By Ashley Pierce at Emmanuel College

NEWBURYPORT — At times, living in the city can take a toll on almost anyone’s mental health. From the noise, dirty air and visions of cement in every corner, it’s easy to yearn for refuge away from the chaos.

For those living in Boston, it’s sometimes hard to remember that it’s a city within an entire region that is New England; a region known for it’s natural beauty, rich history and many tourist attractions.

However, you don’t have to travel far, or even go out of state for a New England experience. A mere forty-minute drive up interstate 95 is the only thing separating you from saving your sanity from inner-city blues.

Or if you don’t have a car in the city, like me, the Commuter Rail runs directly to the city’s train station from North Station.

Photo Credit: Tripadvisor

Newburyport, only 35 miles north of Boston, is the perfect coastal destination escape. Though anytime of year looks beautiful in this North Shore town, the fall is perhaps the most perfect time for a drive up. To some, the drive may be worth the whole trip.

If you prefer the scenic route, take the exit before Newburyport, exit 53-b, Rowley. From there, route 133 East will lead to you route 1A- a quiet and winding road, dotted with colonial homes, radiant orange and crimson hued foliage, alternating with landscapes of salt marshes and small boatyards along the river.

You know you will have reached Newburyport when the Colonial houses become more numerous, closer together, and larger in size, with 18th century old cemeteries appearing in-between.

While the smallest city in Massachusetts has a lot of history to offer, it also has a great natural resource to escape to.

Maudslay State Park is a state reservation of the Department of Conservation and Recreation, and the former home of the late Mosely family estate.

Though the park is beautiful during any season, autumn is especially flattering. With paths winding through rolling meadows and shadowy forests, stretching all the way to the Merrimack river-such natural elements make it a leaf peeper’s paradise.

As we walked the perimeter of the park, I found that not only was I enjoying nature at its finest, but I was getting a work out as well.

After our “cardio session” in the park, I appeared to work up quite an appetite. So, we packed up the car and headed downtown, to the heart and charm of the city.

While walking along the red-bricked sidewalks of High street, it was clear that there was no shortage of places to grab some grub. We were even suggested by a local to get a lobster roll at Bob Lobster, just outside downtown, for a real taste of New England flavor.
However, one glimpse at “Agave Mexican Bistro,” had me persuaded that burritos or fajitas could be the only cure to my insatiable appetite.

I thought it most logical to order the fajitas, since it was almost guaranteed to be a decent portion. I was mistaken. “Decent” was an understatement.

My plate was heaping of yellow rice, refried beans, sautéed peppers and onions, perfectly seasoned chicken, guacamole with notes of cilantro (which I’m partial to) and their -not too mild, not to spicy-house salsa; all accompanied with soft flour tortillas, perfectly warmed.

I ate most of it, with the exception of a single flour tortilla and small clumps of rice and beans.

We skipped dessert and instead washed our meals down with one of their tasty libations. Though the menu offered up to six different flavors of margaritas and 70 varieties of tequila (all along shelves back dropped by a cascading waterfall), I decided to go with the house sangria priced at six dollars, while my “research partner” went with a bottle of “Negra Modelo”, a Mexican beer with hints of honey.

After we paid our bill, which ended up to be a little pricey for our college budgets, we headed back to the car with our bellies full.

On our walk back, we peeked in the windows of the quaint boutiques and coffee shops until we came across one selling products of our interest: wine and beer. As we walked in the door of “Grand Trunk Imports”, the smell of artisanal cheese alerted us that alcohol wasn’t the only product sold here.

As we surveyed the various types of wines from all over Europe, we ended up at the grandiose beer selection, which included brews from local and European breweries. We ended up choosing “hoptimus prime”, a dark, hoppy brew, which tasted as good as the name was clever.

Jeremy, co-owner, along with his wife, offered us a taste of cave-aged cheddar, a hundred times more delicious than the grocery store offerings. He pointed us to the glass case, filled with a considerable variety of cheeses ranging from camembert to gruyere to manchego, all imported from all over Europe.

Although we only ended up purchasing the beer, we thanked Jeremy and left the charmingly rustic looking store, and headed back to the city to toast to a great day, with our new, delicious brew.

Step out of your room and right onto the beach (Blast staff photo/John M. Guilfoil)

FALMOUTH — You know all those 1950s surf music videos, where people are on the beach, playing volleyball, surfing, drinking from coolers, and generally being best friends with strangers? Yeah, that’s not supposed to happen in real life. Or, if it did, it was something unique to that era, before people in New England generally hated strangers and local beaches.

So it was easy to go into a newly remodeled Cape Cod beach hotel with a certain amount of skepticism.

Imagine my surprise. Maybe I’ve been too cynical about our local waterfronts.

The Sea Crest Beach Hotel just underwent a $15 million renovation to smartly bring the resort back in time. From the soft, white sand on the beach, to the indoor and outdoor pools, outdoor dining, poolside bar and quaint, comfortable restaurant, the hotel offers a total package that screams vintage Cape Cod.

This is what a Cape vacation is supposed to be. This isn’t rows of tourist traps, awful gift shops and a endless line of Christmas Tree Shops stores. This is summer — or fall in my case — on a private beach, with employees who know your name and room number and bartenders who know what you’re drinking.

The other people staying at the hotel seemed to be taken away just as much as I was. People said hi as they walked by, and we did the same. Strangers held conversations and clanged glasses together.

Even the history of the hotel screams vintage and cool retro. In 1927, a young Henry Fonda, Margaret Sullivan and James Stewart and other beautiful and famous people created a summer playhouse and tea room on Old Silver Beach, where the hotel stands today. It burned down in a 1936 fire and was rebuild as the Old Silver Beach Club, a Prohibition-era speakeasy. It was destroyed in a hurricane two years later and re-built as The Latin Club, a club managed by Lou Walters, the father of Barbara Walters. There was a hiatus during World War II, but the property re-opened as a summer resort.

In 1963, a group led by Boston Celtics owner, the late Red Auerbach, purchased the resort and converted it into a year-round resort in 1971. It was purchased by a real estate venture last year.

The sun sets over the private beach (Blast Staff photo/John M. Guilfoil)

We began our Cape weekend with a visit to the Bourne Scallop Festival, one of many fall events and home to some of the best fried scallops I have ever tasted. There are also a variety of rides, games and local crafts.

We arrived at the resort mid-afternoon. The best rooms at the resort are the ground-floor rooms on the beach. You literally step out of your room, onto the beach. It is perfect for getting lost with a date, a bottle of wine, and a picnic lunch. We did. Hours passed slowly but surely as we let the late September fog roll offshore and the sun come out for one more hot day.

For the fall and winter, when it gets colder, there are a variety of fireplace rooms available. You can walk on the beach during the day and warm up by the fire at night.

Seated at the outdoor bar, I was really taken away by the facade covering the building and the blue and white awnings. I felt like I was much farther than an hour away from home. There is a real understated elegance to the Sea Crest. It’s not a cheap hotel, but it’s by far not the most expensive stay on the Cape, yet you feel like you should be spending a lot more money.

Dinner at Red’s restaurant was nice. It’s not a five-star restaurant, but the entrees are filling, the ambiance is comfortable and the service is great.

Here’s how I have to close the story: The Sea Crest hosts weddings, and even as a guy I can say it would be awesome to get married here.

This is second in a year-long series of articles about an American living and working abroad for a month in 12 different countries. Click here for the WorkAway RSS feed!

URSWIL, Switzerland — I’ve now been in Switzerland one week and by the time you are reading this it will probably be closer to two, maybe more. For those of you in a time crunch, use the following helpful guide to this article (free of charge):

-If you want something humorous, go to I (Animals).

-If you want information on the people of Switzerland, go to II (People).

-If you want something more contemplative, go to III (Tools).

I. Animals

I have a wide variety of jobs on the farm, but by far the most interesting ones involve the animals. As it is a dairy farm, this means cows. Forty cows to be exact (the most of any farm in this area and a large number for a Swiss farm). My day begins and ends with these cows.

Let me say first off: I like cows. I really do. And when I heard I would be working not with just one or two, but with forty of these majestic creatures, I was, I’ll say it, overjoyed. I’ve always found them hilarious and sort of adorable. I suppose in the same way I imagine a Neanderthal child must have been adorable. At the very least, I find them interesting.

In fact, I would even go so far as to say that if you don’t like cows, you’re almost forced to at least admire them. There is a dumb endurance in their attitude, a brute and ungraceful inertia that seems to say “Yup. Here’s Life. Again,” in a way that, to my, 20-something, neuroses-riddled, over-imaginative, widely-concerned, hyper-attentive, politically motivated, liberal-arts-educated, brain sounds, well, enviable. I say all this is to make sure you, dear readers, realize what side of the (excuse the pun) fence I’m on, when it comes to cows. In the hope that you’ll be more empathetic and understanding of my predicament.

Because, despite the Mr. Hogett meets James Herriot image I had created for myself (I would, of course, feed and milk the cows, but only as a break from the deep, meaningful interactions and mutual respect we would spend our time sharing), it turns out there is really one main role when it comes to the care of these ungulates. One that overshadows the rest. One which, perhaps, best defines my current role in the universe. I start the first hour and end the last half hour of each day the exact same way. And I’m going to be pretty hard pressed to come up with enough professional synonyms for it to last me the whole section. But I’ll try.

Let me approach this from a more mathematical perspective. Imagine, if you will, a stable. Four rows of stalls (each housing ten cows) run lengthways – one along each wall and two back-to-back in one row down the middle. Each stall is separated by a small metal divider, and in the two rows between the stalls are concrete areas for moving about. The whole area is roughly 50 x 100 feet in size, not including the feeding, milking, and milling about areas, which easily add another 7500 square feet. And it is this rather massive expanse where my destination lies each morning when I wake from my sleep. It is here where I am called to task. And it is here where I have had hours of time to devote to the observation of bovine culture at its finest. If the sociologist in me attempted to describe a system of rules or ethics of cow culture based on my observations, they would come up, every time, as follows:

1. Eat whenever you can. If something looks like food, try it out. Doesn’t matter if it is walking

around/six feet tall/trying to communicate with you. Go ahead, give it a lick.

2. Do not moo as a form of communication. Moo at inconsequential things. Use it only to disrupt the serene silence of the day. If you are mooing, you are important.
3. Everything is a toilet.

There is little I can do about the first two. However, it is for this last task that I have been trained. It is here I seek my glory. It is here where the duties of two species meet. I stand primed at the cusp of thousands of years of human evolution; centuries of progress all leading up to this moment, perfecting me for this and this alone. And so…I clean.

The whole preparation is a process as well. By 8:30 each morning I am sporting a multi-layered full body red and blue suit, water-proof green boots, and a slick pair of what look like dish-washing gloves – I look, in short, like a Ghost Buster from the 70′s. Then I get my scraper, my shovel, my other scraper, my pride…wait, scratch that, and I begin the long and tedious process of restoring order where anarchy has struck. In these moments I am many men at once. I am Don Quixote, charging at unconquerable windmills, I am a knight errant on a fool’s quest, I am a lowly monk, descending into Hell to cleanse the demons at its heart. I work with the resolve of Atlas, but the heart of Sisyphus, because I know no matter how perfect a job I do, no matter how well I clean, how faithfully I shovel, when I return in the morning, my task will await me anew, and the gods will be laughing.

And it would be one thing if the job came with some sort of thanks. Even a meaningful look, or a moo in my direction. But that’s the thing. After many, many, gregarious attempts (in English, in German, in guttural grunting) on my part to befriend these creatures, I have come to an ego-shattering conclusion: They. Don’t. Care. About. My. Existence. The thought is as destabilizing as the surfaces upon which I trod. As part of my station I had presumed a kinship with these creatures, I had thought we should find, in the filth of common experience, a shared language by which to communicate. Perhaps they would see me as one of their own. I thought, As long as they love me it will be worth it. And so I try to talk to them. Nothing. I smile in their direction. They look at me with a self-righteous indignation.

And this goes on. Day after day:

“Hey” I say. They walk by me

“Nice to see you,” I say. Disgusted, they move away.

“Nice weather,” I say. They relieve themselves close to my location.

“Don’t do that there, please,” I say. They do that there.

It would border on an abusive relationship, if they even knew I existed.

I guess I always assumed a pretty clear power dynamic on farms. There was the farmer, the overlord, and the various animals, his subjects, which would produce for him his desired goods. A sort of more restrained Genesis 1:28. But the question of just who rules whom becomes a little less cut and dry when you’re the one trotting around dutifully with a shovel.

Nietzsche writes in his Genealogy of Morals, of Ressentiment, that unique response the “slaves” in his master-slave morality feel towards the life affirming, will-utilizing, go-getters: those that forge for themselves a reality they desire, sometimes at the expense of others. The “slaves” grit and grind their teeth,decrying the actions of the “masters” as evil. Meanwhile, the “masters” are so focused on their own lives and enjoying what they are doing that, guess what? They barely notice the “slaves” and their moralizing. So all the “slaves” think about all day is the stupid, ungodly, habits of the “masters”, while the “masters” are blissfully unaware. Sound familiar? This is, admittedly, a gross (again, excuse the pun) oversimplification. But it is an oversimplification that I live every day.

I spoke of the magic of the cows’ neuroses free existence earlier. And it’s true. In the grand cosmic scheme of things, theirs is not to wonder why. Theirs is not to discover. Theirs is not the existential dilemma. Theirs is to chew their special mix of hay, digest it in record time, show complete and utter disregard for any sense of cleanliness or tact, and then, always free from the haunting memories of the past, to do it all again, as if for the first time.

And my purpose? The process of rebuilding my fractured ego has led me to this exact question. Camus writes of the optimism of Sisyphus: how, no matter how bleak the situation, it is the freedom to choose one’s outlook that gives the existentialist’s life meaning and, ultimately, hope. I won’t be so bold as to claim the former in my current station, but perhaps, I can strive for the latter. Let me then say, here and now, with pride:

I am a scooper, I am a shoveler, I am a scraper! I beautify what others would deface! I am no more than an afterthought of the bovine collective.

This is first in a year-long series of articles about an American living and working abroad for a month in 12 different countries. Click here for the WorkAway RSS feed!

APPROACHING URSWILL, Switzerland — Switzerland, France, Scotland, Wales, Sweden, Finland, Germany, Austria, Italy, Greece, Australia, New Zealand. That’s the itinerary. With one month in each. But we’ll get to that in a minute.

This is the first time I’ve had even a second to sit down in the past three weeks, and it just so happens to be, of all places, in row 27J of an Iberia plane, some several thousand miles above the Atlantic Ocean. Or, at least I think that’s where I am. What was once a highly informative flight-screen displaying everything I would ever care to know about our current speed, distance to destination, time, and air temperature, has now become a series of advertisements for what appear to be Spanish day-time dramas- except that every once in a while, apropos of nothing, a short clip involving Will Smith appears on the screen. It is always from a different movie and never for more than thirty seconds. I have no idea why it is there, and without headphones on me, I probably never will. It is disorienting to say the least. Let us say, then, with the only quantitative information available to us, that I am 10 Will Smith appearances out of Boston, and God knows how many until Madrid.

But the strange comfort of Will Smith’s familiar face on the plane is, perhaps, the least disorienting thing to have happened in the past few weeks. In the last month, I’ve left my job teaching high school English in Baltimore, sold off most of my possessions, and said goodbye to my students, coworkers, friends, and the city I’ve called home the past couple of years. There is a weird sort of temporal vertigo that sets in, a living in the future and the past that brings an excitement about what is to come and a nostalgia for leaving that, in turn, evokes prior leavings, prior nostalgias. (Are we every really not leaving somewhere or something? Isn’t that integral to, in some sense, becoming ourselves? And isn’t this reason enough to, good or bad, cherish everything, even as we move from it, whether that be at thousands of miles an hour over a vast, strange, night-black ocean, or at the snails pace of daily decisions, changes, and loss?) It all sort of gets mixed up. And sitting here in J27, leaving behind everything that speaks of stability and comfort, I find old questions resurfacing. Questions about how many places one can truly call home, what home even is, and where it may be possible to find or recover it.

But who knows, maybe that’s all just the recent slew of vaccinations talking.

A brief word about these vaccinations.

As any good traveler knows, one should get immunizations so one’s exciting trip is not interrupted or delayed by a painful death. I received mine (the vaccinations) from a kindly woman named Amalia, who managed to combine the verbal rapidity and persuasiveness of a car salesman, the neurotic worry of a Jewish mother, and the frenetic order of a generation Y multitasker all in one body without exploding. She was awesome. Except for the fact that idle chit chat would often be interspersed, in the same whimsical tone, with litanies of the different ways in which I could die.

A sample conversation went like this:

Me: So, what’s the worst that happens if you get Japanese Ensephilitis?

A: OH NO!!!

Me: (heart rate skyrocketing to 100+. She tended to have this affect on people) What? What??? Is it that bad?

A: (who, unbeknownst to me had been acting like the multitasking pro she was and checking emails while she filled out the vaccinations I was requestion.) Huh? Oh, no, just something from work.

Me: (Recovering from a 60 point pulse drop, but relieved) Oh, ok, I was worried. In that case I guess I don’t need-

A: With Japanese Ensephillitis your brain swells up until you die.

Me:….

————————–

This is just a long way of saying that everything leading up until now has been sort of a preface, or, more aptly, a whole bunch of disparate prefaces, and now, for better or worse, it is more or less congealing. I’ve called this first post Introductions and Farewells and with good reason. I’m well aware that in addition to a number of people I know reading these accounts, there will be those who do not know me. So this entry serves a dual purpose. With that in mind, we’ll get to the itinerary.

Side note: This might be a good place to note that Will Smith has not appeared in a while. I can only assume that either time itself has completely stopped, or something is wrong with the TV)

The Plan:

July – Switzerland – Working on dairy farm in Luzern

August – France – Working on a farm in the south and a Green Hotel in the north.

September -Scotland – Odd variety of jobs, but living near a castle which makes any job they require me to do worth it!

October – Wales – Working on a stud farm.

November- January – Finland – Working as a dogsledder in Finnish Lapland.

January – Germany – Still deciding.

February – Stopping off in Prague and then being a nomadic Shepard in the Austrian Alps for two weeks with a man named Hans! (Side note: This experience simultaneously fulfills my two main goals in life- to be a nomadic shepherd and to befriend a man named Hans.)

March – Greece – Working on Olive Farms.

April – Australia – Working with injured kangaroos on an animal farm.

May – NZ – still deciding.

If you’re wondering how I’m managing to do this, I can dispel any notions right now that I am either independently wealthy, or an internationally renowned dogsledder/olive picker/farmer. I’ve set this all up through the website workaway.org, a social-networking site that is used to find and contact host families around the world (membership for 2 years is like 20 euros, but even without the membership you can still see the different hosts available) and get free room and board in exchange for whatever labor they need. Amount of work varies depending on the host. For example, in in Scotland I’ll only be working 25 hours a week and have a lot of time to explore, while in Finland I will be working roughly 18 hour days, 6 days a week.

And this, ultimately, was the way I wanted to see each place – far from the city centers, learning new skills and trades, and trying to adapt and live in the natural rhythms of each country and its people. And, of course, you’ll be able to follow along. I will post articles at least once every two weeks and more if internet connections are available. I hope that, along with documenting my attempts to learn each trade, I can capture even just a slice of the beauty of the places I’m going, the culture, and the people.

I mentioned, before, the question of how many places one can call home. Last summer, while living in Ireland, I made a list in my personal notebook of all the places I have called home. It came to 5, yet at the same time it seemed infinitely more and comparatively less. More, because of the wealth really is a of the experiences that “5” can’t begin to denote, and less, because, in some way, even in some contradictory way they are all at home in who I have become. And I suppose, sitting here in good old 27J, with the Spanish baby crying three seats in front of me, and the tired mother fast asleep across the aisle; with memories of past homes at once hazy and vivid in my sleep-deprived mind, I am reminded, once again, that home, more than any place or setting, is the people you encounter, those that you are fortunate enough to leave little bits of yourself to along the way. And this, I think, is a good thing, because there is no rock, no city, that could hold our heats as faithfully.

And so, I look forward to the people I will meet in this coming year. I look forward to leaving pieces of myself behind and picking new ones up. I look forward to, at some point, it all becoming confused and disorienting, and impossibly hard to pin down. In the end, I suppose, not too much unlike those brief flashes of Will Smith on the TV – the comfort of a face that speaks of a life I know, but one speaking what I can only imagine is Spanish or German, and both of us, (Will and I that is) hurtling through the air in a giant winged piece of metal over no continent at all. It all seems at once comforting and strange and contradictory and confusing. But I’d have it no other way.

And on that note, thank you for reading. To any new readers I do not know, welcome, and I hope you continue to follow my adventures.

To the friends I love, who I leave behind, I say only this: do not doubt that you are with me at every turn – I mark your presence in each of my movements, and it is in thoughts of you that my endless explorations, find not only replenishment, but purpose. I hope you are more than well.

To everyone, wherever you are: be safe, be happy, try, always, to be full of wonder.

Seoul at night (Media credit/lroderick7 via Flickr)

The fact that most yishipdae weren’t afforded the opportunity to socialize with the opposite sex until they reach college creates a feeding frenzy of sorts within the nightlife scene in Seoul. From a startlingly early age, these young men and women have been disciplined to study, study, study. Failure is simply not an option in South Korean life. In fact, some students spend 6 months or longer with no outside contact, just to prepare for the college entrance exams. To them, getting into the right school is their ticket into the social hierarchy of South Korea and is at the same time a predictor of the success and achievement they will experience for the rest of their lives. With all this “stressure” as some folks call it, it seems there wouldn’t be much time to play for the yishipdae.

While cutting loose isn’t socially acceptable in public in South Korea, there are plenty of places where young people can express themselves behind closed doors. There are all different kinds of “bangs,” or rooms where people can enjoy anything from a few bottles of Soju, the national drink (similar to the Japanese drink, Sake) to a night of karaoke or even pop into one of the taboo “love rooms” where people can use their credit card to check into an hourly hotel-style room and escape the prying eyes of their parents or the outside world in general. If you’re feeling frisky, Sinchon-dong is a neighborhood built around the major universities of Hongik, Ewha Women’s and Yonsei. Hongik is like the Harvard of South Korea. If you graduate with a degree from here, you’re set for life. With the highest density of clothing and accessory stores in Seoul, as well as a bustling night life scene, Sinchon-dong is the hot spot for the yishipdae of modern day Seoul.

The yishipdae are strikingly similar to the 20-somethings of America. They are fiercely independent, have a fascination with pop culture that is unrivaled (just look up K-pop in google), and absolutely love to make eating and drinking their biggest social endeavor. After a night out at any one of the beer halls, bars or nightclubs in Sinchon-dong, the yishipdae flood the streets and hit up late night “pochangmachas,” street vendors famous for their use (some say overuse) of charcoal in homemade half-barrel grills. At night, the air in Seoul is filled with the tantalizing scent of street meat and sweet potatoes, as well as the sounds of a new youth culture, less concerned with the conservative traditions of their parents generation and more concerned with forging their own identity and lifestyle, however similar it may be to our own here in America.

CORK, Ireland — It’s summer in Ireland (or what constitutes summer in Ireland) and it has roused our irrepressible instinct for superstition. For all our desire to become one of the smart economies, we are still ultra superstitious. We flail about the streets to avoid stepping on cracks or under ladders. The sight of a flock of magpies triggers frantic bouts of counting (one for sorrow, two for joy, and so on). Umbrellas left open indoors is an antecedent to hysteria. We don’t even talk about shattered mirrors.

Having recently rolled through the summer solstice, the longest day of the year, our minds are now secretly ticking forward to July 15: St. Swithin’s Day. We know nothing about this Swithin character except that if it rains on the date named in his honor, we are, essentially, fooked. The saying goes that if it rains on St. Swithin’s Day, we’re doomed to another 40 days of rain. Weather is a serious matter to Irish people and it occupies a space of utter mysticism in our minds. We all know the kind of monsoon event that Irish summers can be and we believe, deep down, that low pressure and all its symptoms are the result of some portentous force having a laugh at our expense. Be honest, you blame Rihanna for summer 2007. I know I do. Swithin’s Day looms as large on our horizon as Budget Day, and every fine day between now and then will be ruthlessly enjoyed.

About a month ago the country was overcome with a week’s worth of sunshine. Boyfriend and I stared at Evelyn Cusack’s smiling face as she waved her arm over the multitude of cartoon suns that hovered across the map of Ireland. That was all it took.

A few photons of light energy breaking through the clouds set in motion a form of migration to rival that of the Antarctic penguins and the red crabs of Christmas Island.

It is a phenomenon that we all participate in. Tartan-patterned flasks that have been passed from one attic to another for generations are unearthed and dusted off. Bread is buttered, filled, and foiled. Wardrobes are plundered in search of swimwear that has not been worn for years. Rugs and towels are rolled up. Cars are loaded as though in preparation for the apocalypse. And then, following a comprehensive check-list, there is a hemorrhaging of people from our urban centers to our blue-flag coastlines. For me, it was Garretstown in west Cork, but the routine is the same everywhere.

The second the handbrake is yanked, you stumble from the car, ninja-stripping across the car park in a frantic clamber for your own square of sand. It is as though you have discovered and claimed el mundo nuevo. You drop your cooler box, your backpacks, your rugs, your newspaper—everything except the bucket and spade that you secretly, desperately, wanted to bring but couldn’t. Now that you have cordoned off your own zone, you begin the process of factoring up. It’s not really that you’re pale in that cool Scandinavian way and you want to preserve it. In fact, you’re more… grey in that malnourished Irish way, but you still can’t ignore the internal “you’ll get skin cancer” caveat that your parents barked at you as a kid. And anyway, nothing says summer quite like the scent of UVA protection and a stranger’s second-hand cigarette smoke (which is inescapable on blustery Irish beaches).

You sit down on to your rug with all the grace of a subsiding structure and wait out the obligatory 30 minutes for your skin to absorb the sun cream. To pass the time, you whip out the newspaper. Supplements, crosswords, and Sudokus were invented for just such an event. There is no free wifi here. No means for your devices. This is a time for the wholesome art of reading, of informing yourself on national and international issues that you feign to understand, and for some slightly academic entertainment.

You open the first page and the whole thing lifts like a kite into the air. From that moment, you engage in a ferocious wrestling competition with your broadsheet publication (tabloids are less susceptible to breezes, and in any case, are no great loss). You haul its wilting pages back and pin it down to the rug with your body. This is an improvement but it still does not permit page turning and the sand is now blowing into your eyes. You content yourself with the cover page even though you read that part in the car on the journey over. You glimpse the upper right corners of subsequent pages, grasping a word here or there, headers, page numbers. Fascinating stuff. You stick at it mindlessly for a while until you estimate that you are, probably, UVA’d.

Buoyed by the warmth of the sun, you rise to your feet and march towards the water. It could be childhood memories or it could be sunstroke, but either way you have shrugged off those adolescent insecurities that once had you creeping awkwardly, surreptitiously to water’s edge. You know you are not perfect. No amount of recessionary jogging, Junior C championship training, or mechanical erosion has been able to shift that stubborn cellulite. Your legs are bruised and potholed after last week’s league encounter with that beast of a corner-back, but you don’t care. Your blindingly white skin is crying out for vitamin D, having been deprived of it for the best part of a decade. The water is inexplicably appealing, as though its salty tang is calling to the fish buried deep in your evolved genes. However, this is as far as the allure goes.

Your body nearly spasms when it laps coldly around your ankles and it takes every fiber of muscle to swallow back a whimper. You lurch forward a step or two, perhaps even hallucinate icebergs on the horizon. The gentle swell of water that washes a little further up your legs towards your knees is confirmation. That’s deep enough thanks. This is the Atlantic Ocean after all and I think I’ve been brave enough for one day. You retreat quickly, stumble back to the rug, and grab a towel to stave off frostbite. You might engage in some very athletic bat-ball, flinging yourself lithely across the unforgiving terrain, grunting with the effort and the feel of those sea-shells biting into your feet. After some competitive rallying and your body temperature now normalizing, the time comes to plunder the cooler box.

Those ham sandwiches, naturally salted with some rogue sand, are ever so tasty after your exploits at sea. The rice crispie cakes too. It all goes down a treat with some tea from a tartan patterned flask. You tackle the dog-eared edge of your side of the rug, weigh it down with a nice stone-formation, and lie back. You sling Boyfriend’s t-shirt over your face as reprieve from the glare of the sun and nod off for a short while, twitching softly at the occasional nose-diving fly. It is 19 degrees Celsius, which is pretty perfect for our delicate Irish blood. Any lower and you’ll be reaching for the fleece you bought for 20 cent in Penney’s; higher, you might actually pass out.

You rest your eyes for an hour or so, then gather up your belongings and trudge back to the car. Your hair is suitably wind-swept. You have a salt line on your shins and sand between your toes. You feel the right amount of plantar fasciitis underfoot — just enough to know you have spent the day in flip-flops.

It was, perhaps, not the success you had hoped for, yet you leave with the proof of the coast in your bones. You join the queue of traffic and begin the slow process of transfusing the cities again. Tomorrow you might need to wear a scarf and come July 15, you may need to purchase a boat, but today was as good as any. Yes, the summer is here.

HAWORTH, England — For anyone wanting to immerse him or herself in emerald beauty of the English countryside, the quaint Yorkshire town of Haworth is a perfect destination, but for literary fans of authors Emily and Charlotte Brontë, it is a must.

The hometown of the literary sisters most well known for Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre, is nestled between undulating green pastures and wild moorlands.

The town, which according to the Visitor Information Centre received 160,000 visitors in 2010, retains it’s 19th century charm thanks to a cobbled main street dotted with shops, tea rooms and pubs. A stroll through the center lends stunning views of the surrounding countryside, known for its many hiking and cycling trails and a steam railroad.

For those wanting to pay homage to the Brontë legacy, the Brontë Parsonage Museum and the hike to Top Withers should be top on the list.

The parsonage, the Brontë family’s home from1820 to 1861 where the sisters lived, wrote and died, looks as it would have when Emily and Charlotte composed what have since become classic works of English literature. The museum features manuscripts, letters and family possessions.

“If they’re at all interested in the Brontës, you’ve got to pop into the parsonage,” said Ray Tallon, a museum assistant who lives in Haworth.

“It’s like visiting London and seeing Big Ben,” he said, noting that the museum draws visitors from as far away as Brazil, Russia and Japan, both casual tourists to the English countryside as well as PhD students and researchers on pilgrimages to the Brontë landscape.

Visitors can also enter the church where the sisters are buried and the town’s old apothecary. It sells medicines, candy, bath salts and other old fashioned products as it would have in Charlotte and Emily’s day.

After obtaining a map from the Visitor Information Centre on main street, visitors can hike to Top Withers, the location believed to have inspired Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights. The six-mile loop crosses the windy moorlands, the setting of Emily’s novel, and although difficult at times, the hike is worth the challenge.

The first two miles lead to the Brontë stone chair, waterfall and bridge, a location where the sisters came to reflect.

“It’s a good place to go and clear your mind and get in tune with the Brontës,” Tallon said.

The final one and a half miles to Top Withers is a steep trek up dry, rocky moors. The view from the top is as serene as it is forlorn and isolating, and plunges hikers into the novel’s landscape, with Haworth completely erased from view.

“You’ve got to go and see. It gives you a good sense of how desolate it would have been,” said Tallon.

Along the trail last week were Pam and Ken Hart of Rotherham in South Yorkshire.

“It’s the wildness of them and the romance,” she said, explaining the intrigue of Wuthering Heights.

Also along the trail were Margaret Hanley and Margaret Collier two friends from Bolton, England.

“We want to be outside,” Collier said, recalling the first time, 51 years ago, she hiked the trail to Top Withers with her classmates after reading the book and acting in a school production of Jane Eyre.

The moorland trail was also dotted with new groups of students as well as mountain bikers, runners and picnicking families.

In the center of town tourists enjoyed refreshments and browsed shops including Venables and Bainbridge Books, Haworth’s second-hand bookstore.

Douglas Bainbridge, the shop’s co-owner who has lived in Haworth for 27 years, said his customers aren’t always looking for Brontë literature.

“There’s more to Howorth than the Brontës,” he said, recommending the steam railway, plethora of hiking and biking trails and proximity to larger cities like Leeds and Manchester.

He also recommend The Fleece, a Haworth pub frequented by locals and travelers alike. He said the locals’ keenness for a pint stems from the town’s long history in the textile and quarrying industries.

Alison Dean of the Haworth Tourist Information Centre also said the pubs are an integral part of Haworth’s many themed weekends throughout the year, which include 1940’s weekend, 1960’s weekend, Christmas and Halloween weekends and Yorkshire Day in July.

“It’s all in good fun and everybody gets together and has a drink,” said Dean.

To partake in the other English drinking tradition – tea time – locals recommend The Stirrup, a tea room and restaurant located on the main street. It offers tea, coffee, hot chocolate and a selection of homemade scones and cakes as well as hot meals and sandwiches.

The Fleece Inn and Pub, which serves hearty traditional English breakfasts and meals throughout the day, also has a full bar menu and an extensive selection of English cask ales.

Bed and breakfasts line the main road and recommendations can be found at websites such as bronte-country.com.

The State Department put American embassies around the world on alert as it issued a travel warning about the possibility of anti-American outbursts in the wake of al-Qaeda founder Osama bin Laden’s death at the hands of American special forces in Pakistan.

The worldwide travel alert was posted early Monday morning, shortly after President Barack Obama confirmed bin Laden’s death in a live speech at the White House.

The alert warns of “enhanced potential for anti-American violence given recent counterterrorism activity in Pakistan.”

“Given the uncertainty and volatility of the current situation, U.S. citizens in areas where recent events could cause anti-American violence are strongly urged to limit their travel outside of their homes and hotels and avoid mass gatherings and demonstrations.”

Travelers and vacationers are all familiar with hotels such as Holiday Inn, Best Western, Sheraton and Hilton. These are typical accommodation options for the home away from home, and when staying there the traveling experience often lies outside the hotel doors.

But five hotels scattered throughout the globe exceed guest expectations with their uniqueness. How many people can say they’ve stayed in a hotel completely made out of trash, such as Ha Schult’s Beach Garbage Hotel? Unfortunately, that hotel was open for just a few days, but luckily for adventurous travelers, the world is full of imaginative hotels that are the destination.

Giraffe Manor

A giraffe mingles with guests at Kenya's Giraffe Manor (Media Credit/Fairmont123 via tripadvisor.com)

Right outside of Kenya’s Nairobi city center lies Giraffe Manor, a six bedroom estate on 12 acres of land. The accommodation was built in the 1930s and is home to a herd of endangered Rothschild Giraffes.

When guests eat breakfast in the sun room, all the windows are open so that the giraffes can come through and join the party. Guests are allowed to go out onto the terrace and hand-feed the friendly animals.

Originally, the estate was set up by the African Fund for Endangered Wildlife as a breeding center for Rothschild Giraffes, but now various other animals including warthogs, bushbuck, and 180 species of birds dwell within. Excursions may be arranged to the Kenyan National Museum, the Maasai Market and Nairobi National Park, but visiting Giraffe Manor and waking up to a scenic vista of the Ngong Hills is an experience by itself.

Sweden's ICEHOTEL blends art and nature (Media Credit/Ragnar Th. Sigurdsson)

The ICEHOTEL

In Jukkasjärvi, Sweden, the ICEHOTEL is constructed each year out of ice and snow harvested from the Torne River, the hotel’s source of inspiration. The igloo-like hotel is the first and by far the largest ice hotel in the world.

Yngve Bergqvist, the founder of the establishment, began building the ice hotel in the 1970s and has been continuing the tradition under Kaamos, a tourism company.

Tourists flock to the ICEHOTEL for famous events such as the Northern Lights and the Midnight Sun. The temperature inside the hotel is around 23 degrees Fahrenheit. Guests enjoy amenities including hot lingonberry juice, breakfast buffets, morning saunas and ice beds that are lined with toasty reindeer skins. This hotel, which combines art and nature, is available to travelers up until its closing in April each year.

PJ’s Underground Bed and Breakfast

At Australia's PJ's Underground Bed and Breakfast, sleep beneath a 64-million-year-old roof

The Australian outback may look like nothing but rock formations for miles and miles, but deep in the White Cliffs are cozy underground rooms dug out of the opal stone that dates back to the Cretaceous period.

PJ’s Underground Bed & Breakfast in New South Wales, Australia, has 30 underground rooms that are chiseled into 64- million-year-old earth. The walls of the rooms, or “dugouts,” are left unpainted so guests may appreciate the natural beauty of the precious opal rock. The White Cliffs that house PJ’s Underground Bed & Breakfast are also home to a variety of fossilized Plesiosaurs and Ichthyosaurs.

Guests wake up to freshly baked bread and homemade jam. They’re free to explore the two surrounding national parks, the Mutawintji Aboriginal grounds and the Paroo-Darling National Park, a wetlands habitat. The bed and breakfast is also accompanied by the White Cliffs Opal Pioneer Tourist Park and the Underground Bar and Restaurant.

Sleep inside man’s best friend at Idaho’s Dog Bark Park Inn

Dog Bark Park Inn

Any traveler who has ever wondered how man’s best friend views Cottonwood, Idaho, can now get in the head of a beagle and experience the real deal.

Since 1997, Dennis J. Sullivan and Frances Conklin have been running the Dog Bark Park Inn, home of the world’s biggest “beagle.” The inn sleeps only four, but this accommodation in the Camas Prairie is one of a kind. Guests enter the body of Sweet Willy, the dog building, and sleep in the head of the dog. The head is a loft room and the muzzle of the dog provides extra sleeping space for guests.

Apart from the various activities available, such as exploring Lewis and Clark country and whitewater rafting, Sullivan and Conklin sell a wide variety of chainsaw carvings in their mom-and-pop operation. All who visit the Dog Bark Park Inn Bed and Breakfast can leave with the “prairie’s best” fruited granola and over 60 different breeds and poses of dog chainsaw carvings.

The Lizzie Borden Bed and Breakfast

Staying at the Lizzie Borden Bed and Breakfast in Fall River, Mass., is the ultimate haunted house experience

On Aug. 4, 1892, Andrew J. Borden and his wife Abby Borden were found brutally murdered in their beautiful Victorian home in Fall River, Mass. The only suspect was their youngest daughter Lizzie, who was ultimately found not guilty. If Lizzie didn’t kill her parents, who did?

Ghost hunters and travelers are invited to sleep in any of the eight rooms available in the restored Borden homestead. Guests may even sleep in the exact same bedroom in which Mrs. Borden’s body was discovered by police. The Borden home will soon be part of an in-house Ghost Cam project, where subscribers can conduct their own virtual paranormal investigations via Web cams.

In addition to amenities such as free Wi-Fi, daily tours and admission to the Lizzie Borden Museum are provided. When guests wake up they are treated to a breakfast consisting of bananas, johnnycakes, sugar cookies and coffee, similar to the meal that the Bordens enjoyed on the fateful day of their deaths.

BOGOTA, Colombia — We were lost. Only 15 minutes after stepping off our Avianca flight, and 90 minutes of driving through Bogota’s jungly rush hour traffic (which makes New York City look like Fargo) were slightly misplaced. Moments before, our taxi driver informed me that the address I’d slipped him — the apartment building our high school friend was living in — on a torn piece of paper upon entering his cab, did not exist.

To say we were panicky might be overdoing it. Attentive is a better description; certainly on our toes and with our heads on a swivel. In the days leading up to our trip, I’d stumbled across an old joke Colombians like to tell:

God had made their land so beautiful, so rich in every natural way, that it was unfair to the rest of the world. He evened the score by populating it with the most evil race of men.

And this is where we were lost. Two tiny dots in a city of eight million people. But today’s Colombia is a million miles away from where it was in the 90s and decades before that. The government is more than stable compared to that of its South American neighbors, crime is considerably down, and foreign relations with countries such as the United States have never been better.

Our driver, a man in his 20s with a boyish face hid behind an unkempt beard, turned and smiled. In broken English he told me not to worry, then drove us to a nearby convenience store to use a pay phone. Not expecting this dilemma, neither of us had change in our pockets, rendering that option useless.

Our driver, who followed us into the store, began telling the husband and wife behind the counter our story and the couple quickly offered us their cell phone. We called our friend, solved the problem (the real address was about 45 minutes away), and the five of us shared a quick laugh.

That last part sounds strange. Patience was replacing annoyed eye rolls, flat out refusal of service, and even a threatening gesture or two. It just didn’t seem like the appropriate reaction: We were looking for Times Square in the middle of Staten Island.

“Lo siento, lo siento,” we pleaded over and over again, to which our driver responded with his unchanged smile and a gentle wave of the hand.

Over the next four days, this was the normal reaction Colombian people had for almost every moment of communication. Generosity seemed to float over every smiling face like a halo.

While in Colombia I stayed in the cities of Cartagena and Bogota. The first being the country’s very own Miami, the second, its mixture of New York City and Washington D.C. What was most evident upon leaving each was that right now, the nation’s perception is drastically, and unfortunately, far from its reality.

To most citizens of the United States who are older than 30, Colombia is as notorious a country as exists. Its most famous citizen once blew up a commercial airliner; Less than 25 years ago, city judges perished in car bombs on a daily basis; its country side is infested with FARC rebels and Guerilla Soldiers armed with AK-47s; and in a game of word association, the most synonymous utterance to the very word “Colombia” would be cocaine, the country’s most noted export. A drug that’s ruined as many lives as there are grains of sand on a small beach.

Despite its threatening reputation and homing a citizenry that ranks behind Sudan as the second highest displaced population in the world, in 2008 Colombia was named the third happiest country in the world from a University of Michigan study by its Institute for Social Research.

How can a nation scarred by some of the most horrendous, crippling violence the world has seen stake claim to the happiest citizens? The question falls short of vexing, but remains unanswerable. Is it the women or weather? The appreciated fruits and beautiful landscape? Is the answer nurtured in a family oriented and overtly religious culture?

To trap a universal definition for happiness under your thumb is impossible, but the behavior I witnessed certainly reflected the studies to be true.

Nestled between the Andes mountains to the east and Bogota River to the west, South America’s third largest city is made up of over 20 districts and 1000 neighborhoods. The city’s streets run on a grid, making everything easy to find; basically, if you can count, you can navigate Bogota.

Above the bustling streets is an unchanging atmosphere. With clouds rolling in over the eastern mountains almost every day, the city’s temperature dances between 60 and 70 degrees throughout the year.

GALVESTON, Texas — This island in the Gulf of Mexico has been host to pirate and pioneer alike, and has withstood Mother Nature’s awesome attempts at returning the surfaced sandbar to the sea floor, and let legends lie. The city of Galveston, Texas is part haunted house and tourist hide-away.

The possession of Galveston as the jewel of the Gulf has continually evolved since its original Native American inhabitants, to a short lived colonized life in Spanish hands, just shy of two hundred years ago, and passed into Mexican ownership and established as a port-town, which lead, eventually, to serving the Texas Navy and earning her honorary Miss Texas banner as the Republic’s capital. This constant changing of the guard lends the island and city of Galveston to have a European swagger, as well as a pleasant nostalgia and continues its tradition as a vacation destination for many since the late 1800s. What makes Galveston a must-see destination now, however, is the chance that this old gal may not survive another hurricane.

The famous Strand and bayou-breezy atmosphere of the shops and wide Victorian streets make Galveston an ideal weekend get-away. Fly into Houston, and drive down the causeway an hour for a quiet, seemingly secluded weekend. However, every weekend the lazy coastal town erupts in the late spring and summer in festivals, concerts, and historical tours — Texans and tourist alike flock to soak in the sun and surf. Many camp on the beaches, but there are plenty of historic dive-motels and chain hotels to house the not-so-hippy.

The Strand offers a Victorian styled shopping gallery, along what was once a main thoroughfare, and often the giant cruise ships are docked in the background, waiting to take aboard its next wash of adventurers, dwarfing the port around them. Galveston has a high number of historical buildings on the National register, and you can find many tours to take a step back into coastal Texas as a new frontier.

Being so near Mexico there is a variety of homespun taco-huts to satisfy the Tex-Mex and cold cerveza you’re craving, and the Strand has a few excellent ice cream and candy shops. There is a variety of well-known chain restaurants; Landry’s Seafood calls the area home, with the shrimp-rich waters of the Gulf, and they have built up enclaves of themed restaurants in the Fisherman’s Wharf-image, like the more well-known Joe’s Crabshack.

After stuffing your face, waddle out onto a spot on Galveston’s 32 miles of beach. The shallow waters surrounding the island make an ideal location for swimming, surfing, kite surfing, and fishing. The waters warm up the most in the fall, so if you are in the mood for a swim or if the weather isn’t cooperating, visit the local water park, one of the world’s best,Schlitterbahn Galveston Island Waterpark is a 26-acre oasis featuring the world’s first indoor/outdoor 70,000 square-foot heated-convertible park.

On the Texas-side of the island is Moody Gardens, which you will have noticed on the drive in, as three gleaming-glass pyramids. Each pyramid is a different approach to science–the Discovery, Aquarium and Rainforest environments allow interaction at its best. The complex also has a Golf Resort, Hotel and Spa, and 3-D IMAX theater.

Galveston Island is small in size, but has a huge personality to make up for it. History buffs and beach blanket bunnies will feel at home while under the warm glow of the Texas sunshine.

(Media credit/miamism via Flickr)

ALICE TOWN, Bahamas — Fifteen fortunate Floridians were 50 miles away from Miami, but they were much farther than that in spirit.

On a steaming-hot Saturday last fall, they were in Bimini, the westernmost district of the Bahamas, sailing on two 30-foot white Contenders that trailed a yellow catamaran from Big John’s Marina to Honeymoon Harbor, a secluded sandbar in the district.

The crews were tough but hungover.

It was early afternoon, but felt like dawn, really, after last night’s bar crawl and junkanoo, a musical street parade. The caravan rode easily over the calm sea; the rays of the sun pierced the ocean’s surface and pin-balled off the shallow sea floor, illuminating an underwater light show that was either cool or spectacular, depending on the sunglasses being worn. Every color of the spectrum from lemon-lime to royal blue fought to outshine all others as the dominant blue-green shade.

Honeymoon Harbor was only one downed rum and Coke from the starting point at Alice Town, the populated part of North Bimini. The tiny, half-moon shaped harbor — normally quiet, peaceful, and vacant — was within easy reach of the entire fleet that had crossed the Gulf Stream for a vacation weekend.

Nearing the harbor, the catamaran’s captain, noticed that The Concrete Ship, a half-submerged shipwreck, popular for fishing and snorkeling, was surrounded by more boats than ever. A lot of people had come to Bimini this weekend, many more than usual, even for a long summer weekend, when the weather is typically better for crossings.

Artist Guy Harvey’s resuscitation of the legendary Big Game Club was one possible reason for the influx of boaters, having reopened that weekend after a long closure, and drew a large crowd. Another factor that may have contributed to the large number of visitors was the growing popularity of Bimini Bay, a giant new development that had displaced precious mangroves. The mangroves had been, since the founding of Bimini, the birthplace of practically every species of fish in the area. Fishermen and environmentalists agreed that it was the most asinine spot for development since the home built on Indian burial grounds in the movie Poltergeist. Calamitous oceanic repercussions were guaranteed. Nevertheless, folks flocked to its pastel townhouses, and this glorious Memorial Day Saturday, whatever the reason, saw markedly more marine traffic than usual.

When our flotilla reached Honeymoon Harbor, we found that there were 80 vessels, rather than the typical dozen or less, already in port. The leading catamaran slowed to idle speed and cautiously weaved around hulls, anchor lines, and swimmers. The trailing Contenders traced her line until they all reached an open patch. Veterans of the Miami sand bar experience, the three captains and their respective crews, quickly secured side-by-side anchorage. With that, it was time to refresh the rum drinks, reapply sun block and climb the cat’s tower to assess the situation.

Honeymoon Harbor is what it sounds like: a beautiful place for doing nothing. The sandy bottom of the waist deep water is patrolled by docile stingrays that languidly cruise around anchor lines.

Even the rays seem to be doing nothing but enjoying the weather.

A semi-circle of rocky brush and eroding beach provides shelter from rough, deeper water. The sun rises over the Bahamas east of the harbor, and sets over the Gulf Stream to the west. Without humans at Honeymoon Harbor, there is no sound. Today, there was the cacophony of a dozen stereos blaring 12 different musical genres within earshot of our setup. The Toots and the Maytals Pandora selection was overpowering, even for those on board.

Still, were relieved not to hear any reggaeton.

It did not take long for things to get weird. On our port side, an elegant, 35-foot cruiser arrived with a man dangling from its bow, clutching the anchor like Tarzan on a jungle vine, as the captain zigzagged for several minutes. The man intended to hand-place the anchor, but the indecisive skipper took him on a tour of the harbor instead. Off the starboard side, a 31′ open-fisher with an obscene 1,200 horsepower engine sported a tacky paint job advertising a boat painting service.

And there were beautiful women everywhere.

That cat’s passengers, four mid-20s sophisticates in designer bikinis, hit the bow to tan and resume their “oh, no, she didn’t, I don’t gossip but” girl-talk. Some industrious guys sorted gear so two tenders could trek to nearby spear fishing grounds. The ladies, and the remaining, already useless guys, stayed to catch sunburns and a buzz.

Directly astern, a group of adolescent girls stood on the bow of a 45-foot Hatteras yacht and started setting and spiking a volleyball.

The ball took less than two minutes to hit the water. An eager, pudgy boy, the lone male with these older girls, unmistakably their mascot, Carped Diem and hurled himself over the railing to rescue and return the ball. The girls laughed and applauded and knew instantly, psychically, that the object of their game was now to wear this kid out with fake clumsiness. Like the first person who threw a stick and had it returned by a nearby terrier, the breakthrough was too obvious to miss. The kid might be part Jack Russell considering the tireless commitment he proceeded to show.

Then the music got incredibly loud; 10 times louder than any other music. The first notes of the Black Eyed Peas song, remixed Miami style. All the way across the harbor a purple speedboat had hauled out twin Shaq-sized speakers to blast every other speaker-set into submission. The track had an extended lead-in, which was memorable because technical difficulties repeatedly cut it off after 45 seconds, only to have it resume from the beginning every few minutes as they troubleshot the problem.

The sun punished the Purple Speedboat with relentless heat, making everyone else collateral damage. Still, nine other boats tied onto the Purple Speedboat, perplexingly validating the strategy. Two boats over, another speedboat featured a one-armed fat man in the classic Miami jet-ski-ninja uniform. He had the wife-beater, gold chains, long black shorts, and shades with fluorescent-tipped neck straps. His buddy’s goatee demonstrated an even greater commitment to the look. They were accompanied by six thick but proportional, provocative, shot-pounding Latinas in thongs. There was a pang of recognition and civic pride, like seeing a Dolphins jersey on a tour bus in China. “That’s… from home!”

Suddenly a gorgeous, light blue, 38-footer carrying, at minimum, one teenager-per-foot, glided triumphantly into view. Kids were hanging off the T-top or grooving on coolers like featured strippers. Its sister ship materialized behind it with an equal number of Kalik-clutching teens (a Bahamas-made beer).

Any Miami water-cop would have sacrificed a two ton drug seizure to be the one to bust these kids. He would have had to quit the force the next day; his ultimate dream scenario achieved, he’d never feel fulfilled as a water-cop again.

Comfortably outside anyone’s jurisdiction that cared, the teens’ floating party proceeded unencumbered all afternoon. As did everyone else’s, as all basked in warm water for swimming, with cold beers, or whatever, to drink. Throughout the harbor, assorted individuals tossed Kaliks to waiting, wading belligerents. Boisterous and joyful conversations rambled everywhere as the sun angled down towards the horizon, the heat assault gradually relenting.

Honeymoon Harbor is a hotspot of chill like Starbucks is a hotspot of WiFi. It is a positive energy source. Ridiculously drunk revelers can connect to the source and stay somewhat coherent. It is a place where everyone is their best, or at least their most relaxed self, and therefore everyone’s company becomes immensely enjoyable. Strangers form fast friendships with easy banter, while old friends need few words to express and process their deep, mutual affection. They are free to communicate, at last, without the normal distortion of life’s anxieties.

The hours did not fly by, nor were they long. Honeymoon Harbor was hijacked by the Miami element for an afternoon, but it did not lose its essential chillness.

CHARLESTON, S.C. — There are some things Bostonians are just not accustomed to: Palm trees, $3 beers and mushy green beans, to name a few. But head to the Lowcountry and you just might find yourself foregoing Maine lobster for some Carolina crab.

Charleston could be considered the Boston of the south. With a rich history, a growing culinary scene and renowned universities, the similarities are clear. Still, the city recently closed down due to a dusting of snow and you’re more likely to hear someone drawl “Park the car, y’all” rather than “Pahk the cah.” But if you consider yourself a die-hard Yankee (not the baseball kind, of course) then Charleston might be your perfect southern getaway.

Historically, Charleston has a lot to offer. Most notably, the first shots of the Civil War were fired in the city, and the bombardment of Fort Sumter took place here as well. Once the largest city in the south, Charleston still holds the title of The Holy City, due to the numerous church steeples that dot the skyline.

Charleston also gives the Boston intellectuals a run for their money. Home to The College of Charleston (the 13th oldest university in the country), Charleston School of Law, Medical University of South Carolina, The Citadel (a military institution) and more, you’ll fit right in with that Harvard sweatshirt — even if it’s tied around your shoulders (Charleston’s fashion scene is surprisingly preppy).

The two major areas to check out are downtown and Folly Beach. Old houses and cobblestone streets lie adjacent to King Street, the major shopping destination downtown, boasting mostly high-end shops. But head to the North South Market and you’ll find all kinds of things your wallet will appreciate. Once there, check out the variety of hand-woven baskets, but be prepared to shell out the big bucks. And make time to stop in at the Market Street Winery for five tastings for five dollars, plus a souvenir glass. Afterward, take a walk along the Battery to take in the million dollar waterfront mansions.

Folly Beach is beautiful and the neighborhood is a little bit classier than the typical resort area. Walk the super-long pier, which extends about 1,050 feet into the ocean and which dolphins often swim alongside. The beach is perfect for everyone; college kids, relaxed adults and families each stay in their own little areas. For a bite and some beer, the outdoor, oceanfront Blu bar is paradise on the water.

Now on to the good stuff. Southern cooking takes some getting used to, but the rich flavors, though admittedly unhealthy, are fantastic indulgences. You’ll find shrimp and grits on practically every menu, from upscale to down-home. But the crab is where it’s at. Crab legs, crab balls, deviled crab, fried crab – it’s all here. Head to The Crab Shack on Folly to try them all.

Charleston is also known for great barbecue. At Jim ‘N Nick’s on King St., you’ll find a loaded baked potato smothered with BBQ pulled pork alongside $3 margaritas. A few other southern favorites include pimento cheese, southern style green beans (mushy, salty goodness) and refreshing sweet tea.

If you’re looking for a fancy dinner, Cypress will surely impress. The friendly and accommodating waitstaff sound like culinary experts and the food, such as expertly prepared pork belly and salmon wellington in a silky, to-die-for sauce, is exquisite. And, for an upscale restaurant, the prices dip well below five-star Boston joints.

The nightlife in Charleston doesn’t disappoint either. The Market Street Saloon is the type of place you’d find in Faneuil Hall – scantily clad college girls with hammered frat boys, all watching the Coyote Ugly-type dancers shake it on the bar. Charleston Beer Works is a little more low-key and the Red Sox decor will make you feel right at home. But a walk down King Street and side streets nearby will offer you a wide variety of laid-back Charleston style bars.

For a tourist-y good time, visit the stunning gardens of Magnolia Plantation. The grounds are breathtaking and romantic. You can tour the house itself, and don’t miss the gift shop – they have great souvenirs that far surpass the tacky keychains and t-shirts you’ll find at Folly. If you’re looking to relax, the slow boat tour will guide you around the swamp where you’ll see alligators galore. It’s not the most exciting ride (the average age of tourists on the boat seems to be about 70), but the scenery is beautiful.

So when the Northeast serves up those dreary spring days, head down south to Charleston where the food is indulgent, the beach beckons, and the Yankees are finally far enough away.

Dear EarthTalk: What’s being done to clean up hog farming operations in places like Iowa and North Carolina and others where the industry is quite large? I’ve heard horrific stories about man-made "lagoons" of animal waste spilling into and fouling rivers and groundwater and the like. – John Schmid, Fremont, California

Hog farming has always been a messy business, but surging demand for pork in recent years has exacerbated an already foul problem: dealing with the continual production of the bodily waste of thousands of animals. Pigs are kept in tight quarters and their waste is channeled into huge open-air lagoon pits and sprayfields. The lagoons can rupture during heavy rains, unleashing a torrent of bacteria- and virus-laden feces and urine into nearby groundwater, lakes and streams. Likewise, sprayfields, where some farmers discard animal waste by spraying it over otherwise unused land, can pollute surrounding waterways and contaminate drinking water. Another side effect is air pollution: The lagoons and sprayfields emit methane (a leading greenhouse gas) and ammonia (a respiratory irritant) into the atmosphere, the foul odors sullying the air quality—and neighbors’ quality of life—for miles around.

The problem has been especially bad in North Carolina, where the number of hogs raised has gone up fourfold in the last two decades—hog farmers there now raise and slaughter some 10 million hogs a year. In 1995, a hog waste lagoon overflow at Ocean View Farms in North Carolina sent 20 million gallons of hog waste into the New River, causing massive fish kills and contaminating drinking water in several neighboring communities. And the torrential rains and flooding that accompanied 1999′s Hurricane Floyd wreaked havoc on hog farm waste lagoons and surrounding ecosystems across North Carolina.

But while hog farming has a deservedly bad reputation, that may all change thanks to farmers, activists, researchers and policymakers who are working hard to reduce the negative environmental impacts of the business and even capitalize on the waste itself. Pioneering research conducted at North Carolina State University has showed that technologies were already available to not only reduce hog waste pollution but to use it to grow crops like duckweed that can be converted into carbon-neutral, fuel-grade ethanol.

Meanwhile, an economic analysis by the non-profit Environmental Defense Fund (EDF) found that North Carolina could gain 7,000 jobs and add $10 billion to its economy if the hog industry there were to move to more innovative systems for treating waste. In its report, EDF stresses the importance of incentives and cost-share programs to help make such new systems affordable for the farmers who need them.

Citing this and other research, along with public outcry over waste lagoon overflows, North Carolina lawmakers passed the Swine Farm Environmental Performance Standards Act in 2007. The landmark law makes North Carolina the first state to ban the construction or expansion of waste lagoons and sprayfields on hog farms and helps hog farmers with up to 90 percent of the costs incurred by upgrading to more sustainable waste management systems. The law also funds a swine farm methane capture pilot program that will have some 50 hog farms generating electricity from their animals’ emissions by September 2010. Time will tell whether North Carolina’s trailblazing on the issue will influence lawmakers elsewhere.

CONTACTS: "Tiny Super-Plant can Clean Up Hog Farms and Be Used for Ethanol Production," NC State University, blogs.lib.ncsu.edu/cnrnews/entry/tiny_super_plant_can_clean; EDF, www.edf.org.

SEND YOUR ENVIRONMENTAL QUESTIONS TO: EarthTalk®, c/o E — The Environmental Magazine, P.O. Box 5098, Westport, CT 06881; earthtalk@emagazine.com. E is a nonprofit publication. Subscribe: www.emagazine.com/subscribe; Request a Free Trial Issue: www.emagazine.com/trial.

Dear EarthTalk: Can airplanes be run on cleaner fuels or be electric powered? Are there changes afoot in the airline business to find cleaner fuels? – Reema Islam, Dhaka, Bangladesh

Given air travel’s huge contribution to our collective carbon footprint—flying accounts for about three percent of carbon emissions worldwide by some estimates—and the fact that basic passenger and cargo jet designs haven’t changed significantly in decades, the world is certainly ready for greener forms of flying.

But since air travel emissions were not regulated under the Kyoto Protocol, the international agreement signed in 1997 that set binding targets for reducing greenhouse gas emissions, the friendly skies aren’t much greener than they were a few decades ago. And most national governments have been reluctant to impose new environmental restrictions on the already ailing airline industry.

Nonetheless, some airlines and airplane manufacturers are taking steps to improve their eco-footprints. Southwest and Continental have implemented fuel efficiency improvements, waste reduction programs and increased recycling, and are investing in newer, more fuel efficient airplanes. Another airline on the cutting edge of green is Virgin Atlantic, which made news in early 2008 when it became the first major carrier to test the use of biofuels (liquid fuels derived from plant matter) on passenger jet flights. Now Air New Zealand, Continental, Japan Airlines (JAL), JetBlue, and Lufthansa are also testing biofuels.

Even airplane maker Boeing is getting in on the act by developing a carbon-neutral jet fuel made from algae. Boeing’s newest commercial jet, the much vaunted 787 Dreamliner (now in final testing before late 2010 delivery to several airlines), is 20 percent more fuel efficient than its predecessors thanks to more efficient engines, aerodynamic improvements and the widespread use of lighter composite materials to reduce weight. Airbus is also incorporating more lightweight composite materials into its new planes.

On the extreme end of the innovation spectrum are zero-emission airplanes that make use of little or no fuel. The French company, Lisa, is building a prototype small plane, dubbed the Hy-Bird, that uses solar power (via photovoltaic cells on the elongated wingspan) and hydrogen-powered fuel cells to fly with zero emissions—and nearly no engine noise. The company claims the Hy-Bird is the first 100 percent eco-friendly plane, and is readying a round-the-world flight punctuated by 30 event-filled stopovers.

Even more unusual is the proposed fuel-free plane dreamed up by Mississippi-based Hunt Aviation. The company is working on a prototype small plane that harnesses the natural forces of buoyancy (thanks to helium-filled pontoons) for lift-offs and gravity for landings—along with an on-board wind turbine and battery to power everything in between—to achieve flight without any fuel whatsoever.

Don’t look for these futuristic planes on airport runways anytime soon. It will likely be decades before this technology filters its way up to the big leagues. Until then, take a train or bus instead. If you must fly, compensate for your flight’s emissions by buying a "carbon offset" from TerraPass or CarbonFund.org, which will use the money to fund alternative energy and other greenhouse-gas reduction projects.

CONTACTS: Lisa Airplanes, www.lisa-airplanes.com; Hunt Aviation, www.fuellessflight.com; TerraPass, www.terrapass.com; CarbonFund.org, www.carbonfund.org.

SEND YOUR ENVIRONMENTAL QUESTIONS TO: EarthTalk®, c/o E — The Environmental Magazine, P.O. Box 5098, Westport, CT 06881; earthtalk@emagazine.com. E is a nonprofit publication. Subscribe: www.emagazine.com/subscribe; Request a Free Trial Issue: www.emagazine.com/trial.

News

We’ve talked about how Apple’s restrictive actions could end up turning away developers from creating apps for the iPhone. Though I know many of the movers and shakers at Apple read this column religiously, they did not heed my warning, and went quite the opposite way.

Apple recently announced that they will change the software development license so that developers can only use three tools to create apps instead of the myriad of tools currently being used. Many developers now use tools that they have had experience with or that have specific capabilities, like a physics engine. What makes the least sense is that the type of app most likely to suffer from the new restrictions are games, the app store’s bread and butter.

So this leads to the question of why. Why disenfranchise developers who are creating apps for the iPhone instead of Google’s Android or another platform, and why risk lowering the quality of apps by forcing developers to create with a tool they are not comfortable using? Apple has claimed that the change will improve the quality of apps in the app store. That reasoning is confusing, however, because Apple was already free to reject any app without really needing to supply an explanation. Isn’t that the most effective means of quality control? From a developer standpoint, Apple’s new restrictions are allegorical to developers only being allowed to wear wool socks when working on an application.

The real impetus behind Apple’s new policy may be the imminent release of Adobe’s Flash CS5, which had a Flash-to-iPhone compiler as one of it’s major features. Apple might as well have targeted Flash specifically in the wording of the iPhone Program Developer Agreement. I don’t know what Adobe did to piss Apple off, but it must’ve been bad. Like a Martin Brodeur sex affair bad.

Apple should use history as precedent. Many developers ran for the hills when Microsoft started clamping down on developers, and Apple benefited big from developer’s desires just to get away from Microsoft. Apple has definitely been taking a public image beating in the past year. They were always the little guy that put the consumer first, but now it is becoming readily apparent that with more power comes more opportunity to abuse that power, an avenue we find Apple increasingly going down.

Apps

Tax season is over and some of us have a little more in our bank accounts than we anticipated. Thinking you may want to plan a little summer getaway with that extra cash, we give you three great travel apps.

Wanderlust: The only app in the store that supports in-app flight bookings. With perhaps the most comprehensive worldwide airfare search today, Wanderlust searches different combinations of 400 airlines that save it’s savvy user up to 60 percent. For those traveling in Europe and Asia, Wanderlust includes low cost carriers, some of which have flights for as little as $10. The app features a powerful sorting and filtering engine and displays full prices of flights, including hidden fees, to ensure users find exactly what they’re looking for at the best rate. The app’s easy interface makes Wanderlust a must own for iPhone users to book the best flight without a travel agent. 4 out of 5 stars

Babelingo: The perfect linguistic companion, Babelingo has 300 commonly used phrases in 11 languages, presented both in the native language and phonetically for users. Selections can be made based off by situation cohorts, so users can select shopping, and then go through a list of phrases that best suit their situation. Babelingo’s search function enables users with a specific phrase in mind to search that phrase, and find the nearest translation in the desired language. The care put into Babelingo’s translations is what really sets the app apart, as experts of each of the languages have ensured that all of the translations are completely accurate. Find a phrase, speak it phonetically, and get what you want. It’s that simple. 3.5 out of 5 stars

Frommer’s Travel Tools: Whether by their own merit or through crude Eurotrip jokes, Frommer’s has become a name synonymous with travel. Now they have an excellent app to add to the resume. The app’s appeal is not necessarily that any of the tools are extraordinary, but to have so many quality tools in one location makes it a traveler’s best friend. Tools include a global tip calculator for different tipping customs in different regions, a customizable packing list, using your own pictures to create postcards to make friends and family jealous, currency, unit, and time converters, city guides, and even a flashlight. If you have to have one travel app, this should be it. 4 out of 5 stars

This is one in a series of New England winter travel articles.

WOODSTOCK, Vt. — When several of my friends were alerted that Woodstock, Vt. has an annual tradition, the "Wassail Weekend," most scratched their heads, and said, "What’s wassailing?" Understandable. In fact, I hardly knew what wassailing was myself, so I went to find out.

Woodstock is an adorable town about an hour shy of the capital, Montpelier, and about a four-hour drive from New York City. The drive itself was beautiful. As you head into the mountains, the scenery is forest and field, with the integrity of farmland and early-settler-village-styled towns  very much intact. Woodstock lays in a valley, surrounded by ski country, dairy farms, and still has addresses on “The Green” — a circular park which the town’s roads  wrap around. It was here that the "Wassail Parade" was to commence.

For my parade weekend stomping grounds, I chose the Woodstock Inn and Resort, which was founded by Laurance S. Rockefeller, grandson of John D. Rockefeller. As we all know, those Rockefellers were smart, forward-thinking men, and Laurance was no different. Herenovated the Inn in the early 1960s, envisioning a property that could bring sustainability to the area, not just a singular facility in the town. His family had owned property and farmland in the town for decades, and he converted the Billings Farm into a museum, and preserved 550 more acres of land to ensure that Woodstock would remain as it always had. Because of his efforts, Laurance received a Congressional Gold Medal, the first ever awarded for conservation and historic preservation. His focus is still apparent in the Woodstock Inn today; the proceeds from the Inn and the still-working Billings dairy farm go to the Woodstock Foundation in order to continue conservation efforts.

There is a purposeful connection to history, nature and tradition at the Inn and this consciousness is carried well by the courteous staff. The d©cor is rustic, but modern, with clean lines and a soft color palette, which is a nice atmosphere after spending the day out in winter’s playground. Upon entering the reception area, a grand 10-foot hearth with roaring fire warms the toes, while in the library next door, cookies, hot cider and coffee are offered to warm the soul. The extremely family-friendly facility offers Wii games, and a variety of off-site activities. The Inn boasts its own golf course, ski slope, recreation facility and a new spa, which is set to open late summer of 2010. The Inn also incorporates on-site award-winning restaurants, The Red Rooster and Richardson’s Tavern. The former carries a large variety of native foods, artisanal breads, cheeses, wines and the latter offers lighter fare and live music on the weekends in a casual-overstuffed-chair environment.

The Billings Farm and Museum is a delightful visit, offering an educational center and tours of the dairy farm, where guests can view the nursery and adorable baby Jersey calves and the remarkable farmhouse, built in 1890. Again, as with the Inn, proceeds are funneled back into the Woodstock Foundation, so as to guarantee future generations can experience the joy of generations past.

Across the street from the farm is where the Rockefeller Mansion sits, in what is now the Marsh-Billings-Rockefeller National Historical Park, and is run by the Parks Dept. I had a chance to tour this amazing home, consisting of 4 floors, 10 bedrooms, and a fallout shelter in the basement. This was included as part of a Home Tour offered in celebration of Wassail Weekend. This was the first time the home was included on the tour, and although most of the mansion was closed to visitors, the peak into the life of the Rockefellers was inspiring. Another neat home on the tour was the DAR Mansion, on The Green near the Woodstock Inn, which originally housed Vermont’s traveling legislature, and is currently up for sale for just under $1.1 million. Homes on The Green pride themselves on having the title of "Woodstock’s most beautiful addresses,” in what has been coined as "the prettiest small town in America.”

The Wassail Parade is the main attraction during Wassail Weekend. Asking locals what their take on Wassailing was, the bulk of the answers consist of "spreading merriment and drinking grog” (Grog is any warm libation, aiding of course in the distribution of seasonal cheer.). The temps in Woodstock during this past Wassail Weekend were as low as 4′F at night, with light flurries and rose only to the 20s in the day. The he parade is an amazing spectacle of horsemanship, with the owners dressing themselves and their horses in holiday wears, some antique or antique-replicas. Carriages, imported horses from Ireland, and the man who follows behind on rollerblades scoopin’ the poop complete the lineup for the parade.

The Wassail Parade isn’t the only activity for Wassail Weekend, but is certainly the highlight. Aside from visiting the farm, the homes, the Vienna Boys Choir sang a concert at the Town Hall, which also serves as the town’s movie theatre. Many of the local farmers joined in The Green for a bake sale, offering chili, pies and all sorts of Christmas treats. Ice skating was offered at the local rink, and a bonfire and luminary lighting followed the parade.

Woodstock is a charming dip into American history, and a shining example of preservation of American culture and tradition, made available through forethought towards a sustainability and conservation of the area’s natural resources. So get up off the couch, and head to Vermont. Dive into hot cider, red wine and local foods to comfort the nip from Jack Frost.
Additional photos: Candace Nirvana, CNirvana.com

It’s a hell of a decision to leave home, and even more to leave your country. Your family members and friends will have reactions that may range from clenched-teeth support to outright condemnation, especially if you’re headed somewhere oft lampooned on Comedy Central. But thousands of Americans live in thousands of un-American places, and the number is growing. They do it regardless of risk and with an eye for the infinitely more valuable Columbian thrill of new lands, the intensification of experience, the expansion of your mental world through your physical, and of course, the food. "I have seen and experienced things," one teacher writes in her blog, "that other people only read about. Travel changes you, forever."

Joining the international teaching circuit does indeed have its share of hazards though. Due to the often-questionable legality of your employment, you will likely be without the full security and protection of a legal citizen, (should some unscrupulous employer decided not to pay you, for example). Nor should anyone expect riches in TEFL (Teaching English as a Foreign Language) as paychecks generally hover above subsistence. But buck up! There’s a reason people come home with stars in their eyes, a spring in their step and new appreciation for life. So before you pack your bags, take some advice from those with trial and plenty of error behind them.

Get Qualified

Unless interested in rural, third world locations, a TEFL certificate is essential. The document will greatly enhance your access to reputable schools that pay better, provide work visas and even health insurance. The best-known and highly regarded are the CELTA, Trinity certTESOL and the SIT TESOL certificates. Lasting as little as four weeks, training courses can easily be found in most major cities and range in cost between $500 and $2,000. If the cost of a program slumps your shoulders, look for schools abroad that offer both English and TEFL certification programs. Some will cover the cost in exchange for a two-year contract afterward. Online degrees are acceptable but not respected as they lack practicum, which is invaluable to producing quality work. A master’s degree, on the other hand, can get you work in a university prep school where the best salaries are.

Finding Work

The business of TEFL has grown up with the Internet and most postings are found there. Websites like tefl.com, tefl.net, eslcafe.com and www.eslemployment.com sort positions by country and include details (the more the better) regarding job tasks, qualifications, contracts and salary. Research the schools elsewhere with attention to employee reviews. Applications consist of two parts, the resume (C.V. in the metric world) and the cover letter. Don’t worry if you’re skint on experience as many places are happy to take newbies (and pay them less). The cover letter establishes your voice, attitude and character and carries a lot of weight if well-crafted. Grammar and spelling errors will only expedite it to the bin, so check it carefully. Once submitted, let the Director of Studies know directly.

Interview

Since most interviews occur long distance, the Internet (especially Skype) is the primary medium, so test your computer connections and software, as you want your first impression to be one of preparedness. Conduct the interview in a quiet room with a tidy background and dress business casual, (at least the waist up). During the 20 minutes or so, you’ll be asked about your background, certification and experience followed by a few situational "what if" questions. The content of your answers is as important than the way you answer. Are you a mush-mouth? overly giddy or giggly? Do you constantly fidget, pick your nose, cut off the interviewer, diss evil corporations, praise God? Stop it. Tact, propriety and diplomacy are essential to the job.

Packing your Bags

Congratulations on the job! Now it’s time to prepare. Pack light as it usually takes some time to settle down in one place. Superfluous materials can be shipped later or picked up when you visit home, although you’ll probably just forget about them. Besides, it’s more fun to shop there. Most important accessories? A laptop, Leatherman/Swiss Army Knife, dictionary, and a grab bag of favorite medications. Country guides are of limited value since they are designed for short-term tourism and books, in general, simply weigh too much. Check websites like expats.com and city magazines (if they exist) to get the inside scoop. Finally, bring enough cash (ideally about 2,000 dollars) to survive a month or two until your full paychecks start coming through. Some schools offer advances to new teachers but it’s best not to start in the hole.

Arrival

Any legitimate school should meet you at the port of call, but bring phone numbers just in case. Assuming you’re tired from your long flight, you’ll be taken to your initial accommodation for some sleep. Don’t panic if it’s not the most comfortable as it is short term but don’t be afraid to let the school know. Diplomatic pestering works wonders and by this point they’ve invested in you enough to want you reasonably happy. Unless desperate, the school should give you a day or two to orient and acclimate before saddling you with classes, and then only a few at first. Better schools provide mentors, at least for the first few classes. Within a week or two, you ought to be working at full capacity, which is usually around 25 contact hours. Resist more.

Class and classroom

Class size depends greatly on school type. Proper Academic Institutions like universities have between 15 and 25 students, while private language schools less and often one-to-one. Any classes conducted at businesses themselves hover around eight. The classroom itself can consist of anything from your kitchen to a state of the art facility. In most cities, the average are equipped at least a white board, markers and a CD player. Countryside schools may have significantly less and require more creativity from the teacher. New teachers should begin a private language schools as the students are generally mature and hard-working and will allow you to make rookie mistakes.

Your Colleagues

If you are in your twenties, the majority of your colleagues will be like you, sewing your royal oats before putting down roots back home. The rest will be either some of the most fascinating people you’ll ever meet or the saddest. Some have "gone native" while many others are admirably seeking their second wind too lighten the heavy baggage brought with them. The majority will be men, but not by much. The developing world is still very much a man’s and your female colleagues often need thicker skins in cultures less respectful of independent western women. For others though, it increases your value. Finally, most schools often employ a smattering of natives who will work ten times harder than you and receive ten times less. Treat them well.

The Payoff

For the most part, anyone entering the business should forget any hope of financial gain. It does indeed come to some but no more than to aspiring actors in Hollywood. The best salaries these days are around Persian Gulf where schools offer upwards of $40,000 to $50,000 (tax free!), lots of holidays, free accommodation and flights home. Teachers working in the traditional locales of higher salaries, Japan, Korea and Taiwan, now must deal with higher costs of living. More economically depressed regions of the world usually offer something higher than the average cost of living, but still far below the US standards, which can make it hard to pay off any debts back home. University work in any country always pays more and is the best place to aim. Cash windfalls come from one place and one place only, private students. Although the ethics of obtaining privates are still debatable, the economic benefits are undeniable since they can be charged up to four times your school rate and still invite you to their summer villa.

Making It

To be sure, your first time abroad can be unnerving and full of things that go bump in the night, but once you’ve picked yourself up a few times, you learn not to fall so easily. An active social life is key to mental health so make every effort to be a good friend. A network of native friends is also immensely helpful as they’ll keep you informed, guide you through the often-intolerable bureaucratic labyrinths and reveal the hidden cultural treasures. Countryside teachers should expect more solitude and need to be tougher psychologically but no matter where you go, you’ll need significant internal reserves of motivation, energy, and optimism. You may find some at the parties and pub-crawls, but far more in the hearts of the people and genetics of their culture.

REYKJAVIK — Iceland is quickly turning into Europe’s hottest spot for wonderment and geothermal activity. Not only is the country equipped with an emotional landscape full of volcanoes, hot springs, geysers, and caves, it also boasts a nightlife on the weekends fit enough for the most modern-day Viking party monsters.

Reykjavik, the capital, is where all the action takes place and it’s only a five hour flight on Icelandair from Boston. There are an array of lively bars and cafes located in the main shopping area on Laugavegur Street and on the roads off of it.

I stayed at the Hotel Fron on Laugavegur and I was less than a block from a handful of bars like Sirkus, Pravda, Oliver’s and Nelly’s Caf©, which is known for having the cheapest beer in Iceland. And believe me I took full advantage of the chance to save. Although the city has a great variety of tourist activities, the price you pay for food and alcohol is sinful.

Viking, a premium golden lager with a hint of malt, maize and hops, is the best selling beer in Iceland, with the draft version being the most popular in the pubs and restaurants. Its lightness and sweet taste caused me to drink so much I think I saw the ghost of Leif Ericson — and that was at 600 kronas ($8) a pint with 5.6 percent alcohol content.

Most locals counter the expensive beer prices by consuming a lot of alcohol at home before they go out. The bars and clubs are open until 5 a.m., so nobody heads out until midnight. Their pre-game drink of choice is Brennivn, a type of schnapps made from potatoes that is referred to as "Black Death." I took a shot of it and I found it to have a bitter taste of Drano with a hint of cardboard.

Going out to eat in Iceland, although expensive, is well worth it. The country has the freshest, untainted fish in the world. The swordfish I sampled at Vegamot was the best I have ever had and the mountain lamb at Caf© Victor was as tender as the hearts of the beautiful blonde-haired, blue-eyed women I had to break upon my departure back to Beantown.

Between my partying antics and affluent dining habits, I was able to take a few quick day trips with local touring company Reykjavik Excursions. The must-see destinations in Iceland are Blue Lagoon, a luxurious spa with geothermal seawater known for its positive effects on the skin, and The Golden Circle, a collection of historical sites that include The Kerith Volcano Crater, The Gullfoss Waterfall, the geysers of Geysir, and Thingvellir National Park.

With a population just under 300,000, Iceland is one of the least crowded countries in the world. It also has the longest life expectancy, no pollution, and the cleanest drinking water, which you can get right from the tap or even a stream.

For a truly unforgettable vacation you may add Greenland to your Iceland visit. After all, Greenland’s East Coast is only a two hour flight away.

And if all that doesn’t stir your fancy there’s always Bjork. You can pound liters of Viking beer and enjoy the clean air and eternal sunshine while you search for the little musical dwarf and beg her to let you wear her swan dress back to South Boston.

For more information check out the Iceland Tourist Board at www.whatson.is.

PARIS — It is known as the city of lights, but even on a more typical autumn day of drizzle and dreary weather, a one-day stopover can allow for a wonderful taste of Paris’ "je ne sais quois." Given the limit of one day in Paris, it is easy to understand why using the River Seine as your guide is an easy answer to seeing the most for the least cost on metro transit, as the walkabout is a cornucopia of history and beauty.

The sites you are able to take in will be limited; as with the Louvre, Paris offers such a rich historical and artistic story that one day is just the cherry on top. A good place to start is to follow the River Seine. Most of the postcard locations lie on the Seine: The Louvre, Cathedral of Notre Dame, the Musse d’Orsay, and a Frommer’s-book full of other photographic havens.

When starting at Bastille, the Eiffel Tower is an obvious finale, and a fairly realistic goal when spending a day on foot. Paris has an extensive metro system, but be prepared to log some serious miles in sneakers. The metro system is similar in operation to the NYC subway, or the London underground, with a variety of rainbow-inspired lines, but also with a regional train system to service the outer lying Parisian reaches, and of course the TGV high-speed trains which blast passengers to Brussels, London, Spain or the French countryside in record time.

The Bastille is the perfect place to start the walkabout, and the neighborhood during the day is a gallery of shopping and eateries. Starting with a lovely breakfast at one of the many brasseries, the French equivalent of a diner, albeit with a much different menu comprising quiche, omlette’s and other free-from-fried options, is imperative. Be warned, however, that Paris is one of the more expensive travel destinations. A jar of orange juice, roughly 6 oz. and perhaps some of the best orange juice to sample, cost just over $7.

At night, the "city of lights" effect drapes the streets of the Bastille and Dicken’s "St Antoine" with an other-worldy rhythm. The cobblestones echo the jive of the residents and the streets at once fall into a synchnopatic melody with the city. With the Bastille monument centered in a roundabout near the heart of Paris, a walk in any direction could go on for miles and not extended beyond the Parisian lines. Ominous and modern, the Bastille Opera house both contradicts and encompasses the Parisian aesthete. It is the home base of the Op©ra National de Paris , and was inaugurated in 1989 on the 200th anniversary of the storming of the Bastille.

Near the Bastille are two of the six heaviest traveled train stations in Paris, incorporating the use of regional and high-seed transit. On the right bank of the Seine, the same as Bastille- lies the Gare du Lyon. Named after Lyon, France- a city en route, construction was initiated for the World Exposition of 1900. The train station boasts a restaurant in service since 1901-Le Train Bleu. The Gare d’Austerlitz, built in 1840 as the Gare d’Orleans and eventually re-named after the famed Battle of Austerlitz during Napoleon’s reign, is situated across the river. Just before the train station on the river is the National Library of France which contains over 20million volumes. Originally contained in the Louvre, the modernization and relocation of the library was completed late 1995.

As the Seine arcs to the west, a magnificent park, the Jardins des Plantes precedes the two Seine-islands, Žle Saint-Louis and the Žle de la Cit©, which are must-see marvels and home to magnificent monuments. The Žle Saint-Louis is an enchanting place, meticulously laid out, and the French Renaissance style is still nearly intact. The Žle de la Cit© is home to the Cathedral of Notre Dame- perhaps the most iconic of Paris’ attractions, subject of movies and novels alike. The grandiose gothic construction of any cathedral its size is awe-inspiring, and Notre Dame does not disappoint. Completed in the middle of the 13th century after nearly 100 years of construction, Notre Dame is not only a beautiful representation of an era when Gothic structures began their page in history, but also boasts use of unseen modern architectural techniques of the time, like the "flying buttresses, making it a staple in the history of religion, art and design. A smart tourist will plan to spend a couple of hours exploring the cathedral, as both the tower and crypt below are open for tours. The island was a center for French Revolutionary action, with many of the buildings stolen for use as prisons, which are now government owned buildings, focused on social welfare- the Police, Palace of Justice, and Paris’ largest hospital.

Just beyond the Žle de la Cit©, on both sides of the Seine leading to the Louvre, are strands of green metal stalls. When opened by the local booksellers in the late morning, the walk is a magical stroll through an outdoor bookstore. The sellers offer books, mostly in French, tourist curios and art. Some of the books and art are truly treasures, some are reproductions. The Parisian folk who run the booths are storybooks themselves of the city and the Parisian life.

The Louvre is a very typical hot spot in Paris, but for a one-day stop-over, it is best to take in only her exterior and lush gardens, the Tuileries. Many boast that days on end could be spent in the Louvre without seeing her in entirety. Her floor space is an expansive 123.5 square miles in total, and began life as a fort in the 12th century. Not only does the Louvre house the collection of history through art, but as a piece of art herself has many stories. Expanded successively throughout time, once the Palace of Versailles, and a place for art students, the French Revolution’s National Assembly decreed that the Louvre serve as a museum in the face of the destruction of many Parisian monuments in that frenetic time.

Near the Louvre is a trinity of vision- the Musee d’Orsay, Avenue des Champs-‰lys©es and Les Invalides. Closest to the Louvre is the Avenue des Champs-‰lys©es, which the Parisians refer to as the "most beautiful street in the world". Starting at the Place de la Concorde and ending at the Arc du Triomphe, the one and a quarter mile avenue boasts a lack of commercialization, although not entirely safe from modernization. The avenue originated as a farmer’s market, but by the 17th Century was a hotspot for living and business properties. The oldest standing committee in Paris, in fact, is the Comite Champs- ‰lys©es, who still control much of the rental market and improvement of the Avenue as well as lobby to the authorities for business practice rights.

Across the river from the Louvre complex is the Mus©e d’Orsay, originally a train station, most well known for its impressionistic and post-impressionistic collections. It, like most Parisian monuments has served the city’s officials, citizens and eventually tourists. Near Mus©e d’Orsay and across from the Champs-‰lys©es is Les Invalides. The museum and administrative facilities all relate to the military, and history thereof; the grounds include a hospital and retirement center for war veterans. A masterpiece in French Baroque designs, and inspired by St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome, the Invalides is also the burial site of Napoleon, his family and officers, and many other military heroes. From the Invalides, presumably at this point by moonlight, the Eiffel Tower is a luminary reflecting off the day’s tour guide, the Seine. Prefaced by the Parc du Champs de Mars, the tower was built as an entry-way to the 1889 World’s Fair.

Like the Eiffel Tower to Paris, Paris herself has become a beacon in the world, a symbol of romance, and of struggle. Like the tower, Paris has had the strength to rise above all maintaining her integrity, and just a 24-hour escape into her arms will change the way anyone sees Europe, as a mecca of the collaboration between history and art.

LIEGE, Belgium — This is a city straight from the storybooks that offers adventures back to historical times. The streets and people hold a fairytale fascination, and the architecture is reminiscent of the Brothers Grimm. My adventure in Belgium began with an easy two hour train ride from Paris on the high speed rail system, and then an easy drive through the pastures and orchards of Belgium into Liege to attend the inauguration of Santiago Calatrava’s renovation of the Gare du Liege. Liege is now perfectly positioned to be a quick ride to Paris and London, and even shorter commutes to Antwerp, Brussels and Frankfurt and is a deserving gateway of present as it always has been in the past.

I only had a few short days in Liege, and my first day was set in the typical rainy Belgian weather, a cool reminder of the oncoming autumn season and which added an aura of mystique. Set in the valley of the River Meuse, and hemmed in by its foothills, the quaint narrow streets are filled with pubs and snack shops. Pommes frites — French fries — are a common craving amongst the citizens. Famous for its chocolates and beers, the Belgian Blue Beef and wines for even the pickiest connoisseur are not to be skipped. There are modern shopping markets, palaces and judicial buildings and outdoor amphitheaters.

I met some friends and colleagues who were also over for the Gare du Liege festivities, and our first night was spent enjoying the above mentioned delights at a Spanish-named, Italian restaurant named La Cantina. The food was rustic and flavorful, with fresh seafood and tender beef cuts. Outside in the courtyard a table of children colored, and upon exploring, boasted to me of their abilities to speak Japanese and English, as well as their native French and German. There are a number of restaurants that feature an inner, courtyard-style garden, and our second meal together brought us into the cozy but modern ambiance of Jardin des Begards. Again the service, and tasty treats were unforgettable, the lighting swirled in colors around you, nothing was quite the same any time you glanced up and our meal felt a bit like a grown-up version of the Mad Tea Party from Alice in Wonderland, complete with a lovely round-faced Cheshire Cat chattering in the garden for his deserved attention, and receiving well his worth.

With the weather clearing the rest of the trip into crisp sunny days, and the sun glistening off the Meuse, our group set out to explore the city and was drawn to some of the cathedrals. Religion has always maintained a high importance to the city; with the ruling party typically a Prince-Bishop, a great number of cathedrals have been constructed for over 1,000 years. As a result of the constant process of wars and rebuilding, the city has a highly developed Archeoforum, which is a result of nearly 100 years of archaeological excavation and contains remains dating as far back as the Paleolithic era. The charismatic Cathedral St Bartholomew which is the oldest dating back to 1015 boasts a festive red and white icing-like paint job and a variety of influences ranging from Romanesque to Neoclassical. The grand gothic-like St. Paul’s Cathedral dates from the same era, but with major renovations throughout time has taken on the character of the famed Parisian Cathedrals. Near the foot of St. Bartholomew is a climb of 400 steps along a stairway called “Montagne de Bueren,” leading from Hors-Ch¢teau to the Citadel. Once atop the city, the view overlooking the valley showcases the river, and ranges from the Gare du Liege at the foot of the Cointe Hills to the city-centre. The Citadel is now home to a modern hospital complex, but the brick and mortar remains of its original duty still stand guard and offer a fascinating glimpse into Liege’s strategic quality recognized by her founders.

On the outskirts of the city in the Seraing district, known for its factories and steelwork, there is a lasting reminder of the religious age, allowing for the tradition of great handcrafted arts to survive, in what was once a great Cathedral and later convent. The Crystal factory of Val St. Lombard is nearly a lost art. Here, crystal glass is sculpted into delicacies for your home. Artists create their glassware or artworks from scratch, a hands-on process from the mixing of the powders to creating the molten crystal and finally spinning a vase from the kiln like a skillful Pied Piper. The steel industry made a lasting mark on the area, and there are still a handful of operating factories and signs of the industrial age, but the economy has shifted to studies of chemistry and biology with a large number of Liege’s residents being college students.

Liege has an obvious significant historical value, dating back to Charlemagne and the Middle Ages, when the city was home to his mother. A signifying reason was accessibility and topography along the invaluable River Meuse. The river is not only a trading route, but home to many nautical-know-hows in the colorful varieties of barge-meets-houseboat. The rolling, tree-lined river valley showcasing the charming, eclectic mix of architecture and creates a gingerbread landscape, nestling the city inside hills and popularizing the city as an effective defense against enemy forces during the wars. The Battle of the Bulge, the bloodiest skirmish American forces saw in WWII was fought near the city, and around the city there are a multiple of monuments to those who lost lives in all battles.

The new Calatrava-forged Gare du Liege was constructed over an arduous 12 years, built over the existing, continuously-operating, original train station. The project cost 245 million Euros to upgrade the track system, allowing for high speed train accessibility. The result re-centers Liege as a key transportation hub which in turn revitalizes the city. The final result was a sculptural masterpiece of steel and concrete, softly mimicking the undulating hills and taking on almost as if by osmosis the magical charm of its new home. Coinciding with the beginning of the Festival of Wallonia in the district of Liege, the inauguration boasted a never before seen performance by Frank Dragone and performers of Cirque du Soleil fame, employing many local dancers and talents, and reminiscent of the Olympics opening ceremonies acts. There was a reception in which many local dignitaries and government officials attended, and the performance, set on the train track platforms, and included trapeze artists, ballet, opera, fireworks, and a handful of trick-pony horsemen. There were large, projected images of video footage showing the construction of the station, highlighting the proud citizens bringing the arcs to life. There was sincerity, and a celebration. As with any Cirque du Soleil performance, but especially here, in Liege, at a train station, the music, lighting and performances were exhilarating and sealed Liege as one of my fondest memories.

BARCELONA — I had been anticipating my trip to Barcelona from the moment I booked it. Not only has it been a dream of mine to visit the country that birthed the Spanish language, sangria, Cervantes, Gaudi and many other things I love, but it’s the land of tapas, one of my favorite styles of cuisine. Tapas, from the word tapar -to cover – were originally served as small appetizers at bars, where the small plates were used to cover glasses of wine or sherry from flies. But these small dishes aren’t just appetizers. Order two or three or eight, and you have a substantial and diverse meal. Tapas follow a similar idea to Eastern Mediterranean mezze and Italian antipasti, in terms of offering a variety of fresh, very ethnic, dishes in small portions.

There are many great tapas restaurants in Boston that I’ve been frequenting for years including Tasca, a Brighton gem, and popular hot spot Tapeo on Newbury Street. But as I learned quickly, nothing compares to the incredibly fresh, diverse and innovative tapas of Spain.

Well known for being adjacent to the Mediterranean Sea, the fish is fresh, delicate and bountiful in Barcelona. Walking through the Mercat Boqueria, one of the most famous marketplaces in the world, it’s easy to see why seafood is such a huge contributor to the culture. The market is open air but enclosed in a building sans walls, brimming with small counter top-only cafes, bossy produce sellers that exclaim “No toca!” (“Don’t touch!”) when a tourist attempts to touch the fruit and mountains of mouth-watering meats such as jamon serrano. The place is sensory overload, filled with brightly colored candies and marzipan, and massive fruits and vegetables including colossal watermelons and zucchini. The place was worth seeing for sure, despite the dense crowds and fruit rind strewn floor wet with water and who knows what else.

On the first night, we sauntered up and down Las Ramblas, the famous avenue filled with street performers, human statues and all varieties of shopping from cheap souvenirs to expensive leather wear. We stumbled upon a seemingly typical restaurant. Its second floor overlooks the Mercat Boqueria but its entrance is right on Las Ramblas. Euskal Sukaldaria. I don’t even really know if this is the restaurant’s official name, but it was emblazoned on the windows. This place had the best patatas bravas I’d ever had, in my life, in any city. The sauce on them was garlicky, tangy, and just slightly spicy with a heat that’s only pleasurable, without an ounce of pain. I was in heaven. I had one plate to myself, and it was hardly enough.

I also ordered one of the tapas samplers that contained a variety of things including some cheeses, smoked chorizo on thickly cut baguette bread and some type of meat salad (maybe chicken, maybe ham who really knows). I also had a “small” plate of traditional seafood paella filled with razor clams, small mussels, shrimp and some squid (more than ample offerings for three people). I finally realized how Europeans stay so thin; they walk everywhere, all the time, and eat small portions, a little sampling of everything. Also, eating slowly and in a relaxed casual setting actually curbs overeating since it takes the body about 22 minutes to realize satiety.

Every meal should be served with a San Miguel beer, ridiculously inexpensive and amazingly delicious. Move aside Bud Light, you don’t know the first thing about drinkability. San Miguel invented drinkability.

I digress.

Moving on to breakfast. It was an experience that can only be summed up as simply decadent. The trademark Spain breakfast of churros con chocolate is essentially a very basic thing – fried dough served with hot chocolate. But this is not your Dunkin Donuts’ hot chocolate, my friends. The chocolate served in a mug in Barcelona is rich, thick and not overly sweet. It’s a darker chocolate than standard milk chocolate and does not include any added sugar, making it very easy to devour. Dipping the lightly fried, chewy, warm churros into this divine drink is nothing short of heaven, foodie heaven.

My traveling companions preferred a lighter breakfast of American-style coffee (they didn’t embrace the tiny cup of espresso-like coffee they were served when they simply asked for coffee) and fresh fruit. Amble into any grocery store off the main roads or a sidewalk produce vendor and you can get a week’s worth of fresh basics for about 5 Euros. They noshed on apples and bananas and a wonderful dried fig concoction dotted with almonds that was slightly sweet and high in protein. These folks are health-nuts and this light breakfast was the perfect way to start any day filled with sightseeing and ridiculously long and tiring walks.

Since I do frequent tapas restaurants here in the states, I already have a strong dossier of dishes I enjoy. I love tortilla espanola, recognized as a potato and egg omelet – light and fluffy and delicious. During one dinner I had a trio of tortillas, one cheesy and tangy, another made with spinach, and another with tomato and peppers that was amazing. I also indulged in melon con jamon, the perfect summer dish of cantaloupe or honey dew served with a heaping side of salty jamon iberico or jamon serrano. The marriage of sweet and salty is a great way to start any meal.

And while I was enjoying mid-morning and mid-afternoon sidewalk breaks to sip a San Miguel and feast on a light sandwich of jamon serrano and tomate or some perfect machego cheese, I could never really keep my mind off patatas bravas. I was a woman obsessed. I ate patatas bravas at least once each day I was in Barcelona, and I still couldn’t get enough. I was searching for the one, and while all the variations were amazing and had different intricacies and takes on the dish, I knew which prevailed.

Some restaurants served the potatoes more than lightly fried, but cooked darker brown similar to our hash brown. Others would serve it with a deep red sauce that was very spicy, or very heavy with tomato flavors. A beach-side restaurant in the beautiful southern coast town of Sitges served patatas bravas lined with a red sauce just slightly darker and more complex than ketchup, and another swirling circle of what I have to believe was plain mayonnaise. Please do not misunderstand me, they were all delicious, a great way to serve everyone’s favorite starch. But something about that first dish of patatas bravas lingered with me.

Maybe it was because they were the perfect size, approximately 1 x 2 inches making one piece a hearty forkful. Or maybe it was the way it was sort of fried-baked, with a crispy exterior that was barely golden brown and pillowy soft texture on the inside. Or maybe it was that sauce. That ridiculously mouth-watering, succulent sauce that I still can’t stop wishing I knew how to make. All I know, is that the combination of all of these elements melded together to make one of the best simple foods I’ve ever had in my life.

If you’re not a huge beer drinker, another great pairing with patatas bravas is sangria. I can’t talk about Spain, especially Barcelona, without mentioning sangria. Sangria is a wine punch, typically made with a fruity red wine such as a Spanish Rioja, mixed with sliced fruits including anything from apples to oranges to mangoes, and splashed with any number of other fruit liquors from apricot brandy to peach schnapps. The result is always delicious, and always refreshing.

A trip to Barcelona is the perfect antidote to a seemingly nonstop lifestyle of burgers and fries here in the United States. The critical foodie that lives inside me, bubbling on the surface daily to critique, analyze and search out the best in food was ecstatic at the sheer number of tapas varieties and restaurant locations. Ole!

Author’s Note: In lieu of my typical destination article (because oh boy we have some great ones in the works for you) I am starting a series of the Top 10, to be continued in various intervals.

1. (Don’t) Dress up for your Flight: Ok so you’re going on vacation, and it’s been who-knows-how-long since you’ve had one. I understand that this is a special occasion, and often see those travelers who have “dressed-up” for the airport. It’s a bad idea and here’s why; firstly you’re showing every pick pocket and tourist scam-artist that you are a Tourist. That translates to pure gold for them, and you will easily become a target. Secondly, no matter how short the flight is, or how luxurious your on-board accommodations are, you will look like a sorority girl who never went to sleep after homecoming by the time you walk out of your destination airport. Best to keep things simple when flying. Be chic, but don’t be high-maintenance. For the ladies, don’t wear too much makeup or you’ll end up like Tammy Faye Baker on an evangelistic tour of the swamp. Guys, stay away from heavy colognes, and double up on the deodorant.

2. (Don’t) Fly Air France, Continental or US Airways: As a travel correspondent, and many days on the road as a model in my hey-day, I learned which airlines were the most convenient, customer-focused, and responsive to complaints or a lack of service. The three afore-mentioned do neither. Air France actually doesn’t have ANY way for a customer to call in and make complaints or suggestions. Continental has literally lied to me and hundreds of others to save themselves hotel fees, claiming weather as a factor in the delay of 6 flights. Most of the passengers missed the connecting flights, and in reality it was a downed control tower that caused the problem. US Airways has consistently the worst attitude amongst its attendants.

3. (Don’t) Drink Heavily the Night Before: Yes, this IS a hard rule to keep! Often there is the urge to begin the vacation the night before, but this will only leave you dehydrated and with a headache that the plane’s pressurized compartments will only exaggerate.

4. (Don’t) Eat Airplane Food: Ok, I admit it: Lufthansa food was amazing “" but they’re the exception. This rule also is extremely dependent upon whether you fly economy or First Class, of course, but this is a fairly easy thing to avoid, or at least diminish greatly. The day of the flight, bring along a salad, raw veggies, a sandwich, etc. Just make sure there are no pure liquid contents, and buy a reusable 3 oz dispenser for things like dressing and condiments. Fresh fruit is a great way to maintain your hydration levels when flying. If you are flying to a foreign location, pack snacks that remind you of home. Sometimes foreign fare can be a bit tricky, but with a grab bag of cookies, crackers and pretzels, you’re sure to stay satisfied.

5. (Don’t) Arrive to the Airport Late: It’s a terrible idea! Pack the night before. You never know the state of pandemonium at the airport. The earlier you show up for those morning flights, and for the mid to late afternoon internationals, the shorter the security lines. Sure, sitting at the gate for 2 hours is rough, but you brought snacks, right!? This is when to have a glass of wine, check those last minute emails and relax.

6. (Don’t) Be afraid to ask questions: Know your rights. Each and every airport has a list of various passenger rights, and you should do your homework. As mentioned above in Item two, airlines will do anything they can think of to save money and put themselves first. Don’t assume that they are looking out for you. Ask questions, lots of them if necessary, about what the delay is, or what they’re going to do in the event of an unforeseen complication. Airlines are the first major corporations to assume responsibility for their rights as a company, and they have the right to make the rules up as they go along. Be informed, be assertive and don’t let them bully you!

7. (Don’t) Board the plane empty handed: Take whatever you need to stay occupied and satisfied. It’s no secret that I travel with my teddy bear. Sure I get funny looks at my age whipping out an old ratty teddy bear, but so what! When you are away from home a lot, it’s nice to have a piece of it with you. If you’re going on an extended vacation, take photographs, pillows – anything that will make you feel at home and at peace. Take a few magazines, a book to read, crossword puzzles, emails, etc to keep you occupied on the plane and make the whole ordeal go by a bit quicker. If you’re distracted, you won’t be inclined to worry about the physics of thrusting a mega-ton piece of metal in the air.

8. (Don’t) Forget to pack any necessities in your carry on: Hopefully, your luggage will get off the plane when you do, but there is the chance that it won’t. If there are any medications you need, take them on the plane with you. The same goes for a toothbrush, deodorant and anything you think you may need should you be without your luggage for a day or two (sexy heels perhaps?).

9. (Don’t) Get in the way: This goes for other passengers, attendants and security officials. If you are on a moving walkway, please stand right and walk left. Often, moving walkways are used when the distance between gates is farther than usual and those of us with layovers do not want to run you over trying to make a mile in six minutes. Be aware of other people’s personal space, and avoid using the chair in front of you to catapult yourself out of your seat. Whiplash is bad. Don’t be fearful of using your fair share of space, but don’t be a space-hog. If you need to check your phone or grab your boarding pass, stand to the side.

10. (Don’t) Be a Negative Nelly: Everyone is annoyed by the airlines, the security lines, the bad food, the recycled air. There is no need to take that out on your fellow passengers or the flight attendants. I don’t know how many times I’ve had some random guy scream at me to move up in the line a whole four feet, when there was still 20 people in front of us to screen…DON’T be that guy. And if you hear a hearty laugh across an airport terminal one day, it is probably me, laughing at “That Guy.”

SAN JUAN — Aquamarine seas, palm trees and sunshine; it doesn’t really get any better, in my book, at least. There’s something intoxicating about the tropics, like the way a banana becomes part of a savory meal, the way the salt air and humidity make a beer taste that much better, the way a straw makes drinking out of a coconut seem civilized. Puerto Rico did not disappoint on those fronts.

We did a lot some days and a whole lot of nothing on others. Still, I left feeling that I must return to Puerto Rico. I have a feeling there’s a lot that I still need to see.

A few thoughts: While Old San Juan is charming, I got the distinct feeling that the city in general is trying mighty hard to become South Beach. Places push their prices sky high, blare house music, drape everything in white and compare themselves to The Delano. To fall into this would be a shame. While I love South Beach, Puerto Rico is no South Beach and I wish they’d try to forge their own identity rather than become copycats. The result ends up looking like a fake Louis Vitton bag: kind of desperate and cheap.

I’m also at a loss when it comes to the service in Puerto Rico. Whether at a restaurant serving comida tipica or an upscale place with menus in English, the waiters were the same: they’d come and take your order, bring your food and then disappear. Getting a check or paying a bill were nearly impossible and probably doubled the amount of time I would have spent in any establishment. This wouldn’t have been nearly as bad if I’d had some kind of drink in front of me, but sitting at an empty table, with an empty glass, trying to flag down a waiter is simply no fun. It also makes the dine and dash a tempting prospect”

Notables: Eating well in Puerto Rico is easy. Eating healthily, not so much. It seems the Puerto Ricans like to fry everything- fish, tacos, plantains. You name it, you can probably find it fried. Even seemingly good foods like rice and beans are cooked in ways to increase their calorie content- a technique that harks back to the days when people had to subsist on the basics. Rice is typically cooked with lard, while beans come stewed with some kind of pork fat.

We ended up at a strip of food stalls in Loquillo one day, about an hour east of San Juan, but I was so hungry I forgot to take pictures. There must have been 50 places, all lined up on the beach, all selling chicharron, mofongo, fried fish and yellow rice. While the comida tipica was tasty, I can’t figure out how these places survive when they seem to all sell the same thing.

The Surprise: San Juan Water & Beach Club in Isla Verde. Yes, this place falls into the category of establishments trying too hard to be South Beach. But the lovely ocean views, waterfalls in the elevator and not too pretentious service made it work: this place is chic, fun and definitely worth a visit. We started our evening at Wet, the rooftop bar which afforded a lovely 360-degree view and a too-cool-for-school atmosphere. This would be a great place to come on a date, or to start a rowdy evening with friends. (One complaint: they don’t have a cocktail menu. What upscale nightlife establishment doesn’t have its own cocktail menu?)

We then had dinner at Tangerine, the restaurant downstairs that emphasized ambiance with blue lights, a waterfall behind the bar and white everything. While appearance is good, what sets this place apart is the fact that the food was tasty and original.

We started with a trio of ceviches: ginger tuna, topped with candied ginger; coconut snapper; and tangerine salmon. Each was distinct and unlike any ceviche I’ve ever had: the snapper was subtly sweet, the tuna had a bit of bite and the salmon emphasized sour.

Next, we had a paella with red snapper. It was a lovely execution, not at all greasy, which can be the case with paella. The rice was accented generously with carrot, zucchini and red pepper, as well as large, gorgeous chunks of snapper.

The highlight of the evening, however, was the steak with green chile sauce. To be frank, I didn’t have high hopes for this one, but we didn’t think two tapas-sized dishes would be enough to eat (though in the end, two would have been fine). Chunks of tender beef sauteed in a red-wine, chile and caper sauce, and served with house fried plantain chips, this dish was succulent, savory and impossible not to love. While our previous two dishes had been good, this one set the bar even higher.

The Regret: Driving back to San Juan from Loquillo on Saturday I passed a sign for chicharron de conejo. I was intrigued. Chicharron are typically fried pieces of pork skin and conejo is rabbit”¦ fried rabbit skin? Alas, I kept driving, and now I haven’t been able to stop wondering what I missed out on.

While I mostly have great things to say about Puerto Rico, there was one place that annoyed me so much, I feel compelled to warn others to stay away, especially because it’s supposed to be one of the best places on the island.

The Disappointment: Budatai in Condado. Frommer’s led me astray with this one, naming it one of the 10-Best Dining Bets in Puerto Rico. Perhaps the good people at Frommer’s only ate at 10 places in Puerto Rico? Executive Chef/Owner Roberto Treviƒ±o is a contestant on Iron Chef America this season, and if this cuisine is any indication of Treviƒ±o’s talents I’d avoid putting any money on him winning.

Located across from La Ventana al Mar Park, the terrace area where we ate did have lovely views of the sea and surrounding area. However, that did little to make up for the limited menu or poor execution. My first beef with Budatai came with the menu, which boasted “Wild Salmon” but which our server then informed us was actually farm-raised. My sense of distrust raised immediately. Why would you put “wild” on the menu if it isn’t? What other fabrications are included? Is the vegetarian cuisine truly vegetarian? Is the duck really duck?

We started with some vegetarian egg rolls, which interestingly enough had cheese in them. Yes, cheese, which in my book is the ultimate faux-pas when it comes to Asian-fusion cooking. Worse, the cheese was gooey and tasteless, adding nothing but calories and a strange mouth feel.

My companion, who keeps kosher and hence had little to choose from on the shell-fish and pork heavy menu, reluctantly opted for the salmon, which came with vegetables and a Bearnaise sauce- again, a strange offering at what is supposedly an Asian restaurant. It was forgettable at best. I opted for the pork dumplings (billed as the house specialty) and a side of duck fried rice.

In his last column as The New York Times’ dining critic, Frank Bruni suggested that one way to safely navigate a restaurant’s menu was to “scratch off anything that mentions truffle oil.” I wish I’d listened. As a rule, pork dumplings are usually a safe standby in Asian places. Budatai’s started off promisingly enough with some well-flavored pork wrapped inside a doughy wrapper. Then things got a bit”¦ well, crazy. The dumplings looked like they’d been grilled, but they were about as crispy as chewing gum. Then, they were topped with what looked like any and everything the chef had within reach: some strange brown sauce, caviar, truffles, truffle oil, garlic, sesame seeds, watercress”¦ and those are just the things I could identify in the terrace’s half-light. It was a cacophony of flavors, so busy I wondered if I’d even notice if half the ingredients were missing.

The duck fried rice was similarly busy. Greasy, with only a trace of duck, this dish came laden with sweet plantains, which were just weird. Just say it: rice, banana and duck”¦ it even sounds weird, doesn’t it? This dish would have been saved with more duck and perhaps the inclusion of some complimentary ingredients: think scallion or bean sprout. Banana? Not so much.

The Delight: Mirƒ³, also in Condado. This place obviously caters to tourists, but had a few hard to find dishes, like grilled baby octopus and arroz negro — rice cooked with squid ink and then mixed with a variety of shellfish. In addition, the sangria was pretty amazing. Made to order with red wine, brandy, triple sec, pineapple juice and a squirt of sprite, it was refreshing, but not too sweet.

SANTA FE, N.M. — It’s no wonder that Francis of Assisi is the patron saint of Santa Fe. He is the epitome of hippie-dom from centuries past, gentle and zen-like, and this spirit lives in Santa Fe still to this day. It is a city of art, music, dance and a variety of cultural significance from days gone by.‚  The air is clean, you are surrounded by mountains-meet-desert, and the outdoor activities are as numerous as the grains of sand. Santa Fe truly is a wonderland for any type of traveler- be it recreational, the art-seeker, or those searching for a bit of spiritual sanctity.

Variety is the name of the game in Santa Fe. For example, not only does it boast a proficient gallery scene, you don’t find just the typical Native American arts. There is a span from modern-contemporary paintings and sculpture, photography by the greats, the standards of southwestern art such as Georgia O’Keefe and an interesting sub-genre, the contemporary Native American influenced art. This art is a blend of cave paintings’ old-world lines and grace but with a surprising avant-garde twist. This “new” art is startling and familiar in the same breath, and is the love-child of Santa Fe.

Beginning Labor Day, 2009, Santa Fe will embark on a 16-month long 400 year anniversary festival. ‚ It is to be a celebration of many flavors, offering concerts, farmer’s and artist’s markets, an outdoor cinema series, opera and lectures on the arts. Most of these things are regular occurrences in Santa Fe, and if you know where to look, every day seems like a Fiesta.

Canyon Road, presently a “gallery-mile”, with over 100 galleries, restaurants and artist studios, once existed as an‚  ancient route of Native Americans between pueblos, as well as served under the foot traffic of Spanish, Confederate and Mexican soldiers and Native American warrior alike. It is a fitting‚  journey the art-seeker experiences spending an evening on Canyon Road. Fridays are the ideal time to visit, because many of the galleries have receptions, wine tastings and artist appearances.‚  A handful of the buildings still used actually pre-date the inception of New Mexico as a state in the United States of America, in 1912, some possibly by a century or more.

Santa Fe has the charm and blending of the ages that you find in many smaller European enclaves. However, the city has sophistication, enough so that the New York City art scene has made a second home in the city. Many of the galleries in the Plaza and Canyon Road are the love”"children of NYC galleries, or galleries that are now run by transplanted New Yorkers who migrated to Santa Fe in search of its generous serenity. When visiting with these reformed city-dwellers, I found a common emotion was a respect for the art buyer they see in their spaces. They seemed to sense that the viewer in Santa Fe is enabled to view the art in an environment conducive to adoration. It is how Santa Fe affects that sixth sense that is unique.

One of the best ways to experience art while in Santa Fe is to take a short trip to the origins of American art and life. The city is surrounded by the ultimate in American culture. Ruins of once populous Indian pueblo cities are numerous, and petroglyphs and ancient cave dwellings are all a short drive out. Los Alamos, for the history buffs, is also nearby.

With influence from the ancestors of the area, an outdoor life is lived to the fullest by those in Santa Fe. Hiking, camping, skiing and snowboarding are all thrilling ways to live immersed in this philosophy, and the city boasts a central location to any outdoorsman’s desire. The weather is quite temperate, a bit more severe in the winter, which attributes to a healthy combination between summer sports and winter sports. Balance is an inherent quality of this land and in turn offers a destination to satisfy any action-packed palette. After spending the days in the sun, cool off at one of the many cute-but-sexy eateries. Cowgirl’s, just south of the Plaza, offers the fare of the old west and walls covered in historical photos of true Cowgirls. It is cozy, homey and often has a bit of live music, with more of a bar atmosphere post-dinner hours. Another hot spot is El Farol in the Canyon Road district, a South American inspired tapas bar, which often receives rave reviews of its tapas and its live music and dancing.

If you’re feeling a bit lazy, and let’s admit it – after walking the Canyon Road mile, eating the mouth-filling flavorful food, and spending a few days camping, you will be – a day stroll around the Plaza, shopping and seeing the Museums is just the thing you are going to need. The Plaza is a mish-mash of boutique, art galleries, shops, museums and eclectic vendors. The local Native American craftsmen often gather outside of the Palace of the Governors to sell their handmade jewelry and wares as they have for hundreds of years. At the center of the Plaza is a wonderful garden to cool off and reflect on the energies that allow this oasis in the desert to thrive and invigorate.

Santa Fe is a surprising, energizing place. When you visit, you are imbibed with the healing energy of this grotto in the Land of Enchantment. In each step walked on ground that has served our land and its peoples for centuries, you march towards a bigger sense of the world around you, both in aesthetics and organics. ‚ Santa Fe is a retreat that broadens your horizons, and deepens the connection between yourself and the world around you.

As a university student training to be part of the “creative class”, I’m not a fan of routine or content with the prospect of “settling down” in one city doing the same thing for the rest of my life. In my opinion, most people really are part of the “creative class”, mostly because I don’t think your job is what defines who you are. You, as a person, socially, your dreams and objectives, that’s what defines you. Then whether or not you actually try to meet those goals defines your drive and character, the strength of your ambition and your will. And that ultimately is who you are.

So anyway, back to what I was saying. It’s my goal in life to be a journalist who gets to travel all over the world. Money isn’t a big issue for me since I’d probably use the extra money I would make in another field traveling anyway. This way I get to do two things I love and get paid for it.

This morning I was looking at the Atlantic Monthly’s website, reading the food section and some of the correspondent’s articles. It’s something I’d highly recommend. The Atlantic has some amazingly interesting stuff.

I came across a story about the Global Financial Centres Index (GFCI), a biannual ranking of top financial centers across the globe using points, based on surveys taken by financial experts. The Index is produced for the City of London and guess what? London is numero uno.

New York is naturally second, and both London and New York have a commanding lead of more than 100 points over third place Singapore. It’s a possibility the two western powerhouses could see some competition for the top spot from cities like Singapore and Hong Kong (ranked fourth, just three points behind Singapore) in the future, but for now they are pretty safe as the one-two western punch.

Since the last Index was published nearly six months ago, New York and London have lost fewer points than both Singapore and Hong Kong. Some Asian cities have taken a large hit, namely Tokyo, which fell from a seven ranking to a 15 and lost 31 points, the largest drop in the top 20. Some cities, like Boston, Dublin, Toronto and Guernsey, have even capitalized on the losses of others, rising in the rankings despite losing points.

Overall, I think this Index is a pretty interesting way of ranking top financial cities in the world. And it got me thinking about traveling and ultimately, trying to visit most of the world’s richest in my lifetime. Though the rankings will change from year to year, that just means I have to travel more. I’ve got no problem with that.

It’s also being speculated, by Jeffrey Garten at the Financial Times, that once the global recovery begins New York and London will see a tag-team emerge in the east, something he’s dubbed ShangKong, which to me sounds like either a Mortal Kombat villain or some sort of Godzilla-like terrorizer. He postulates that New York and London, let’s call that YorkDon in honor of Garten, will be reeling from this crisis for years, while ShangKong will recover quicker. YorkDon will have to tend to more problems, more industries and more sectors while ShangKong will be able to use its rising economic status to overtake and crush YorkDon.

Talking about cities like this has always wanted to make me travel and visit them. Hearing the word Shanghai spoken or seeing it written doesn’t come close to seeing a photo of the city’s inner core at night, which doesn’t come close to actually being there. Regardless of the ranking of cities like London, Tokyo and ShangKong, I’ll try to make my way through them one by one as I get older.

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LISBON, Portugal — If London and Paris are the Grand Dames of Europe, then Lisbon, Portugal is the unruly, prettier stepsister who deserves all of the attention. Similar to Dorothy’s Oz, with its pale yellowish cobblestone streets, the “city of the seven hills” is a winding stretch of neighborhoods that have as much character as a NYC stalwart, to ‘Miradouras,’ or overlooks, where visitors can survey the delights of seven seas below.

In Lisbon, bathed in the sensational sunshine and refreshed by the Atlantic breezes, your appetite jumps to life and all of the beauty in the architecture and culture is magnified.

Lisbon is contained within just 10 square miles, and is navigable by foot or public transportation “" a sleek modern tunnel metro system. The most common transport, however, is the tram. With the yellow tram and steep hills, west coast mentality, and sea-conomic industries,‚ Lisbon evokes‚ modern day San Francisco. The city has a beach mecca that rivals southern California, and is a surfer’s paradise.

For flea market lovers, street fairs are aplenty. The overflow of historical sites, like the Castelo Sao George “" a reminder of the fortress-on-the-hill era “" as well as modern government houses, decadent churches, and monasteries, provide entertainment for‚ the history buff, the art buff, and the explorer in all of us.

Lisbon is over 3,200 years old, and has been plundered by the Romans, the Moors, the Celts, Germanic Tribes, Napoleon Bonaparte, the Crusades, and other significant historical players. Their influences abound today, as Lisbon naturally combines her history with her future. Navigation, both of her people, and those seeking to own their own little piece of Iberia, has always been a driving force in her veins, and has shaped every cultural facet, most notably‚ food, architecture, the art, and the music.

Bohemian ideals ring throughout the city, and there is a heavy influence from the reign of navigation that has held the city throughout its birth and growth, both domestically and to the outer reaches of the world, and the multi-cultural lusting over her wealth and prime location.

Portugal is a country that isn’t afraid to reinvent itself, and the Portuguese people are capable at adapting, changing and living the experience to its fullest. They are a people to make their mark on history. This is evident throughout Portuguese life, as they have overcome many foreign interruptions. There has been no more remarkable example than the Carnation Revolution, on April 25, 1974, in which no bullet was fired and the government was successfully overthrown by the military, seeking rule in the name of the people.

Lisbon is one big art gallery, with the architecture on display reflecting a vast array of European influences. It echoes every other major European city-center. However, along the Tagus River in Expo Park, the newest area of Lisbon, which was built for the 1998 World’s Fair and splits southern Lisbon from the north, the architecture boasts exquisitely the navigational roots of Lisbon, in quick geometrical lines that sweep like sails into the wind and sky. Home to the world’s second largest aquarium, the Oceanarium, Expo Park is like a whimsical drift into a sailor’s modern-day Neverland.

One of the bridges spanning the Tagus River is named after the peaceful revolt of the Carnation Revolution; the 25 de Abril Bridge, symbolizing the bridge to civility and strength to span the world for years to come. It, of course, is red. There is another resplendent bridge in Lisbon, the Vasco de Gama, which overtook the 25 de Abril Bridge as the longest in Europe. It was an event that welcomed the world to adventure into Portugal and see, in it, their history.

Art is the heartbeat of Lisbon, with the city giving birth to poets, writers, and musicians alike, one of whom is a Portuguese icon of culture and faith, Amalia Rodrigues. Rodrigues brought Fado, a traditional, emotionally-charged style of song, to the world. Fado showcases the lament for what was, the pain in being separated from home or loved ones in a way only a nation of sailors’ families could manifest.

The art culture in Lisbon is a perfect blend of its traditional roots, and its journey through the centuries, living and embracing all aesthetics. There is a museum for every imagination, reflecting the interaction art has on daily life in Lisbon. In this wisdom is a relaxed metropolitan attitude, where all things exist as an exhibition. There is an eclectic mix amongst this variety, with a Museum of Pharmacy, a Museum of Costume and Fashion, a Museum of Coaches (which houses the largest collection of Royal Coaches), and cultural gems like the Museum of Ancient Art and the Museum of the Portuguese Tile-Mosaics. The tile art is an icon of Portuguese architecture, and spans the walls of the city’s buildings like ivy climbing to the sun. The motifs are often botanical or geometrical in nature.

The majority of Portuguese food comes from the waters that surround the way of life in Lisbon.‚ Fresh fish and shellfish are prepared in many different ways; the cuisine at one restaurant reflects that family’s history, and will not be the same from kitchen to kitchen, family to family. Their food is their legacy. It is the tale of the sailors, farmers and laborers who came before them and what their experience of the culture-blended world around them was, but always maintain a very strong Portuguese identity. It, like everything else, is an art.

The late night of the mythical swashbuckling sailor on shore-leave, drinking in the streets, singing, mingling with the people, the food, and the culture, does in fact exist in Lisbon. The weather is conducive to mild nights, and most of the bars are so small that the clientele tend to overflow onto the streets and alleyways, beneath apartments and commercial spaces. The community feeling of knowing everyone and being free to speak openly, of art and politics, remains. In Portugal, English is a prominent language, so meeting new people and making new friends is an easy task, especially in this pub-crawl environment. There is an eminent joy in the people of Portugal that comes from a keen understanding of their historical value, and cultural identity.

The Portuguese footprint can be found throughout the world today, but its charms are often overlooked. A trip to Lisbon awakens the senses and the visitor leaves with a renewed outlook on life.

LEIRIA, PORTUGAL — Portugal is the land of light. You step off of the plane and cannot help but to be engulfed by its healing, energizing, centering properties. No matter what region of the country you are visiting, this will be what you take away.

Like California, Portugal runs the gamut on landscape boasting beaches, wine country, island getaways, classic European metropolitan areas, and ages of history coating them all like icing.

Given that Portugal has so many different facets of life, we will visit a handful of locations in an area northwest of Lisbon, the District of Leiria, and an easy day-trip out if your visit focuses on the city itself.

Castles, marinas, beaches for both young and old, vacation spots of the queens, the cities of Obidos, Caldas da Rainha and Foz do Arelho, Sao Martinho, and Nazare make for a great day or two (or week) of sightseeing.

In this area of the country, the landscape forces into the air sheer cliffs, which are infamous for paragliding and the beaches below, achieve a natural seclusion. When driving from Lisbon, the first of these too-fairy-tale-to-be true villages you will arrive upon is Obidos. Literally a castle on a hill, there is still a living village within the walls. Constructed by the Moors in the 8th century, this city is a dive into life behind castle walls minus the typhoid and ugly wenches. Weekend opera performances are a regular occurrence, as is a customary Portuguese sherry, Ginjinha, made from sour cherries. By the end of the Opera, you’re guaranteed to be singing in the aisles.

A little on up the highway is Caldas da Rainha, or “Queen’s Springs”. Local lore states that once upon a 15th century road trip, Queen Leonore and her party came across a foul smell, to be told by a villager that the nearby sulfur springs was the culprit, but also a blessing. The springs were hailed to alleviate a variety of chronic maladies, and a 500 year old hospital stands today as a testament to the springs’ healing properties. Later in history the municipality was also refuge to many Jews escaping Nazism during World War II. True to the words, “there must be something in the water”, Caldas da Rainha has become a Mecca of the arts. In my visit to the city center, street art abounds, as do the museums, street fairs, and a beautiful new cultural center, the Centro Cultural e de Congressos. With traditional entertainment of the bull fights, or Torada, and a hip shopping area, Caldas da Rainha is well rounded and well grounded in history.

BALTIMORE — It’s March and that means that Easter eggs are soon on their way and that pints o’ beer and allergies are here! We all love spring, St. Patrick’s Day and holiday feasts, and one of the best places to celebrate all three is the Baltimore-Annapolis, Maryland area on the Chesapeake Bay. Rich in Irish history, early spring flowers and fresh crab, your senses will come alive exploring all that the area offers.

Baltimore is the sin-city of the ages, originally established from the tobacco and sugar trades with the Caribbean, but when the potatoes in Ireland disappeared a massive exodus of settlers flooded the area leaving their mark on the city. The name Baltimore is from the Irish city in County Cork, Anglicized from “Baile an Tƒ­ Mhƒ³ir” meaning “Town of the Big House”.

Since St. Patty’s Day falls mid-week, that leaves you with only one option — celebrate the weekend before AND after. It’s only fair. With only one weekend to explore Baltimore, do three things: pub crawl the bay, pub-crawl Fell’s Point, and slink over to the cemetery — preferably the one where Edgar Allen Poe is buried. (Just be careful not to drunkenly stumble into a crypt.)

The downtown area of Baltimore is centered on the bay, and houses ships of today and yesterday. A fine example of fleeting American craftsmanship is the USS Constellation permanently docked here. If you’re a sports fan the Boston Red Sox (another fine strappin’ young Irish lad of a team) are playing spring training games the weekend before, and there are games all week long. Ah, the Great American Pastime — bringing Irishmen and beer together for a century, and now you too.

A bit uptown from downtown, but a fun stumble over is the little church cemetery that houses the grave of Edgar Allen Poe, who resided in Boston and Baltimore. The graves here date back to the late 1700s and the grounds are well kept and classically spooky. ‚ Also in the city is the earliest surviving home in which Poe lived, and now operates as the Edgar Allen Poe House and Museum.‚  If you’re looking to go ghost hunting, wander on over to a little place in Fell’s Point (said to be Poe’s final drinking hole) called The Horse You Came In On. It is rumored that an upstairs room is occupied by a spirit named “Edgar”.

Fell’s Point, once popular with the sailors has been refurbished and is the new hip spot. There are more than 120 pubs to whet your whistle, cobblestone streets, music, shopping and great local eats.‚  With a rich maritime influence left behind from St. Patty’s Days gone by, some of the infamous naval beauties were built in Fell’s Point yards, epitomizing the clipper-ship with the area. The aforementioned USS Constellation calls Fell’s Point home, as well as many Civil War ships, and privateers.

Speaking of navy

Not so far from Baltimore is Annapolis, home of the US Naval Academy, the ratification of the Treaty of Paris, and one of the original capitols of the United States. In Annapolis, the history seems to seep from the cobblestones.‚  Walk down the same streets that George Washington and Thomas Jefferson tread, and were once a hot-bed of patriotic action. There are several homesteads on the main street that have been transformed into quaint inns dating back to the mid-18^th century, including the Maryland Inn, whose tavern hosted the likes of Ben Franklin and John Adams.

Host to the two largest in-water boat shows each year in October, and year round races, there is a constant stream in and out of Annapolis ‚ year round of sea-worthy vessels coming in to port, to eat the fresh crab-legs and drink stout pints as in the days of old.

Annapolis is another small-in-square-footage-big-in-possibilities charmer. Theater thrives there, premium yachting abounds, and there are plenty of historical pubs and shopping to keep you entertained for the weekend.

While this may be the cleanest debauchery you’ve ever partaken in, the cities of Baltimore and Annapolis are picturesque, sports-worthy, pub-alicious, and just their streets are waiting for you to dance down. Don’t forget to wear green. I’ll be watching for you, pint in hand.

For more information on the historical Inns in Annapolis visit Http://www.historicinnsofannapolis.com. For more information on The Horse you Came In On visit http://www.myspace.com/thehorselive . And lastly the Poe House/Museum is here: http://www.eapoe.org/balt/poehse.htm.

Carly Erin O’Neil, our favorite lass, reported from Baltimore and Annapolis.

BIG SUR, Calif. — I’m broke. You’re broke. We’re all broke.

Sometimes the best medicine comes in the form of a pretty distraction, and I’m not talking about Pamela Anderson here. If you live in (insert city name — really, any one will do), it’s time for you to GET OUT. No doomsday warnings here, just a poor man’s guide to travel to ease your weary soul.

This month it’s cold. So let’s take our vacation-lusting souls to someplace warmer than the icebox we’ve been living in.

California. Sweet California. You’re always there for us to retreat to, no matter how many times we make fun of your governor, or how bad your drivers are, or wish that you would just fall off into the ocean already. (Yea! California Island! Even better.)

I recently made my first pilgrimage to the Big Sur Coastline. If you’ve ever seen Big Sur, you’ll understand the use of the word “pilgrimage.” The coasts are practically untouched since the days of the Spanish settlers: sweeping views, pristine waters that appear as though Tide would bottle them for their next detergent, and the freshest air to fill your lungs since you came screaming out of the womb.

Welcome to Paradise, boys.

Strange phenomena happen in Big Sur. Cypress trees cling to steep drop offs. The Ghost Tree is an example of nature’s malleability in the face of it’s own force, arched from root to tip it pays homage to the glory of it’s creation, and the mysticism that lies in Big Sur.

If the beach-that-is-really-too-cold-to-sunbathe-at just isn’t your thing, head on out from Los Angeles like the Rider on the Storm that you are to an old ski-town in another sentimentally static are of California called Vincent’s Gap. The mountains here are sleepy and wise, extending off as far as you can see in most directions. Popular for hiking and even skiing, it is east to wander into Vincent’s Gap and feel time travel back to frontier days, when the mountains were first inhabited.

ARTESIA, Calif. — We landed in beautiful Long Beach at 11:45 a.m., and despite disaster with the rental car and a slightly questionable hotel room, we’ve made it!

First things first. E3 technically starts Tuesday, but tomorrow we’ll be hearing from Electronic Arts and Microsoft, so expect big things there.

For now, we’re relaxing after a long flight. Might even do Hollywood tonight. Any recommendations?

Dear EarthTalk: My old computer finally bit the dust and I am in the market for a replacement. Are there any particularly “green” computers for sale these days? — Brian Smith, Nashua, NH

Thanks in part to pressure from non-profits like Greenpeace International-which has published quarterly versions of its landmark “Guide to Greener Electronics” since 2006-computer makers now understand that consumers care about the environmental footprints of the products they use.

The latest version of Greenpeace’s guide gives high marks to Toshiba, Lenovo, Sony and Dell for increasing the recyclability of their computers and reducing toxic components and so-called “e-waste” (refuse from discarded electronic devices and components). The group also credits Apple, HP and Fujitsu for making strides toward greener products and manufacturing processes, but emphasizes that even such top ranked companies have lots of room for improvement when it comes to the environment.

PC Magazine, the leading computer publication for consumer and business users, recently assessed dozens of personal computers according to environmental standards it developed in-house based on energy efficiency, recyclability and the toxicity of components. The publication also factored in various “green” certification schemes such as the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency’s EnergyStar program, the European Union’s Restriction of Hazardous Substances (RoHS) directive, Taiwan’s Greenmark and the computer industry’s own Electronic Products Environmental Assessment Tool (EPEAT).

The top choices for green desktop computers, according to PC, are Apple’s Mac Mini, Zonbu’s Desktop Mini, HP Compaq’s 2710p and dc7800, Lenovo’s ThinkCentre a61e, and Dell’s OptiPlex 755. As for laptops, the greenest current models include Dell’s Latitude D630, the Everex Zonbu, Fujitsu’s LifeBook S6510, and Toshiba’s Tecra A9-S9013.

Perhaps more important than the green-ness of your new computer is what you do with the old one. Stuffing it into the trash or setting it out for curbside pick-up may be the worst thing you can do with an outdated computer, as heavy metals and other toxins inevitably get free and get into surrounding soils and water. If the machine still works, donate it to a local school that can put it to use, or to Goodwill or the Salvation Army, either of which can re-sell it to help fund their programs. Another option is to donate it to the National Cristina Foundation, which places outdated technology with needy non-profits.

Once you’ve gotten rid of an old computer and outfitted yourself with a spiffy new green one, you might just want to score a few green accessories. Brooklyn, New York’s Verdant Computing, which bills itself as a purveyor of “the greenest computer products on the web,” sells remanufactured ink and toner cartridges, laptop cases made from recycled plastic, GreenDisk CDs packaged in recycled plastic jewel cases, solar-powered MP3 accessories, energy-saving printers and even a software program, GreenPrint, which modifies the print programs on your computer to economize on paper and ink/toner use. Verdant also has most products shipped to consumers directly from the manufacturers to save re-shipping.

CONTACTS: Greenpeace International, www.greenpeace.org; PC Magazine, www.pcmag.com; National Cristina Foundation, www.cristina.org; Verdant Computing, www.verdantcomputing.com.

Dear EarthTalk: Are there any efforts underway to green the air travel industry? It seems to me that it must be one dirty business from a pollution standpoint. — Elias Corey, Seattle, WA

Environmental battles over the siting and expansion of airports are as old as the air travel industry itself, but only in recent years have the airlines themselves been under pressure to go green.

And there’s no time like the present for the industry to take some action: Air pollution from commercial jets is a growing concern among scientists, as is air travel’s role in climate change because of the more acute warming effect of emissions when they are disbursed so much closer to the upper atmosphere.

According to the Royal Commission on Environmental Pollution, an independent group of scientists that advises the British government, emissions from aircraft will likely be one of the major contributors to global warming by the year 2050. According to USA Today, on a flight from New York to Denver, a commercial jet generates between “840 to 1,660 pounds of carbon dioxide per passenger. That’s about what an SUV generates in a month.”

Despite still gloomy times for the industry post-9/11, a few are actually responding to the call. Virgin is blazing new trails as part of a $3 billion investment in energy efficiency. The company is experimenting with biodiesel and ethanol-fuels derived from crops-and has invested hundreds of millions of dollars in ethanol-related businesses. But don’t expect to ride on a biofuel-powered jet anytime soon.

Airplane makers are getting in on the act, too. Boeing successfully flew the world’s first hydrogen-powered, fuel cell airplane in April 2008. A company spokesperson called the plane-a small one-seater-”full of promises for a greener future.” Boeing is working to develop a commercial version, but uncertainties about hydrogen production and distribution put this advancement well into the future, too.

So what can consumers do to fly greener today? Sharon Beaulaurier of GreenLight magazine suggests choosing airlines with newer, more fuel-efficient fleets such as JetBlue, Singapore Airlines or Virgin.

She adds that direct flights are better than those with stopovers, as frequent take-offs and landings use more fuel than when the planes are cruising. She also recommends avoiding airlines and airports with bad track records for delays, which leave planes idling and spewing greenhouse gases for hours unnecessarily.

The National Air Traffic Controllers Association (NATCA) runs AvoidDelays.com, which helps fliers choose airlines and airports based on on-time departures. Airlines with poor records include American, Atlantic Southeast, ExpressJet, Mesa and United, according to NATCA, which also calls Chicago’s O’Hare, New York’s LaGuardia, Newark, Philadelphia and San Francisco the worst airports for catching on-time flights.

Meanwhile, the European Union wants to require airlines touching down in Europe to participate in continent-wide carbon reduction programs already in place. Backers hope it will cut Europe’s exponential growth in airline emissions in half by 2020. Some carriers oppose the plan and are fighting it in court.

CONTACTS: Virgin Group, www.virgin.com; Boeing, www.boeing.com; AvoidDelays.com, www.avoiddelays.com.

GOT AN ENVIRONMENTAL QUESTION? Send it to: EarthTalk, c/o E/The Environmental Magazine, P.O. Box 5098, Westport, CT 06881; submit it at: www.emagazine.com/earthtalk/thisweek/, or e-mail: earthtalk@emagazine.com. Read past columns at: www.emagazine.com/earthtalk/archives.php.

Imagine a New England winter—the air is cold, crisp and clear. It’s a perfect evening to slide back the moon roof and watch the stars with that special someone. Imagine a Florida spring—temperate and green—with weather that makes you want to slide open the sunroof. Imagine a California summer—hot and bright—a convertible paradise.

Picture a car that can satisfy all three: the view of a moon roof, the breeze of a sunroof and the sheer satisfaction of a convertible.

Enter the 2007 Volkswagen Eos.

The Eos is the first hardtop convertible with a sunroof. While it may sound well overdue, this car has arrived right on time to usher in a new bar height for others to crawl under.

The secret is the coupe-sunroof-convertible (CSC).

“The CSC is a revolutionary five-panel roof that transforms the coup’es hardtop, with integrated sunroof and heated-glass rear window, into an open-air convertible,” said Kristin Lambert, spokeswoman for Volkswagen. According to Lambert (and first-hand experience) the whole transformation happens in 25 seconds.

Your editor spent a grueling work week between Miami and the Florida Keys in March with other members of the media. While there, we had a chance to check in on this German-engineered powerhouse and see what it can do.

The Florida Keys didn’t know what they were in for when the 3.2L turbocharged V6′s roared to life.

To be honest, I was a bit skeptical at first, not sure what the land of Bugs and Jettas was putting out in the Eos.

The Eos seemed strangely at home in Key West (which features the end of U.S. Rt. 1 and the southernmost point in the continental United States) enroute to Key Largo.

The 3.2L package I drove includes a double clutch automatic transmission system. You simply don’t feel the gears shift. It’s a computerized system that’s so smart, it could out-shift a professional racer, according to one Volkswagen spokesman.

While I tested the better engine package, the Eos comes standard with a four-cylinder engine and manual transmission also.

The convertible mechanism is a thing of beauty. As long as the Eos is stopped, one lever raises or lowers the top, sunroof and all, and folds it into the trunk in less than 30 seconds.

The Eos is also fast. 0-60 mph is well covered and (shh) so are 60-80 and beyond. The turbocharged engine performs amazingly well; stick your hand out the window in a Cali-style sloped motion if you need any visual help in that area. The car is just a pleasure to drive.

An onboard GPS navigation system is available to make sure your road trips don’t involve any more gas station stops than necessary. It’s built into the LCD on the dash and powered by DVD (by the way, there’s DVD too) so the system is constantly upgradeable.

One such upgrade-a partnership with Google Earth-is on the way, according to a VW press release.

Of course, AM/FM radio is included and satellite radio is an option that’s growing in popularity. This is powered by a 10-speaker Dynaudio sound system. A six-disc CD player in the armrest rounds off the audio/visual elements.

So those are the specifications and specifics. What makes the Eos better than any other sports car?

More importantly, what was it about the Eos that impressed an otherwise not easily-impressed media type?

As soon as I stepped into the driver’s seat, the Eos felt like it was mine.

It’s a hard feeling to describe. The smaller racing-style wheel and sleek racing pedals give the car an exciting edge. The side mirrors can be adjusted without looking away. The top comes up with a flick of the wrist. It comes in a variety of sexy colors. The seat was adjustable in a dozen different ways, including spinal support inward and outward; something swoon-worthy.

Basically, this car is actually comfortable to sit in and drive for several hours.

Think about that.

The whole concept of stretching legs was invented as a break in the otherwise uncomfortable long-form driving scenario. Here, it’s just not necessary.

The Volkswagen Eos is the ultimate cruising vehicle. It will seat four on your way to New England, Florida or California, no matter what season.

Skepticism resided, the Eos pleased me. It delivers. I just wish it was included in the “Three V-dubs for under $17,000″ campaign.

It starts around $27,000. The 3.2L is nicely equipped at $38,000.