — that’s $411.

I had gotten the same room online for £46, saving approximately $332. Ah, the power of the keyboard.

But to get the best deal, or to avoid a bad one, you need to not only dig but also read the fine print.

A good “deal” promoted in a popular newsletter that arrived this morning is another example. It touted an eight-day trip to Moscow and St. Petersburg, Russia for $999. The price includes round-trip air (on Lufthansa, Finnair, or Aeroflot), hotel, daily breakfast and train travel between the two cities. You need to book by the end of March 2011 to get the low price, which is fair since airfares typically zoom up after that date.

All this for under a grand is a pretty good deal. Or is it?

Reading the small print I saw that one also needs to pay $595 in fuel surcharges, $185 for a visa, plus a departure tax and a security fee. City tours and cultural excursions (to the Hermitage in St. Petersburg and the Kremlin in Moscow) were also extra. And the hotels are only tourist class or three-star, so most people may also want to consider an upgrade for an additional fee. And, of course, you also need to buy lunch and dinner everyday in two very expensive cities.

Since the proof is in the pudding or, in this case the borscht, this so-called deal isn’t really that good since the cost had tripled before I even left my computer screen.

Tour companies leaving key items out of the advertised cost is similar to the airlines quoting fares that don’t include taxes and other fees. Both are deceptive practices that should be illegal.

So much for living it up like Vladimir Putin for a few days.

Jim Ferri

A couple of years ago I gave a keynote speech at a California Travel Industry Association (CalTIA) conference in Santa Rosa, CA (a good place to visit if you’re ever in the area north of San Francisco — and don’t miss the Charles Shultz Museum, for starters).

Anyway, since my talk was about how various destinations had successfully changed their image, at the end I asked the audience if they had any questions. One guy in the back of the room stood up – it was Tony Smithers, if you hadn’t already guessed — and explained that with so any marijuana plots planted out in the forests up north in Humboldt County, that all of the police raids had given the county a reputation as the “pot capital of the U.S.” And he wanted to know what they could do to combat the image. “Oh crud,” I thought, “of all the gin joints in all the world….”

But I know that when you’re in the tourism business and faced with something like that, it can quickly spiral out of control and become national news should the media misinterpret anything you say on the subject. So I made a suggestion — “make a joke of it,” I told the audience.

Fast forward to Universal Studios in Orlando last May. I bump into Tony and the subject of “not only the birds fly high in Humboldt” comes up once again. And I give him my same opinion. If people laugh at something, any criticism of it is really negated. Criticize something people remember as funny, and you only make them laugh again.

So back to the point. In my inbox this morning I found an email from Tony saying “Following our conversation in Orlando last May, I took your advice…”

To see how he handled the situation go to http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=glm97au0b_Q or the website at www.hookedonhumboldt.org. It’s good to see someone creatively use a small budget to get some big results.

Okay, so maybe it won’t win an Academy Award. But as a new creative high for Northern Californian tourism, someone should surely nominate it for something.

Well done, Tony.

Jim Ferri

The same is true for Chinese food. It certainly tastes better in Beijing than at our local Peking Palace All-You-Can-Eat Buffet Open Everyday From 11AM.

Not long ago in China, we traveled south to Lijang to see the home of the Naxi people, one of the last matriarchal societies in existence. As it turned out though, it wasn’t the people that caught our attention, but the food.

Jake, the guide arranged by our US travel agent, drove us around the countryside for a few days, bringing us to a variety of restaurants along the way. Interestingly, several were actually parts of large houses, still resided in by the owners. I’m not adventurous with food but it was a great opportunity to sample Chinese “home cooking” at its source.

At one of them – we called it “the place with the chili peppers” for the strings of red peppers hung outside its door — we dined on local dishes with Jake and our driver in room off a courtyard. At another, the Green Snow outside Lijang (called No. 8 Restaurant by locals, according to Jake) we lunched in a small room away from the main house. Bundled up next to a small coal-filled brazier to ward off the chill, we had a fantastic meal of beef, chicken and fresh vegetables, serenaded by recordings of “Only You” and other old hits by The Platters. There’s nothing like sweet-and-sour chicken served with a side dish of memory lane.

But the meal that still stands out in my mind had nothing to do with the food.

One night in Lijang we chose to go to the restaurant Michi, not so much because Jake told us “it was really popular with foreign tourists,” but because, he added, ” it has the best pizza in China.”

Chinese pizza? Who could resist the temptation to take a peek into this clandestine corner of Chinese cookery? Off we went.

The place was dimly lit and nondescript with, from what I could tell, mostly Europeans and Israelis at its few tables. We ordered three beers, a local chicken dish and a pizza, and made small talk with Jake until the food arrived.

The pizza turned out to be all cheese, with not a speck of tomato anywhere. The cheese had a unique sweetness, making it unlike any pizza we had ever had before.

I turned to Jake to comment on its unique flavor, and immediately saw the clash of cultures.

There he sat, quietly eating his slice with chopsticks.

Jim Ferri

But today United surprised me.

About a month ago, after cashing in US Airways frequent flyer points for a trip from Washington to London, I was surprised to see that they booked me on United. Well, I thought, if nothing else it would be a good opportunity to see the current state of affairs on UA.

On the day of my departure from Dulles, things seemed to be going well until about an hour before departure when an announcement was made that the flight was delayed. From that moment on things continued to go south at a pretty good pace.

The initial announcement was followed by another, and then by another and, well, you get the idea. At the 2+ hour mark we were then told we would be departing from a different far-flung gate. Once we arrived at the gate — which I had begun to think was in Siberia as I walked and walked and walked – it was then announced that this 777 was a different configuration from the previous, so many people would have to be issued new seat assignments and boarding passes.

Making matters EVEN worse, there was only one agent doing all of this, all the while yelling into the phone for reinforcements. She was getting a bit testy trying to handle nearly 300 irate passengers alone. Thank God the Calvary finally arrived from the front of the terminal.

We finally departed almost five hours late but managed to make up a few hours in the air. Then, about 20 minutes outside of Heathrow, the purser announced that to show its appreciation for our patience United would like us all go to its website for a gift.

I didn’t know what to expect when I finally went to the site just a few minutes ago, thinking perhaps UA might dole out a few frequent flyer miles or a menial discount for a future flight.

So I was surprised when I was offered my choice of either a $250 discount, or a 20% discount, on a future flight. Along with their appreciation came a nice emailed note from their customer relations person.

Despite the mess that ensued in Dulles they handled the whole situation rather well, so perhaps they are turning themselves around now that they’re merging with Continental.

Keep it up and you may see me back there in 25B again. Or, possibly, up there where they’re serving the free cocktails.

Jim Ferri

Planning to arrive in Paris as early as possible, I took a taxi to St. Pancras station to catch the 6:53am. (For many years, I must admit, I thought the name of the station was St. Pancreas and wondered why anyone would name a train station, much less a saint, after a body part).

I hopped aboard the 2^nd Class car and joined the mix of mostly 20- or 30-something-year-olds. There were no children at this hour, a blessing since many of them just wanted to sleep, and as we slipped out of the rail yard into the soft dawn of the British countryside, I decided to map out my strategy for attacking Paris.

Mid-strategy came an announcement that 10-pack carnets — tickets for the Paris Metro — were on sale in the café car. Having been to Paris many times before, I knew they would save me quite a bit of time and a few Euros.

I went back to the café car and asked the French woman there for a carnet for the Metro. It was when I returned to my seat that I realized that instead of giving me 10 tickets, she had mistakenly given me 10 packs of 10 tickets — a total of 100.

I returned to the café car and told her “I think you made a mistake with the tickets,” showed her the packets and gave her back the other nine. She stood there with a shocked look on her face, and then thanked me before I went back to my seat where I dozed off.

A while later I felt someone touch my shoulder. Opening my eyes I saw it was the woman who sold me the carnet. “I owe you a big thank you,” she said. “At the least I’d like to buy you a cup of coffee.”

Having had too much French coffee already I declined, but added that I did need to find a place to have my reading glasses fixed since I had broken them in the station. “Do you know of an optician near the Gare du Nord?” I asked.

“Oh yes,” she said, “wait for me after we arrive and the other passengers have departed – it will take about five minutes.”

Her name was Claudie, she later told me, and after our arrival at Gare du Nord she walked me up the street to an optician and explained to him my predicament. She waited with me as he repaired my glasses for free – a screw had fallen out — and to thank him I bought another pair to use while traveling.

As we walked back to the station I couldn’t help but think how much we travelers complain about the coldness of Parisians…and here I was on Boulevard de Denain on a cold and rainy Saturday experiencing the warmth of two total strangers.

Jim Ferri

I’m at the airport in Philadelphia right now. I wound up overnighting in Philly because my flight from London was delayed and my connection was missed, so US Airways had to give a number of us hotel and meal vouchers. And to tell you the truth, although I was expecting chaos as the ground staff rerouted everyone after we deplaned, it was a flawless and well-choreographed operation and only took a few seconds to get my vouchers.

That’s why when I need to make a connecting flight I always try to book it through the same carrier. If they screw up I don’t want to have to be the one scurrying around trying to find a room at 11:15pm.

Anyway, when we got back to the airport for the first flight out this morning I couldn’t help notice how dazed most of the people in the terminal were. People just stood staring at the departure displays seemingly forever trying to comprehend where they’re supposed to go. While that’s normally not terribly difficult, when you’re short on sleep, have new flight data to follow and are in an unfamiliar airport it takes a bit longer for your mind to kick into gear.

And I think that management at Philly’s airport seems to understand one’s need for a good shot of caffein at this point since they had the very good sense to put a Dunkin’ Donuts stand right beyond the security area. Grab your bags, slip on your shoes and go for the java.

The only problem is that on this side of security you’re now interacting even more closely with the near-comatose you saw on the other side.

After I grabbed my coffee I couldn’t help but step back for a few minutes and watch the guy on line behind  me. I swear I thought he had gone into a coma as he stared at the overhead menu listing the array of different bagels, croissants, four sizes of coffees and 32 varieties of donuts. I’ll bet you my unused meal voucher he’s still there trying to decide between the jelly and Bavarian Cream.

I should talk. I’m the one who had to pay for the $2.50 coffee with an American Express card.

Jim Ferri

We had to put Dusty to sleep this morning. And it was a gut-wrenching experience. If you have a pet you know it will come someday but you’re never prepared for it.

Years ago as a kid I remember my father bringing home the World-Telegram and Sun newspaper at night and I got to reading a “human interest” column in it. I probably only read it because it was in the back by the comics but, anyway, the columnist once wrote about his pet dying and his great grief at the time, and why he cried more on the death of his dog than he did when his parents passed away.

I remember him writing that he thought it was because his parents had long lives and he was the recipient of their care, but with his pet he was the caregiver. He was the one who provided food and safety and happiness, and protected this small being that couldn’t care for itself.

I felt the same about Dusty, the one so many called “the gentle giant.” Anytime he saw a kid crying he’d bolt for him or her, lick their face and sit leaning up against them until someone came. Somehow he liked children even more than other dogs.

He and I bonded a lot over the past 12½ years, as he did with my wife Marjorie after she stole our hearts. He meant so much to me that I couldn’t ever bring myself to see the movie “Marley and Me” because I knew Marley died at the end.

Today though, it’s as if that long-forgotten columnist has reached out of the past to make me feel the awful pain of the present. It’s really a lousy, empty feeling that keeps you on the edge of tears. And I worry about Marjorie also, since I have to leave on an extended trip tomorrow and she’s still in such pain, as well

So thanks for always being there for me Dusty, especially during the really hard times.

Maybe someday I can go see “Marley and Me,” but not now. But whenever it is I know I’ll still need a lot of Kleenex.

Jim Ferri