May 2008 Entries
Oh dear! With what’s happened to the dollar, I’m going to have to cut back on spa days and taxis to be able to afford my annual July trip to Paris for Sale Week.
I wonder how the drop in the value of the dollar has affected your travel. Are you giving up a planned trip, or going elsewhere? Please share your thoughts by clicking on the word "Feedback" below. (And you may sign your statement with an alias if you prefer.)
Paula "Cloth Coat" Gifford
Is it possible for a woman to be a curmudgeon? If so, even though I’m generally thought of as an easy going person, I’m definitely a word curmudgeon.
What’s a word curmudgeon? It’s not just another name for a grammar snob; my hackles don’t rise very high when I hear someone say "who" instead of "whom" or "their" when "his or her" is what is really meant. No, I gave up long ago trying to get people to speak grammatically. After all, how many friends is it worth losing over a misplaced modifier.
But what vets my credentials as a word curmudgeon is what I’ve come to think of as "media speak," or more precisely, the misuse of language on the medium of television.
Do you know what a "Decision document" is? It took me a while to realize they were talking about a sales brochure! But what’s the use of having sales brochures when there are no more sales people? They’re all being turned into "Information assistants" or even "Information coordinators."
And did you realize there are no more used cars? They’ve all become "Pre-owned vehicles." I’ve recently learned that with certain pre-pre-owned (new) cars, you can "literally" take a test drive on your computer. I don’t think so; my computer, at least, has no power of locomotion. What you can do is "virtually" take a test drive, which turns out to be a look at the exterior and interior—maybe even in various colors.
If I’m going to have to listen to these absurdities, at least let them be said by a cute gecko, who, by the way, so far has stuck to pretty straightforward English.
Have you caught any other media-speak euphemisms? If so, let us know about them.
Paula "I meant what I said, and I said what I meant." Gifford
One of the last things any of us wants to think about when traveling is becoming ill, especially to the point of needing medical attention. I’ve learned, through experience, to pack my own medical kit in my traveling bag, because in some places or situations, something as common as aspirin, Tylenol, Pepto-Bismol or Immodium can be difficult to obtain quickly.
But after a frightening episode that a friend went through, I learned that a simple medical kit might not be sufficient.
My friend’s husband suffered a heart attack while they were in Mombasa, Kenya about to leave for the bush and a seven-day safari. Fortunately, my friend—call her Jane—was well prepared.
For quite a few years, Jane been a member of the International Association for Medical Assistance to Travellers (IAMAT) . It’s purpose is to identify physicians practicing in countries throughout the world who have participated in internship and residency programs vetted by IAMAT, who speak English and who agree to a standard list of fees for their services. Through its website (www.iamat.org) and the documents it publishes, the organization advises travellers about health risks, the geographical distribution of diseases worldwide and immunization requirements for all countries. There is no charge for the organization's directory of English-speaking doctors nor for its advisory publications, however it does encourage donations to support its work.
Jane was able to contact a doctor in Mombasa who came to their hotel and immediately started the procedures needed to get Jeff, her husband, into a local hospital where he received emergency treatment.
After he had been stabilized, another of Jane’s precautionary steps came into play. Both Jane and the Mombasa cardiologist agreed that Jeff should be transported back to Canada for what would likely be bypass surgery. So Jane contacted MedJet Assist, which sent a medically equipped and staffed aircraft to transport Jeff to the hospital in Winnipeg where their own physician and his team were waiting. To use MedJet Assist’s services from virtually any location in the world, all that’s necessary is a membership— either annual or short-term. Their information is at www.medjetassist.com
Needless to say, I became a member of both organizations as soon as Jane told me of her experience, and I’ve continued to renew both every year. I haven’t had to use either one of them yet, and I hope never to have to. But I no longer think about how I’d handle a medical emergency if one were to occur while I was away from home. That peace of mind is worth a great deal.
Do you have any emergency preparedness experiences you care to share with our readers? If so, let us know about them.
Paula "Be prepared" Gifford
I am a dog person. I happen to prefer Scottish Terriers above all other breeds, but I can honestly say there’s not a breed I dislike. Even the much maligned pit bull, bred with a fighting heritage, has a personality that is determined more by the actions of its owner than by its genes.
My current Scottie, Louie, is a fine fellow. Thoroughly faithful and terribly funny. He lives with two cats and gets most of his exercise fruitlessly chasing them. When we come in from our walks, he stops at the bottom step and stares in what seems like a trance-like state straight ahead at the riser to the second step for about ten seconds before continuing up to the porch. I believe in those ten seconds, he is invoking an incantation that goes something like this, "Please, please, please, please, please let me catch one of those damn cats."
E.B. White, the great New Yorker writer, often told of his beloved dachshunds, who, he said, understood so much of what (he) said (and) held it in such deep contempt. In recalling one dog, named Fred, White said when called into the house, Fred would take his time sauntering up to the doorway where he would stop and light up a cigarette before crossing the threshold.
I’ve traveled with my Scotties whenever possible. In Carmel-by-the-Sea, I like to stay at the Cypress Inn (Doris Day’s place) because of their dog-friendly policy. And indeed, much of the town is thoughtful about dogs and their needs. Many shop owners place water dishes at the curb in front of their places. In all their North American properties, Kimpton Hotels maintain a pet-friendly policy, as do the Fairmont hotels in several locations.
In Europe, I’ve cruised on one of the River Avon longboats with Louie—well leashed at all times. He’s been with me to Holne Chase, a country house hotel near Ashburton, England, although he didn’t care much for the fly-fishing. And though I’ve never taken him to Paris, whenever I’m there, I never fail to stop in at Mon Bon Chien for incomparable baked treats to bring home to him.
"Nuts," you say? Maybe. But Louie seems as happy to be with me as I am with him. What more can you ask from an animal—or a person?
Do you have any stories about traveling with a pet? If so, let us know about them.
Your editor,
Paula "Sit, Stay" Gifford
When I was a youngster, I always looked forward to going food shopping with my mother. I was a skinny kid, so the shopkeepers would usually hand me a treat or tell me to pick something out from the cookie boxes that stood on racks on the floor and had glass doors that opened to get at the individual cookies.
I guess it’s the recollection of those happy times that have made it essential for me to seek out food shops and markets wherever I go. Usually I buy something, but sometimes it’s enough just to wander the aisles looking at the beautifully displayed goods and take in the familiar or exotic aromas that help store the place forever in my memory.
In London, no matter how brief my visit, I make for Fortnum & Mason for their "Gentleman’s Relish" and Harrod’s food halls for preserved ginger.
In Paris, it’s a shop called Izrael, the name of the original proprietor. It’s not far from the Musée de Carnavalet in the fourth arrondissement, and it’s crammed from floor to ceiling with an astonishing variety of loose spices, sauces, condiments, teas, and delicacies. If you want to make a proper Egyptian fou (stewed pigeon beans), this is the place to find the essential spice mixture, and even the Syrian pickled turnips to go with it.
In Mexico, I love the town markets. My favorite is in Guanajuato, not far from San Miguel de Allende. The artfully displayed fruits and vegetables are all but irresistible. But I pass them up for a treat that can be indulged in only very infrequently—a fresh carnitas sandwich of slow-cooked pork with chopped peppers and chicharon bits (deep-fried pig skin) sprinkled on top. As long as you allow a year or two between sandwiches, your arteries should be fine.
Whether it’s Bangkok or Istanbul, Budapest or Hong Kong, I find food shops and markets among the most attractive and interesting places to visit. I’d be surprised if you don’t agree, so now that I’ve told you about some of my favorites, I’d like to hear about yours. And if they’re a secret, I promise not to tell anyone, aside from the zillions who read my blog.
Paula "I’ve got to drop eight pounds by beach time" Gifford
I’ve always been interested in trains. Ever since I inherited an older cousin’s Lionel set, with real steam and a crossing guard who came out of his hut to swing his lantern every time the train passed, I’ve been enthralled with trains. And as an adult I’ve indulged the passion by "taking the train" whenever and wherever possible.
Alas the best of today’s operating trains in America are excursion carriers rather than scheduled passenger transportation. But even so, there are still plenty of opportunities to enjoy the unique experience of being carried along at speed in excited relaxation while watching the country roll by.
My favorite train trip in North America is from Toronto to Vancouver aboard Canada’s ViaRail through the Canadian Rockies with the opportunity to see or stop at Jasper, Banff, Lake Louise and any number of other picturesque stations. (We reported on the Canadian Rockies recently in Passport Newsletter.)
In Europe, travel by train is the only way to go. Whether it’s London to Yorkshire, Paris to Marseilles or Madrid to Budapest, the train—or trains—offer an experience that can’t be matched from 25,000 feet in the air. I’ve even tried what’s called "Hard Class" on an Indian train, and though it was, indeed, hard, it was great fun with delightful people. I’d do it again.
I must admit that although I’ve been on most of today’s great excursion trains such as the Venice-Simplon Orient Express (where no one looked any more sinister than myself), the Eastern & Oriental Express from Singapore to Bangkok, South Africa’s Blue Train and India’s Palace on Wheels, I much prefer to ride the rails on a scheduled passenger run, just as E.M. Frimbo did for so many years. And if you don’t know who E.M. Frimbo is, get yourself a copy of All Aboard with E. M. Frimbo, World's Greatest Railroad Buff.
Paula "Hold that Train!" Gifford
Because I write about travel, I’m frequently asked about my favorite place in the world. Stated this way, it’s an almost impossible question, as the answer depends on so many factors. My favorites today aren’t the same as they were 20 years ago. As I’ve been to and lived in more places, my opinions have changed. And I’d have to know if the questioner meant my favorite place to live, or visit, in summer or winter, alone, or with someone.
But of one thing, I’m fairly sure: If I ever stop traveling and settle down to a less hectic life that I will refuse to call retirement, it will be in the town of Zuoz, in Switzerland’s Engadine Valley. It’s just a few miles from St. Moritz, and is the loveliest small town you can ever fall in love with. You can walk around it in about half an hour, savoring its lovely old buildings and its cobblestone streets.
And with a little courtesy on my part, the locals have always been entirely friendly and welcoming – genuinely so, I believe, because although a goodly number of visitors find their way to Zuoz, the town seems to have an independence of spirit that prevails throughout the year. I visit it as often as I can but haven’t moved in yet. But unless the finger of fate intervenes, one day you’ll be able—and welcome—to knock on my cottage door, and I’ll have the pleasure of agreeing with you as you go into raptures over the loveliness of Zuoz.
Now, I’d enjoy hearing what your favorite place is, and why.
Your "bag packed" blog editor,
Paula Gifford
Are you one of those with a romantic vision of Oregon – green trees, city parks bordered by rose gardens and a spirit of youth and possibilities in the air? Much of Portland really does live up to this image.
Portland makes for an ideal casual visit. Its downtown is a great for walking, with art fairs and farmer's markets through the summer. Powell's, the world's largest independent bookstore is where the Birkenstock crowd mixes with the button-down set wandering the stacks and sipping lattes in the on-site cafe.
Much of Portland's appeal arises from its proximity to the mighty Columbia River just north of the city. The second largest and most powerful river in America carves the divide that separates Washington from Oregon and makes for all sorts of water attractions, including the annual competition of windsurfers. (Not for me though; a few hours of relative quiet, canoeing a placid tributary is my idea of watery adventure.) Most important, the Columbia nourishes the farms of the Northwest that feed much of the nation.
One of the contributors to our newsletter likes to take in the river view from the Columbia Gorge Hotel, an establishment founded by a timber baron back in the days when that designation meant something other than clear-cutting of forests.
The hotel is only an hour east of Portland, and it's a great place to go on a Sunday morning for the locally famous Sunday farm breakfast—a five-course extravaganza with apple fritters (Northwest apples, of course), grilled Idaho mountain trout (from Idaho's Snake River through its confluence into the Columbia), buttermilk pancakes, and home-style baking powder biscuits. The hotel grounds and gardens encourage post-feast exploration, and you might even find a waterfall that pours into the surging Columbia.
It seems that Portland and its countryside are ripe with such discoveries, and I find I want to go back again and again. Or move there.
But I have to say that two things bug me whenever I'm there: it rains a lot – mostly of the short refreshing type, but rain, nevertheless. And secondly, there are too many people like me filling the restaurants, the shops and everywhere I want to be.
I wonder, what are the regionally classic meals and local events that draw people to your part of North America?
Henry (my host at a recent dinner party) and I were comparing our last visits to France. Henry went on at much too great a length about the inferior quality of French wines from the Midi, principally Languedoc- Roussillon.
In my view, his tirade proved two things, 1) Here was someone who was intoxicated not with the wine being served, but with his own voice, and 2) He had never bothered to reconsider an opinion he must have formed at least 20 years ago. So I pointed out a few facts.
True, for most of their history, wines from the Midi were considered to be Vin de Table at best.
But the Midi covers a considerable area, with almost 750,000 acres of grapes growing in Languedoc-Roussillon alone. And in common usage, the acreage of Provence is often included as well.
Grapes grow easily in the sunshine and varied soils of the area, and it has been a major producer for centuries. But with improvements in various growing techniques, by the 1980s, massive overproduction had brought about a serious drop in prices leading many growers to rip out a portion of their vines.
"Well," said Henry, "All of this merely confirms my judgement that you get a lot of mediocre wine from the Midi."
Not wanting to turn a difference of opinion into an argument, especially where I was a guest at the table, I let the matter drop. But had I been in a feistier mood, or had I consumed one or two more glasses of the superb Montrachet we had been drinking, I would have tried a few more facts.
In 1979, French wine authorities allowed grape varieties to be grown outside of their traditional region, provided the output was offered only as Vin de Pays. Many growers in the Midi uprooted their old vines and replaced them with Merlot and Cabernet Sauvignon, identifying their product as Vin de Pays d'Oc, which is now the single largest classification in the region.
Along with these familiar vines, some growers took an interest in a somewhat neglected grape called Viognier, which produces a delicious white wine that is highly colored and quite aromatic.
The best-known wine of the viognier grape is called Condrieu. It is delicious, and thus far, still quite scarce.
How do I know all this about winemaking in the Midi? In truth, I know very little about wines in general and just happen to have been traveling in the Midi where I met a friendly wine merchant who was a great appreciator of the Condrieu—as well as a great salesman. Thus, my modest wine cellar contains a disproportionate two dozen bottles of the French Condrieu, which I drink only sparingly. But soon I will bring out a bottle or two and invite Henry over for the evening.
Do you have a little-known favorite wine that you’d be willing to tell us about? It may be something that others think little of or dismiss entirely. So what! If you like it, that’s all that matters. Let’s hear from you.
Turkey presents endless attractions for the traveler; yet in these times I find people ask questions that express some hesitation.
"Is it safe to visit Turkey? After all, it’s a Muslim country. Is it likely we would be exposing ourselves to an act of terrorism if we visited Istanbul or elsewhere in the country?"
While it would be foolhardy to say terrorists may not strike anywhere in the world, the danger of an attack in Turkey is no greater than what you can assume about visiting any large country. Indeed, you could have the same concerns about visiting in the UK, the United States, Germany, Spain or a long list of other countries. It is true, however, that the likelihood of encountering trouble is greater in the extreme south east of the country in the land of the Kurds.
Though it’s normal to react with worry to the dramatic nature of television reports, the more realistic question might be:
"As an American traveling in a Muslim country, what can I do to make myself a welcome guest?"
The mere fact that you subscribe to our newsletter indicates you have a genuine interest in the world’s people and cultures. So express that interest whenever you can. Ask questions of your English-speaking guide and any other English speaking Turks you meet. Be modest about the United States, and be open minded about what you see.
If you visit a mosque, do as the Muslims do: leave your shoes outside, and if you’re a woman, cover your hair. Inside the mosque, be quiet and respectful. And wherever you are, if you want to make a bit of a special effort, learn how to say "please" (lutfen) and "thank you" (sagol) in Turkish.. Be prudent, of course, but leave your fears at home, along with your Rolex and three-carat stones.
I wonder if you have a story about a foreign trip you approached with a sense of trepidation? What did you learn once you were there, and what would you recommend to others who will be first-time visitors?