Many Washingtonians are currently yearning to get out of Dodge, due to either the political or the natural climate. If you are one of the throngs, check out these new nonstop routes between DC and anywhere-but-here.
Gobble It Up
As a special Thanksgiving treat, Turkey is now on the menu for Washington, DC pilgrims who prefer their travel nonstop. Turkish Airlines is providing service from Washington Dulles to Istanbul four times a week starting on Saturday, November 6. The introductory one-way fare of $751 will be gobbled up fast, so book now.
Sunny Days
With Washington expected to be at loggerheads this winter, there's no better time to take off to the Caribbean. Between December 18 and April 30, Cayman Airways is bringing back twice-a-week nonstop service between Dulles and sunny Grand Cayman. Aside from the Caribbean beaches, you can visit one of the world's biggest turtle farms. No loggerheads there, just green sea chelonians. Book now and you'll only have to shell out $238 for a roundtrip ticket.
Ice, Ice, Baby
Want to go somewhere where the economy is worse than ours? Then Iceland may be your cup of tea. Icelandair begins its summer service from Dulles in May, 2011. Due to the low value of the Icelandic Krona, the country is a one hail of a deal...definitely one of the best bargains in Europe. Roundtrips to Reykjavik start as low as $429. Mind you, that's just the tip of the iceberg, as you have to add taxes and fees. But still, the trip can cost less than $700....a small chunk of change for high season travel.
The Daily Suitcase: A Travel Site Packed With News, Information and Punditry
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Germane to Germany
After you listen* to this segment on Berlin (@ 42 minutes in), and after you have read my earlier posts about Teutonic spa culture, you might be interested in heading to Germany. November and December are particularly festive months to go, as Christmas Markets, complete with nutcrackers, gluhwein, and lebkuchen, dot the country. Dresden hosts the country's oldest Christmas Market, Nuremberg hosts the most famous, and Berlin hosts, well, the most. The capital city hosts about 60 markets in various neighborhoods. And yes, Virginia, there's even a Hanukah Market (held in the courtyard of the new and acclaimed Jewish Museum).A few other notes for folks heading to Germany:
--Outside of the major cities, it can be difficult to use major credit cards. Many stores and restaurants don't accept plastic from non-European banks. So, bring cash.
--As I traveled through Saxony and Bavaria, I found still/flat bottled water hard to find. If you prefer your water non-carbonated, you may have to drink it from the tap (a perfectly safe option, by the by, although some waiters will look at you funny should you order it that way).
--If you want your hair to look smooth and shiny, BYO conditioner. I didn't find this amenity at any of the 12 hotels I visited during my recent trip.
*If the link takes you to the main page of the ATW website, go to the Archives for the 10/28 show.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
The Naked Truth: Undressed to the Neins Part II
The German spa experience is quite different from its American counterpart. Across the pond, it’s about taking the waters, relaxing, and invigorating all of one's senses (to wit, many German spas actually have concert halls where one can enjoy the sound of music in the quest to lower one's blood pressure. Quite civilized, that). Pampering and prissy treatments are verboten. Also, most spa facilities are not located within hotels or resorts, but are community centers for all who seek to unwind. 
That preamble out of the way, let us return to our tale of the Naked Spa of Bad Fussing. I am traveling with a quintet of women of a certain age, including a statuesque guide of German and French Guianan descent. Given her height, her exotic skin color, and her status as an ex-model, she diverts the attention of all wandering eyes. Therefore, I suppose she is also acting as our bodyguard. Ah, Isabelle, I shall always love you.
We enter a facility that seems somewhat antiseptic, like a sanitarium of yore…not to imply that I intimately know what a sanitarium of yore looks like. (This reminds me of a recent conversation with someone who had taken a tour of an insane asylum back when political correctness had not invaded our language. Said “tourist” mentioned her guide was a schizophrenic. To which I replied, “At least you got both sides of the story.”)
Apologies for the digression. I know you are probably sitting at the edge of your seat waiting for the Naked Spa story. And naked truth be told, we were sitting at the edges of our seats naked in the honey-baked sauna. But I get ahead of myself.
The first clue that something might be amiss was in the changing area. While our little group changed into our bloomers (swimsuits were required for the pool area), we noticed men...and children...walking right on by. Here we were, buck naked (ring a bell, Seinfeld fans?), and parades of Germans were marching past. Enjoy the cabaret, mein herrs.
To warm up, three of us took part in a water aerobics session, set to a tune that was a fusion of bad 1980s Euro-disco (I know, that's redundant) and an alpine yodel. Next, our intrepid quintet made its way to the sauna garden. There, Isabelle knocked up the Sauna Meister. Apparently, Sauna Meister is a full-time job in Germany ("...and what do you want to be when you grow up, little Helmut?"). The Sauna Meister gave us the skinny on Naked Spa activities (in the name of journalistic accuracy, I should mention that the facility was actually called Thermae I).
The first sticky situation reared its head as we entered the Honegspeeleng (the honey sauna). This was the point at which we fully realized we not only had to lose our outerwear, but our towel wraps as well. Frankly, there was no choice. With the sauna room packed cheek to cheek, it became quite apparent that we would poke out like sore thumbs (or something) if we remained clad.
Thus we sat, a co-ed group of 40 naked people, with nary a washboard ab in sight. Within minutes, the Sauna Meister cometh. For those trying to picture the scene (and please leave me out of it if you are), the Sauna Meister was not naked. Nor was he wearing a Speedo, so his status as a bearer of washboard abs is in question. No, it was a fully-clothed Sauna Meister who came in bearing pots of honey. He passed them out and everyone proceeded to slather themselves and their neighbor. Isabelle advised we naifs that the honey should not be rubbed on die scheide.
After the honey mixed with sauna-induced sweat, lo and beehold, we were all detoxified. After leaving the sauna, the next step was to cool off with a naked foot bath. I had the pleasure of taking mine next to an incessant hummer (to clarify for readers of the Urban Dictionary, please note that said man was merely singing without words).
As for the rest of the afternoon, we got naked again, yadda, yadda, yadda, and then we left the premises. Seriously, after being naked for so long, it blurs altogether.
Now, lest this scare you off a spa trip to Germany, be advised that all spas aren’t naked spas. In fact, at the next place we visited, the Wellness-Hotel Sonnegut in Bad Birnbach, swimsuits were de rigueur. And interestingly enough, the bodies in those swimsuits were much more fit than the naked bodies at Thermae 1 (not that I was looking, mind you). Go figure.
That preamble out of the way, let us return to our tale of the Naked Spa of Bad Fussing. I am traveling with a quintet of women of a certain age, including a statuesque guide of German and French Guianan descent. Given her height, her exotic skin color, and her status as an ex-model, she diverts the attention of all wandering eyes. Therefore, I suppose she is also acting as our bodyguard. Ah, Isabelle, I shall always love you.
We enter a facility that seems somewhat antiseptic, like a sanitarium of yore…not to imply that I intimately know what a sanitarium of yore looks like. (This reminds me of a recent conversation with someone who had taken a tour of an insane asylum back when political correctness had not invaded our language. Said “tourist” mentioned her guide was a schizophrenic. To which I replied, “At least you got both sides of the story.”)
Apologies for the digression. I know you are probably sitting at the edge of your seat waiting for the Naked Spa story. And naked truth be told, we were sitting at the edges of our seats naked in the honey-baked sauna. But I get ahead of myself.
The first clue that something might be amiss was in the changing area. While our little group changed into our bloomers (swimsuits were required for the pool area), we noticed men...and children...walking right on by. Here we were, buck naked (ring a bell, Seinfeld fans?), and parades of Germans were marching past. Enjoy the cabaret, mein herrs.
To warm up, three of us took part in a water aerobics session, set to a tune that was a fusion of bad 1980s Euro-disco (I know, that's redundant) and an alpine yodel. Next, our intrepid quintet made its way to the sauna garden. There, Isabelle knocked up the Sauna Meister. Apparently, Sauna Meister is a full-time job in Germany ("...and what do you want to be when you grow up, little Helmut?"). The Sauna Meister gave us the skinny on Naked Spa activities (in the name of journalistic accuracy, I should mention that the facility was actually called Thermae I).
The first sticky situation reared its head as we entered the Honegspeeleng (the honey sauna). This was the point at which we fully realized we not only had to lose our outerwear, but our towel wraps as well. Frankly, there was no choice. With the sauna room packed cheek to cheek, it became quite apparent that we would poke out like sore thumbs (or something) if we remained clad.
Thus we sat, a co-ed group of 40 naked people, with nary a washboard ab in sight. Within minutes, the Sauna Meister cometh. For those trying to picture the scene (and please leave me out of it if you are), the Sauna Meister was not naked. Nor was he wearing a Speedo, so his status as a bearer of washboard abs is in question. No, it was a fully-clothed Sauna Meister who came in bearing pots of honey. He passed them out and everyone proceeded to slather themselves and their neighbor. Isabelle advised we naifs that the honey should not be rubbed on die scheide.
After the honey mixed with sauna-induced sweat, lo and beehold, we were all detoxified. After leaving the sauna, the next step was to cool off with a naked foot bath. I had the pleasure of taking mine next to an incessant hummer (to clarify for readers of the Urban Dictionary, please note that said man was merely singing without words).
As for the rest of the afternoon, we got naked again, yadda, yadda, yadda, and then we left the premises. Seriously, after being naked for so long, it blurs altogether.
Now, lest this scare you off a spa trip to Germany, be advised that all spas aren’t naked spas. In fact, at the next place we visited, the Wellness-Hotel Sonnegut in Bad Birnbach, swimsuits were de rigueur. And interestingly enough, the bodies in those swimsuits were much more fit than the naked bodies at Thermae 1 (not that I was looking, mind you). Go figure.
Monday, October 18, 2010
The Naked Truth: Undressed to the Neins-Part 1
In retrospect, it all started with a conversation I had two days before leaving for Germany. During said conversation, a friend revealed a secret past that included a nude streak in some California canyons back in the late 1960s (you know, the Age of Aquarius). As a member of a slightly younger and more prudish generation, this revelation left me feeling a bit disconcerted. Little did I know that just weeks later, I would be the one letting my hair down and letting the sunshine in (so to speak).
The foreshadowing began in Berlin. As I was on a mission to investigate the remnants of the Cold War in the once divided city, I visited the DDR Museum, devoted to all things East Germany (DDR is short for the Orwellian Deutsche Demokratische Republik).
Among the exhibits was one on naked tourism. Yep, those East Germans may not have had any political freedom, but they sure let it all hang out on vacation. The exhibit was marked by what Americans would deem illicit photos (full frontal images of an unclad Mom and Dad swinging bare naked Junior through the sea) and a lovely diorama depicting all of the things East Germans did on nude beaches (I will spare you the details).
The next harbinger of things to come happened in Bad Kissingen, when I was given a rubdown with hot, oily balls by Stefan, a masseur half my age (you do the math). Mind you, I've been kneaded by many a male massage therapist, including Dan the Man the Romanian Rubber and Bud Light. But the combination of Stefan's youthful appearance and the lack of a modesty towel or sheet did give me pause.
But my dalliance with Stefan rated a mere PG-13 when compared to what happened in Bad Fussing. Now, normally, what happens in Bad Fussing stays in Bad Fussing. But this tale is too good not to bare.
To Be Continued...
The foreshadowing began in Berlin. As I was on a mission to investigate the remnants of the Cold War in the once divided city, I visited the DDR Museum, devoted to all things East Germany (DDR is short for the Orwellian Deutsche Demokratische Republik).
Among the exhibits was one on naked tourism. Yep, those East Germans may not have had any political freedom, but they sure let it all hang out on vacation. The exhibit was marked by what Americans would deem illicit photos (full frontal images of an unclad Mom and Dad swinging bare naked Junior through the sea) and a lovely diorama depicting all of the things East Germans did on nude beaches (I will spare you the details).The next harbinger of things to come happened in Bad Kissingen, when I was given a rubdown with hot, oily balls by Stefan, a masseur half my age (you do the math). Mind you, I've been kneaded by many a male massage therapist, including Dan the Man the Romanian Rubber and Bud Light. But the combination of Stefan's youthful appearance and the lack of a modesty towel or sheet did give me pause.
But my dalliance with Stefan rated a mere PG-13 when compared to what happened in Bad Fussing. Now, normally, what happens in Bad Fussing stays in Bad Fussing. But this tale is too good not to bare.
To Be Continued...
Monday, September 27, 2010
Great Vacation Ideas
Pondering where to go on your next adventure? U.S. News offers advice from top travel pros, including me. Bon voyage.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
A Soap Opera Bar None
I haven’t bought a bar of soap in years. No lye. No, I don’t stink (I think), and no, to beat any snarky commentators to le punch, I am not French. Nor have I had my sweat glands removed or Botox-ified.
Rather, my name is Laura and I am a soap-oholic. Or to be more specific, I have a zest for checking out with hotel soap. There’s nothing that can safeguard those pristine bars from my little paws. And yes, sometimes I do coast by the unattended housekeeper’s cart and lift a hunk or two. I can’t help myself. Those little pieces of wrapped ivory are as tempting to me as the ebony washboard abs of the new Old Spice Man.
Now, mind you, I am particular. I don’t do Cashmere Bouquet nor other tiny soaps exsiccated to the point of flakiness (you know, the ones that seem to be de rigueur at chintzy hotels worldwide). Nor do I pry the ever-more-present (green) soap dispenser from the wall. But dial me up a lovey-dovey bar of Gilchrist and Soames, Crabtree & Evelyn, Caswell-Massey (so many soap names seem to come in pears**), and other lux brands, and I’m in a lather. And if I stumble upon Hermes or Kiehl’s (the former stocked in a mere two dozen American hotels; the latter in fewer than 10)…well, that‘s a rarity in life, buoy or buoy.
I used to be addicted to hotel shampoos and lotions, too. (I have never had much use for bath gel, which, although soap in definition, doesn’t meet my bar). But now that one’s liquids are on full frontal display at security, well, it’s simply not suave to have one’s one-quart plastic bag stuffed with dozens of two-ounce elixirs. Even when traveling with a checked bag, the notion of lotion caressing one’s DWF wrap dress leaves me feeling unctuous. So, clearly, I have been cured of my liquid predilection. Olay.* But, alas, I believe my soap opera is to be continued.
*In the name of full disclosure, I must parenthetically add, dear reader, that yours truly was once a spokesmodel for the Olay brand.
**For the soap-pun challenged, please note that all misspellings are intentional.
Rather, my name is Laura and I am a soap-oholic. Or to be more specific, I have a zest for checking out with hotel soap. There’s nothing that can safeguard those pristine bars from my little paws. And yes, sometimes I do coast by the unattended housekeeper’s cart and lift a hunk or two. I can’t help myself. Those little pieces of wrapped ivory are as tempting to me as the ebony washboard abs of the new Old Spice Man.
Now, mind you, I am particular. I don’t do Cashmere Bouquet nor other tiny soaps exsiccated to the point of flakiness (you know, the ones that seem to be de rigueur at chintzy hotels worldwide). Nor do I pry the ever-more-present (green) soap dispenser from the wall. But dial me up a lovey-dovey bar of Gilchrist and Soames, Crabtree & Evelyn, Caswell-Massey (so many soap names seem to come in pears**), and other lux brands, and I’m in a lather. And if I stumble upon Hermes or Kiehl’s (the former stocked in a mere two dozen American hotels; the latter in fewer than 10)…well, that‘s a rarity in life, buoy or buoy.
I used to be addicted to hotel shampoos and lotions, too. (I have never had much use for bath gel, which, although soap in definition, doesn’t meet my bar). But now that one’s liquids are on full frontal display at security, well, it’s simply not suave to have one’s one-quart plastic bag stuffed with dozens of two-ounce elixirs. Even when traveling with a checked bag, the notion of lotion caressing one’s DWF wrap dress leaves me feeling unctuous. So, clearly, I have been cured of my liquid predilection. Olay.* But, alas, I believe my soap opera is to be continued.
*In the name of full disclosure, I must parenthetically add, dear reader, that yours truly was once a spokesmodel for the Olay brand.
**For the soap-pun challenged, please note that all misspellings are intentional.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Let's Make A Deal/Exchanging Your Home
For those of you who listened in today on Morning Living on Martha Stewart's Sirius radio channel, this is for you. Hope you enjoyed the segment.
The home exchange concept started in the 1950s. That's when some teachers, faced with free summers and low salaries, figured out this way to travel far and wide without spending a fortune. Two current exchange companies, Homelink and Intervac, date back to that decade.
To describe what home exchange is, it is first necessary to discuss what it is not. It’s not a homestay, where you reside with a family. It’s not a home rental, where you pay to stay at someone’s abode. And it’s not couch surfing, that favorite activity among international budget travelers. Instead, home exchange is a trust-based transaction, where two dwellings are swapped without payment for a mutually-agreed upon period of time.
If you don't have friends living in desirable vacation destinations, your best bet for home exchange is signing up with an international agency. Most are now online. When looking for an online agency, though, do consider its history, references, mentions in newspaper and magazine articles, and its number of members (the more members, the more flexible the exchange). Most of the big guys charge a subscription fee in the neighborhood of $100 a year. For that C-note, you’ll get access to an online directory complete with comprehensive listings of who wants to exchange what, where and when. Beyond the home, the exchange may even include pets and cars (that is, if both parties agree).
(You can also “house swap” via Craigslist, but that can be more of a crapshoot (as it is when responding to any Craigslist listing). Potential exchangers on Craigslist also tend to be very specific about their desired destinations).
When listing your home on most sites, you will be asked to describe its features, your guest requirements (kids/no kids; maximum number of guests, etc.), local attractions in your area, and other matters that may make your house unique and interesting to out-of-towners. Photos are also a requirement.
Once you pick your exchangee, the online agency wanders out of the picture, leaving the two of you to discuss the exchange between yourselves. When you are talking, ask about anything that may be an issue. If you are allergic to smoke, down, or pet hair, ask about it. If you don’t drive and need to be by public transportation, ask about it. If you are a clean freak and need to take six showers a day, ask if that will be okay.
When you are planning an exchange, it’s generally best to start at least six months out, particularly if you are looking to travel to a desirable vacation destination during peak season. Note that Australians and New Zealanders like to set up their exchanges about a year ahead of time, in order to get cheaper overseas airfares. So, if you want to trade Down Under, work it out far ahead, mate. Similarly, if you want to be somewhere for a special event, say, London during the 2012 Olympics, start arranging things this very minute.
That said, there are also opportunities for last-minute rentals. The aforementioned CraigsList is a last-minute option. And many agencies do send members shortlists for 11th hour exchanges.
Speaking of lists, let's consider one. Here are some pros and cons of home exchange versus a standard hotel vacation.
Pros:
The home exchange concept started in the 1950s. That's when some teachers, faced with free summers and low salaries, figured out this way to travel far and wide without spending a fortune. Two current exchange companies, Homelink and Intervac, date back to that decade.
To describe what home exchange is, it is first necessary to discuss what it is not. It’s not a homestay, where you reside with a family. It’s not a home rental, where you pay to stay at someone’s abode. And it’s not couch surfing, that favorite activity among international budget travelers. Instead, home exchange is a trust-based transaction, where two dwellings are swapped without payment for a mutually-agreed upon period of time.
If you don't have friends living in desirable vacation destinations, your best bet for home exchange is signing up with an international agency. Most are now online. When looking for an online agency, though, do consider its history, references, mentions in newspaper and magazine articles, and its number of members (the more members, the more flexible the exchange). Most of the big guys charge a subscription fee in the neighborhood of $100 a year. For that C-note, you’ll get access to an online directory complete with comprehensive listings of who wants to exchange what, where and when. Beyond the home, the exchange may even include pets and cars (that is, if both parties agree).
(You can also “house swap” via Craigslist, but that can be more of a crapshoot (as it is when responding to any Craigslist listing). Potential exchangers on Craigslist also tend to be very specific about their desired destinations).
When listing your home on most sites, you will be asked to describe its features, your guest requirements (kids/no kids; maximum number of guests, etc.), local attractions in your area, and other matters that may make your house unique and interesting to out-of-towners. Photos are also a requirement.
Once you pick your exchangee, the online agency wanders out of the picture, leaving the two of you to discuss the exchange between yourselves. When you are talking, ask about anything that may be an issue. If you are allergic to smoke, down, or pet hair, ask about it. If you don’t drive and need to be by public transportation, ask about it. If you are a clean freak and need to take six showers a day, ask if that will be okay.
When you are planning an exchange, it’s generally best to start at least six months out, particularly if you are looking to travel to a desirable vacation destination during peak season. Note that Australians and New Zealanders like to set up their exchanges about a year ahead of time, in order to get cheaper overseas airfares. So, if you want to trade Down Under, work it out far ahead, mate. Similarly, if you want to be somewhere for a special event, say, London during the 2012 Olympics, start arranging things this very minute.
That said, there are also opportunities for last-minute rentals. The aforementioned CraigsList is a last-minute option. And many agencies do send members shortlists for 11th hour exchanges.
Speaking of lists, let's consider one. Here are some pros and cons of home exchange versus a standard hotel vacation.
Pros:
- It's cheaper.
- You get more of a feeling of living in the place.
- There's more room.
- You can probably pack less, particularly if you are traveling with kids, since the exchange might include games, toys, and other items you would otherwise have to bring along.
- Someone will be occupying your home when you are away.
Cons:
- There's a huge trust factor. If you are paranoid, forget about it.
- There's no hotel staff (housekeepers, bellmen, concierges) upon which to rely.
- You have to clean your home before going on vacation.
- You have to clean your vacation home before going back.
- Choice of exchange destinations may be limited.
General Tips:
1. Put terms of exchange in writing.
2. Buy trip cancellation insurance.
3. Find exchangers with similar lifestyles.
4. Start looking at least six months in advance if you plan to exchange during peak seasons.
5. Consider local standards. An average house in Sofia, Bulgaria may be quite different from an average home in Manhattan.
Questions to Ask:
1. Are there pets? If so, and even if the pets are not going to be in the home while you are there, consider allergies for cat hair, etc.
2. Are you actually exchanging pets? If so, what is the care regimen?
3. Does the house smell? Ask this question gently. But do remember that scents like smoke get engrained over time, and often are forgotten by the residents. Similarly, if the home cook likes to use onions or pepper on a frequent basis, the aroma in the kitchen may reflect that.
4. Ask about the car exchange. If you do exchange cars, make sure yours works, and that insurance covers guest drivers.
5. If your exchangees are traveling with kids, find out how old (messy) they are.
Things to Do for Visitors:
1. Leave a complete list of instructions for operating appliances, television sets and other equipment that normally comes from the store with a manual.
2. Leave local contacts/neighbors, etc. and emergency numbers.
3. Make a list of stores and attractions in the area.
4. Provide a welcome goodie, perhaps a bottle of wine (and corkscrew) and a snack plate.
5. Stock the refrigerator with a few general provisions (butter, eggs, soda) to get guests going.
6. Let guests know what they have access to (bikes, certain dishes, computers, etc.) If you want to guarantee non-use, put off-limits items in a separate locked room.
7. Set house rules.
8. Arrange for a family member, neighbor or friend to come by and welcome your exchange partners when they arrive.
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