Cold weather but hot airfare sales!

Friends and travelers, the weather's cold (here), but the airline fares are hot!

In early December I flew Denver to North Carolina for $56.00 RT. 

And just this week I was able to fly Denver to Portland, Oregon for $90.00 RT. Of course, I don’t pay for checked luggage and only carry on what’s free. So what if I wear the same two outfits for five days? 

I also booked a one-way trip to a wedding coming up in May, even paying for one bag each. For the two of us it was $88.00–TOTAL. The return will be more, of course, but I've already saved so much I’m okay with full price later.

The trick? Sign up for travel alerts on websites like airfarewatchdog and GoLastMinute.

And always sign up for emails from airlines that fly your favorite destinations. They’ll send you the latest sales information. Be ready to book quickly because the window of opportunity is usually short.

Here's the formula:

Stay informed + Be decisive + Pack light = SAVE MONEY.

"There are Places I Remember" , Number One

“there are places I remember…”  (link to the Beatles' song, "In My Life")

I’m mining my photo banks and travel diaries to celebrate places I remember.  Two years ago we hit the road for Birmingham, Alabama. We were going to celebrate a wedding, but decided to stop off at places we’ve only heard of, not necessarily favorably. 

The first afternoon we visited Bob Jones University in Greenville, SC.  It was on Bill’s bucket list. Who knew? Less than enthusiastic, I tried to find something unique in their high quality sacred art museum which was full of old Masters. But having been to cathedrals in Europe I'd seen enough Virgin Mary paintings and cavorting angels to last a life time. 

Bill was disappointed to discover that the college book store is only online, no browsing text books.

Our glimpse into campus culture was interesting. When my daughter was eight, she played with a friend from a devout Christian family. I asked her what games they had played and she answered “humble girls.”  I’m not sure what she meant then, but BJU had a whole campus full of them! Girls are still required to wear skirts. Some could have stepped out of the set from Little House on the Prairie, others chose modest versions of current styles.

The student dining hall had a wide range of nationalities, and coed groups shared the tables. I did not see many African Americans, but again, I don’t see them at my white church either. 

I much preferred our time downtown at an outdoor cafe sipping locally brewed beer. No BJU students there. 

The next day took us through Atlanta for their reputation for "stop and groan" traffic. 

Once in Birmingham we went downtown to Kelly Ingram Park, the civil rights site where police hosed protestors and brought in the attack dogs. The art in the park recreates the scene with metal scupture.  It’s arranged so you have to sidle between life sized metal snarling dogs, frightening in their realism.

the four girls killed in church bombing across the street

Across the street is the Civil Rights Institute, a compelling collection of media—video, audio, recreated rooms, statues which tell the story of the 1960s in the South. I wish my grandchildren and former students could have accompanied me to experience this well-executed collection of artifacts. 

In total contrast, in the afternoon we visited Antebellum House near downtown. While the landholdings are much smaller than they were, it is a lovely home still. It’s good sized, but not grand. In fact, many architectural details reminded me of our century old home in Denver. The front door is glass with small panels on each side. The entrance runs through the center of the house creating a commodious foyer. Living room to the right, dining and kitchen to the left, just like our house. (sigh)

The rehearsal dinner was held in the Birmingham Botanic Gardens, small but lovely. The tulips and other bulbs were finished blooming due to a warm spring, but the temperatures made for lovely outdoor mingling. I’d love to go back and hit the gardens for the spring flowers.

Of course the wedding was wonderful too. And as the Beatles conclude in their song,"I'll never lose affection for people and things that went before." Here's a late toast to Andrew and Jenna on their second anniversary.

While my wanderlust hasn’t dimmed, my opportunities have slimmed. 

It’s best to recall the affections this trip stimulated. 

Barcelona: high density and high intensity

Barcelona has a high population density and a high intensity lifestyle. 41,000 people live in a square mile there! 

Each apartment building is attached to the next like a siamese twin. Gracious hundred year old buildings have balconies just big enough for a few flower pots. On sunny days the floor to ceiling french doors open to let in fresh air, sheer curtains shifting with the breezes. At night I saw rows of lights and imagined the people inside reading newspapers or washing dishes in narrow kitchens.





Of course, those many people need all of the services we do. I wondered why every other person on the sidewalk was pulling a wheeled suitcase, then figured out they were shopping carts. No Costco for them. 

Traffic was relentless. Motorcycles squeezed between the lanes of moving cars. Buses were full. Underneath us, the subways carried more passengers. I asked a taxi driver if it was hard to drive there. He said the cars were careful and obeyed the law. But the motorcycles did as they wished, and they endangered everyone.

Every generation from 20's to 60's rode them. I saw stylish business women in skirts and high heels climb on, tighten their coats, and adjust their helmets. Cars seemed reserved for families with kids.






Because of apartment living the common space was very important. The plazas where streets intersected had planters and sometimes small lawns. The major roads had trees planted in strips on either side. Public parks were small, but well used. And every little restaurant had at least two tables outside.

The food was terrific. We'd heard about meals made of appetizers--tapas.

And we loved them. We quickly found two restaurants close to the hotel that we liked.  Catalonians eat lots of olives, green and red peppers, and everything is cooked in olive oil. I'm going to scour seed catalogs to find these tiny  (about 2" diameter) red peppers which were marinated in oil and vinegar before being stuffed with herbed cheese. Many of our salads included fresh asparagus, a real treat for us this time of the year. 


We could have chosen Barcelona just for the food but really came for the architecture. Next blog I will share a few photos of Gaudi's Sagrada Familia church, and a "modernismo" (1900) musical performance hall. 

Get in the mood--go munch olives!  














  

Here to There (Is Surry County in the same universe as Spain?)

I headed out for my walk today and couldn't help but contrast here with there. 

For the last two weeks I've been hoofing over pavement in Spain. There I sidled through jammed sidewalks,  strolled down tree-lined paseos,  or treaded carefully over river rocks  in medieval alleys.

Today I was alone on our country drive, rather than sharing crowded walkways. 

The breeze was moderate with a crisp tinge unlike ocean-tempered Barcelona or warm Granada.




The only color left in my yard was from leggy cosmos lying horizontal. Compared to the Alhambra, it isn't even a garden. 



Join me the next few weeks as I contrast bustling Barcelona to medieval Madrid to laid-back Granada. It will have to satisfy both of us until we book another trip.  

On és el bany ( When Spanglish may not be enough)

When my 14 year old daughter was preparing for her solo trip to France, I bought language tapes for the basics: Where's the bathroom, I need help, How much does it cost? 

She would be staying with a family, but I  thought she should learn a little survival French. She laughed about how funny it would be if she needed to say something and couldn't. "Funny?" I said with alarm. She thought again. "Okay, maybe not so funny." But she didn't try to learn a word. 

It probably wouldn't have helped anyway. 

I knew some Spanish when I went to Costa Rica, but only enough to ask questions--not understand the answers. That's how we ended up in a restaurant with the local transvestites. Also how we got stuck in a horrific traffic jam the day of the presidential elections, crawling through the suburbs of San Jose. Plus, I hadn't figured out that avenues ran one way and intersected the streets of the same name. Crazy system. 

I'm trying to bring my Spanish to another level for our fall trip to Barcelona. As I listen to Spanish documentaries on Yabla, a fun listen-and-learn website, I realize that they drop endings of common words. I may never learn to lisp in the right places. Native speakers fly through their sentences and use idioms that don't even show up in online dictionaries.

This weekend I realized they don't even LIKE to speak Spanish in Barcelona because it's part of a separatist wannabe region called Catalunya with it's own language. 

So I hit youtube again, this time for a crash course in 20 basic phrases in Catalan. Oh, brother. 

I foresee a lot of confusion.  

As the days until departure dwindle, I'm feeling a lot like my daughter. Why bother studying?  I guess I'll just keep watching the hysterical Colombian muppets on Yabla. 

Road Vanity

If you had too much time on the roads during the holidays, you can probably add to my collection of vanity plates.

Watching for them was better than playing the alphabet game. Here's what I spied between home and Newark, Delaware. See if you can match the vehicle with the plate.


CLSYLADY                          1980's black small Toyota pickup

GODNGUN                          10 year old blue van

K8SGRAM                           big black pickup with a snake painted
                                                             on the side

MYCEDES                           Ford Taurus

Violin 1                                red BMW convertible

DAVZGRL                            Toyota sedan

LORYDER                            red Mustang

BIBLS4U                             silver Mercedes

           

Memory Lane

I just returned from a trip down memory lane. 

I revisited Whidbey Island where I lived briefly in 1968. I was pleased to see that most of the changes were for the better. 


 The waterfront town of Langley is lively and lovely. We enjoyed a rooftop lunch and did a little shopping. 


























The old wooden-floor grocery has been remodeled, upscaled, and expanded. 







While walking around town I remembered the milestone that took place there. Twice, not just once, I flunked the road portion of my test for a driver's license.

as it looks today

While parallel parking in front of the Star Store, I miraculously managed to get into a space. But when I needed to leave the spot I bumped the car behind me: immediate end of test, and no license. 













The second time, I was driving my dad's old green Chevy truck with the transmission on the steering column.  Going up this hill in second instead of first gear I stalled. Stopping dead in (potential) traffic forced the examiner to frown, fret, and flunk me. 





Oh well, there wasn't anywhere on Whidbey I wanted to go back then anyway. And I wouldn't need (and couldn't have) a car when I went to college that fall.



In the intervening forty-six years I eventually earned a driver's license, and Langley transformed itself into a charming village.  Some things improve with time!


 

Left Behind

My husband wanders like a puppy tracking fresh scents.  He disappears  while touring, hiking or biking, not to mention shopping. He slips away without saying a word. As soon as I realize he's not beside me my head swivels to catch a glimpse of him. I sidle through the crowd to spot him down an aisle.

Once I gave up the wild goose chase and paged him. He didn't respond and a quarter hour later I found him outside on a bench. Now I keep him at my side in Wal-Mart. Actually, now I won't even go to Wal-Mart with him.

Most outings include someone asking "Where's Bill?"  It's become a joke. 

Except for when I find it irritating. When I'm in a hurry, it's aggravating.  And when we travel, his vanishing act is distressing.  We chronicle these events in family lore as the (almost) left behind series. 
They've never been the disaster I direly predict. In fact, most of them are funny. After the fact.      

Once our family vacationed in Hawaii. In Honolulu we rode public buses to Sea World.  As the self-designated tour guide for our family I had  the bus schedule and a paper map to track our transfer points. Returning, we were the first passengers to reboard at Sea World. Bill settled in the back of the empty bus where he claimed he could see better. I told him to keep an eye on us because I feel more secure sitting near the driver. The kids and I sat opposite the center exit door.

photo by martin, flickr 

The bus took on passengers until it was more crowded than a tropical fish tank. People were elbow to hip in the aisles and my two girls and I were jammed into one seat. 

The transfer point loomed. One daughter pulled the yellow cord to indicate a stop. I nudged and prodded the way to the stairs like an ice breaker through a frozen river. Passengers pressed in our wake to fill the space. 

Mexico City, photo from EMBARQ 

The bus stopped. We jumped off but Bill was still inside the bus. As it pulled away he stood on the bottom step, legs spread, hands pressed against the glass. The three of us watched from the sidewalk.

He got off at the next stop and made his way to us before our connecting bus came. 

I was annoyed. Surely, I thought, he’ll pay more attention in the future. The incident didn't worry him. Ramblers are as enchanted with the journey as the destination. 

If you know a straggler, share one of your near misses to include in the Left Behind series. 

* The title is a reference to a series of apocalyptic novels I didn’t read. Apparently Christians are snatched from earth, and the rest are left behind.

Travel Fit

Last week I had time to watch people at the Seattle airport. I was sitting at the bus pick-up point for the various Alaskan cruises, so lots of folks passed by. There were so many feeble seniors that I wondered if they were on a special tour.  

flcikr, photo by doublewinky

I thought back to another recent flight when my two seat mates (center and aisle) both required wheel chairs down the jet way, were obese, and were barely able to get up out of their seats to let me take mine. What if we had an emergency? I'd be hemmed in, and possibly endangered by their relative disability. 

It made me nervous. 

Airlines can deny boarding to drunk passengers. Do they have other guidelines for other passengers who could hinder safety? I looked up the regulations of the US Department of Transportation, and only under very specific circumstances (unstated in their memo) can the airline require a traveling companion for a disabled person. But if I wasn't mobile, I don't think I would want to fly.  

I am grateful for my relatively vigorous health. As a reality check for the future I made a list. I will quit gallivanting when any of the following three apply:

- My luggage requires a cart.

- Most of my activity takes place in the dining room.

- I can't navigate the airport under my own steam.

- I don't do anything new at my destination.

- KEDS tennis shoes, pants with elastic waistbands, and sweatshirts decorated with wolf faces are my fashion choices. (Maybe that's only for the Alaska-bound.)

At that point, I'll content myself with reliving memories.

Vacation--Dutiful or Duty-free?

When I was a child our family vacations weren't vacations for my mother. 

If we were driving cross country to visit my grandparents she had to pack clothes for 4 kids. She filled the ice chest with milk for breakfast, lunch meat and cheese for lunch, repeat for dinner. Then she had to pack bread, miniature cereal boxes, snacks, and plastic dishes.

Then she'd alternate driving with my father for 48 hours with only road-side stops. She was exhausted before we started, and by the end at least one of us had thrown up in the car from motion sickness. 

Once we traveled with an infant, and had to haul all of the stuff moms once used to make their own baby formula. My two year old sister got into the box and poured Karo syrup (an ingredient in the formula) all over the quilt padding in the back of the station wagon. At the next gas station I held the edges of the quilt up while Mom stood at the small rest room sink and tried to scrub out the sticky mess.  

It was the same for camping vacations, but there was less driving and more gear.  Still, she frequently spent the first day in the tent recuperating.

I didn't want to repeat that with my own family so we didn't camp. I didn’t count trips to visit family out of state as vacations. It wasn’t until I got a job with a major airline, and gained inexpensive flight privileges, that we finally got to take real vacations.

It’s a vacation if:

I did help clean-up.

1. I have abandoned my residence and my regular life style. I am living in a house someone else decorated. I take a shower in a bathroom I didn't have to clean. Someone else prepares a delicious dinner for me as well as does the dishes. 

2. I shake loose the tendrils of shoulds and oughts that grow on the net of daily routine. I strive to be "a being free from duty" (Latin vacationem)

3.  I give myself permission to be self-centered and indulgent.  My only responsibilities are to be considerate of others and clean up after myself. 

4. I can start the day with a bike ride on the beach, end with wine on a screened porch. I get to see new places and try new things. Last year I tried boogie boarding. 

coffee beans

This spring I learned a little about coffee farming in Guatemala. My world expands and my perspective is stretched. 

5. I don’t feel guilty if I read in the middle of the day.

6. I go home before I have to vacuum or change the sheets.





And it's even better if I go someplace that doesn't speak (much) English!

I don’t know what your criteria is, but I hope you get to take a vacation this summer. What was your best vacation ever, and what made it so? 

Tactile Pleasures

I continue this week highlighting some of the tactile pleasures of Antigua created in stone, tile, wood, fiber--and food!

Certain people are more tuned into textures than most of us--a potter knows clay is ready to mold by how it feels. As a knitter I take the texture of yarns into account when planning garments for fit and fashion. Clothing designers use the nubs, slubs, and weaves of fabric to achieve specific design goals. (As an example, I recently saw a stunning garment that was made of peacock feathers!  Click on the link) Architects choose building materials for their practical and aesthetic effects. 

The focus of my trip was to revisit the ruins of the church of Our Lady of the Pillar of Zaragoza, built from 1731-1736. Because it's stripped of all art, the focus is on the shape and style of the buildings. And, because much of it collapsed during the earthquake in July, 1773, the inner workings of the walls and ceiling are exposed. Some of the old plaster on the walls remains, but the under-layer of bricks and mortar is exposed. You can see the contrast between smooth walls and bricks laid to create arches. Look higher, and the ribs of the pillars remind me of why architects call them ribs in the first place. 

A plain-fronted church built in 1457 in Ciudad Vieja  is enhanced by the beautifully curved and carved wooden doors. 

Created 500 years later, there is an abundance of modern art in the park at Santa Domingo el cerro. Clown figures dance across a curved wall of their events pavilion, and toss three dimensional rings. The colors and images are pleasing and the small pieces of stone catch and reflect the light in a way that gives movement to the art.

And since we're next door to the restaurant, el tenedor del cerro, I might as well talk about the sensual pleasure of lunch.  I sat at a small table on the deck. My dining companion was a volcano. The food was delicious and again, texture played a part. I bit into the pesto-marinated shrimp pizza, and pulled the slice back to take a closer look. Firm toasted pine nuts added a new dimension to my palate. 

huipil

Last of all, I want to highlight the textiles again. Look at the handmade hats in the photo and imagine how  it would feel to stroke the finely braided brim.And the embroidery on the huipil, the traditional blouse, mimics the shape of the flower petals. 

These lovely and finely crafted pieces are available at Mayan Boutique, Esperanza Hernández /Edgar Martin Perez, 3rd street #5 "D" Antigua Guatemala, esperanz-arte@hotmail.com

Look around you today as you're out and about. Pay attention to the textures that add interest and depth to the spaces and objects around you. 

Were you a child with a silky blanket? What appeals to your sense of touch: the feel of corduroy? smooth melted chocolate?  crunch in your peanut butter? popping plastic packing bubbles?  

Enjoy them, and share!