travel photo cliches
Monday, March 2, 2009
must we say good-bye to the road trip?
Friday, July 4, 2008
I passed a herd of miniature asses yesterday.
No, really. I know that’s what they were because I saw miniature asses races at the State Fair of Texas one year. They’re cute little donkeys, they look like plush Eeyores, only happier. They were grazing in a big field under a blue, blue sky studded with cartoon clouds.
I was driving by on Texas highway 281, en route from Austin home. I was taking the back roads because Willy Nelson was having a big blowout at Carl’s Corner, on I-35, the main highway. So instead of coping with mind-numbing traffic, I was meandering through small towns, past "hay for sale--square or round bales" signs and roadside fireworks stands and occasionally someone selling peaches and watermelons from the back of a truck. (I should have stopped but that’s tough for me when I get moving.)
I had my mouth set on a Whataburger, but couldn’t find any on this highway so I finally opted for Dairy Queen and was enjoying a Hungr-Buster Junior and Raul Malo on the iPod when I passed those cute little miniature asses.
I don’t care what anyone says, nothing beats a road trip.
I understand that the road trip might lose favor as we become more cognizant of the damage our fuel guzzling ways have wrought, and as gas gets increasingly dear. (I was pleased to have filled up a $3.93 9/10 a gallon, the cheapest gas I saw all the way home, except for the $1.83 sign still up at a long-abandoned gas station. Funny how pennies differences matter to us in this context and no other.)
So I was bummed by this cranky op-ed Michael Paterniti. The New York Times asked several writers to reflect on the consequences, good and bad, of gas prices and a diatribe against the road trip was what Paterniti came up with.
It made me sad and annoyed because I don’t understand dichotomous thinking that says if the stay trip is good then the road trip is bad. I like them both. I have two favorite ways to vacation. One is a long road trip fueled by gummy bears, beef jerky and tunes. The other is a rental cottage or apartment, where I can settle in, learn a place in microcosm and pretend to be a local.
But the road trip is my true love. My first real trip was across the United States with two girlfriends in a baby blue Plymouth Duster. I then moved on to the Greyhound bus, an alternate form of road trip. Then, I got a car. (Yeah—I didn’t learn to drive until I was 19 years old and didn’t own a car until I was 22.)
Nothing, nothing, nothing is better than seeing the country in large scale and small (Texas plains and miniature asses) through a windshield, than singing along with the radio, than road food and road thoughts and, if you have companionship, road conversations. As the body wanders so does the mind.
My alternate route yesterday took two hours longer than the usual route (five hours instead of three) and admittedly, I was a crispy critter when I finally reached my own driveway. The drive also drank half a tank of gas, about $25 worth in my car. And it gave me a Yeti-sized carbon footprint for that one day.
So I understand that the road trip may be an American icon to be relegated to history. I understand that and I hate it and if I must give it up, will do so with deep sadness. When I am old—really old—I will sit in a rocking chair and reminisce about the days when I could just get in my car and go—looking for America and finding it.
Do you like my new business card?
No, really. I know that’s what they were because I saw miniature asses races at the State Fair of Texas one year. They’re cute little donkeys, they look like plush Eeyores, only happier. They were grazing in a big field under a blue, blue sky studded with cartoon clouds.
I was driving by on Texas highway 281, en route from Austin home. I was taking the back roads because Willy Nelson was having a big blowout at Carl’s Corner, on I-35, the main highway. So instead of coping with mind-numbing traffic, I was meandering through small towns, past "hay for sale--square or round bales" signs and roadside fireworks stands and occasionally someone selling peaches and watermelons from the back of a truck. (I should have stopped but that’s tough for me when I get moving.)
I had my mouth set on a Whataburger, but couldn’t find any on this highway so I finally opted for Dairy Queen and was enjoying a Hungr-Buster Junior and Raul Malo on the iPod when I passed those cute little miniature asses.
I don’t care what anyone says, nothing beats a road trip.
I understand that the road trip might lose favor as we become more cognizant of the damage our fuel guzzling ways have wrought, and as gas gets increasingly dear. (I was pleased to have filled up a $3.93 9/10 a gallon, the cheapest gas I saw all the way home, except for the $1.83 sign still up at a long-abandoned gas station. Funny how pennies differences matter to us in this context and no other.)
So I was bummed by this cranky op-ed Michael Paterniti. The New York Times asked several writers to reflect on the consequences, good and bad, of gas prices and a diatribe against the road trip was what Paterniti came up with.
It made me sad and annoyed because I don’t understand dichotomous thinking that says if the stay trip is good then the road trip is bad. I like them both. I have two favorite ways to vacation. One is a long road trip fueled by gummy bears, beef jerky and tunes. The other is a rental cottage or apartment, where I can settle in, learn a place in microcosm and pretend to be a local.
But the road trip is my true love. My first real trip was across the United States with two girlfriends in a baby blue Plymouth Duster. I then moved on to the Greyhound bus, an alternate form of road trip. Then, I got a car. (Yeah—I didn’t learn to drive until I was 19 years old and didn’t own a car until I was 22.)
Nothing, nothing, nothing is better than seeing the country in large scale and small (Texas plains and miniature asses) through a windshield, than singing along with the radio, than road food and road thoughts and, if you have companionship, road conversations. As the body wanders so does the mind.
My alternate route yesterday took two hours longer than the usual route (five hours instead of three) and admittedly, I was a crispy critter when I finally reached my own driveway. The drive also drank half a tank of gas, about $25 worth in my car. And it gave me a Yeti-sized carbon footprint for that one day.
So I understand that the road trip may be an American icon to be relegated to history. I understand that and I hate it and if I must give it up, will do so with deep sadness. When I am old—really old—I will sit in a rocking chair and reminisce about the days when I could just get in my car and go—looking for America and finding it.
Do you like my new business card?
Labels: air travel, news, road trip, texas
noel coward said it first
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Now that the price of flying is skyrocketing, will the world start getting larger again?
Will travel become less egalitarian than it has become in recent decades, as fewer people can afford to do it?
And would that be, necessarily, a bad thing?
Obviously, I’m a big advocate for travel and all its mind-broadening qualities. Nothing more effectively shows us our place in the world, nothing more effectively creates hands across the water than sending entire bodies across the water.
Theoretically.
But since travel got inexpensive and more and more people started seeing the world, it seems that rather than crossing the road to see what’s there, we have started expecting other places to provide amusements. With tourism one of the most powerful industries in the world, “destinations” (as we call them in the biz—a horrible word) are knocking themselves out to provide sights and experiences they think tourists want or need.
You know—lots of shopping. Luxury hotels. Spas. Theme parks.
The kind of stuff you can easily do close to home.
According to research by Amadeus, a travel technology firm, globalization is among the most important trends driving the hotel industry. Although smart companies respect cultural differences, consistency across brands will be key to customer loyalty.
In other words, we want to travel to see the world, but we don’t want things to be too different from what we know.
And according to the Travel Industry of America, the number one pastime for domestic travelers in America is…shopping.
In other words, never too many t-shirts, cheap sunglasses and tsotske.
I’m not entirely above it all. In India recently, I didn’t object to the familiar and solid comfort of a Marriott in Hyderabad. The bed was divine, the shower had pressure. All very nice. But still, not nearly as memorable as two Indian resorts at which I stayed, where the beds were hard and showering involved a bucket.
My souvenir t-shirt celebrating the world’s largest wind damper in Taipei 101, at the moment the world’s tallest building, is a prized possession. As is my Liberace refrigerator magnet. I’m a sucker for tourist gift shops and take pride in seeking out the cheesiest souvenirs I can find.
I’m also not above popping into what some might call tourist traps—I have fond memories of the live mermaid show Weeki Watchee Springs in Florida.
Again, however, I am a kitsch-seeking missile. I’m not interested in the Mall of America—unless I can get a Mall of America t-shirt.
Mostly, when I travel, it’s just to be someplace new and to see what’s there. Sometimes I am hard-pressed to sightsee because when I’m in a new place, the place itself is the sight I want to see. Supermarkets can be as fun as museums, parks as interesting as churches, people-watching as absorbing as photo taking.
I remember a meeting with Taiwanese tourism officials in which one talked about a place (I forget where) that was developing something (I forget what) to attract tourists. When I expressed an interest in seeing the place anyway, she shook her head. “There is nothing there for tourists,” she said.
Eh? If a place exists, there is something there for tourists. There is the place.
That is why I travel, anyway. To see different places for what they are.
With all due respect to the restless masses, I think it takes a sophisticated traveler to fully appreciate the there of somewhere else. And I wonder—if travel becomes harder to do, will traveling dabblers give up the effort and stick to their own malls, allowing the world to just be what it is instead of encouraging it--with dollars, yen and euros—to become what they want it to be?
Will travel become less egalitarian than it has become in recent decades, as fewer people can afford to do it?
And would that be, necessarily, a bad thing?
Obviously, I’m a big advocate for travel and all its mind-broadening qualities. Nothing more effectively shows us our place in the world, nothing more effectively creates hands across the water than sending entire bodies across the water.
Theoretically.
But since travel got inexpensive and more and more people started seeing the world, it seems that rather than crossing the road to see what’s there, we have started expecting other places to provide amusements. With tourism one of the most powerful industries in the world, “destinations” (as we call them in the biz—a horrible word) are knocking themselves out to provide sights and experiences they think tourists want or need.
You know—lots of shopping. Luxury hotels. Spas. Theme parks.
The kind of stuff you can easily do close to home.
According to research by Amadeus, a travel technology firm, globalization is among the most important trends driving the hotel industry. Although smart companies respect cultural differences, consistency across brands will be key to customer loyalty.
In other words, we want to travel to see the world, but we don’t want things to be too different from what we know.
And according to the Travel Industry of America, the number one pastime for domestic travelers in America is…shopping.
In other words, never too many t-shirts, cheap sunglasses and tsotske.
I’m not entirely above it all. In India recently, I didn’t object to the familiar and solid comfort of a Marriott in Hyderabad. The bed was divine, the shower had pressure. All very nice. But still, not nearly as memorable as two Indian resorts at which I stayed, where the beds were hard and showering involved a bucket.
My souvenir t-shirt celebrating the world’s largest wind damper in Taipei 101, at the moment the world’s tallest building, is a prized possession. As is my Liberace refrigerator magnet. I’m a sucker for tourist gift shops and take pride in seeking out the cheesiest souvenirs I can find. I’m also not above popping into what some might call tourist traps—I have fond memories of the live mermaid show Weeki Watchee Springs in Florida.
Again, however, I am a kitsch-seeking missile. I’m not interested in the Mall of America—unless I can get a Mall of America t-shirt.
Mostly, when I travel, it’s just to be someplace new and to see what’s there. Sometimes I am hard-pressed to sightsee because when I’m in a new place, the place itself is the sight I want to see. Supermarkets can be as fun as museums, parks as interesting as churches, people-watching as absorbing as photo taking.
I remember a meeting with Taiwanese tourism officials in which one talked about a place (I forget where) that was developing something (I forget what) to attract tourists. When I expressed an interest in seeing the place anyway, she shook her head. “There is nothing there for tourists,” she said.
Eh? If a place exists, there is something there for tourists. There is the place.
That is why I travel, anyway. To see different places for what they are.
With all due respect to the restless masses, I think it takes a sophisticated traveler to fully appreciate the there of somewhere else. And I wonder—if travel becomes harder to do, will traveling dabblers give up the effort and stick to their own malls, allowing the world to just be what it is instead of encouraging it--with dollars, yen and euros—to become what they want it to be?
Labels: air travel, elitism, tourism, travel
tom cruise, mosquitoes, stool sample
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
In the news today in India: Tom Cruise washes his hands for five minutes.
Well, yeah. I dislike Tom Cruise but not going to fault him for this hygiene habit. You want to be careful in India. Actually, you want to be careful everywhere. One of the worst nights I ever spent was after visiting a McDonald’s restroom in Memphis. Since then, I’ve become Cruise-ian about washing my hands.
Speaking of health and India, I’m still taking malaria pills. It looks like I have another two weeks to go. I’m kind of annoyed that the nurse I saw at the travel clinic, although she noticed and asked about the psoriasis on my hands, didn’t mention that these malaria pills exacerbate it. And boy, do they ever. Don’t look at me, I’m disgusting… (She didn’t know anything about medical travel to India, either, which casts doubts on her travel medicine knowledge, to my thinking.)
For a few days after I got home, I was pretty sure I had meningitis, despite the vaccine I got against it, because I had a stiff neck. But since I had no other symptoms, I concluded it was 24-hours-in-economy-classitis.
Happily, I returned from India healthy as when I left.
But now here’s a grim story in today’s DMN about a hardbody runner who was bitten by a mosquito on the one unprotected spot on her body (her face). She got West Nile Virus and will never be the same. The end.
Wow, that’s a picker-upper. Especially since she did just about everything right—but she wasn’t diagnosed quickly enough. Yikes.
And here’s a compelling quickie about how Americans’ fixation on happiness cuts us off from a full life. Rock on, fellow melancholic.
It brought to mind a maudlin short story I wrote for a high school creative writing class. It involved a talking dove and a sad old man. (The assignment was to use five specific words in a short story. I think “dove” was one of them. Also “stool” so the old man was sitting on a stool in the sunshine. I don’t remember the other words. I guess I could have gone in a whole different direction, what with "old man'" and "stool" but I don't know where the dove would have worked in...)
The story ends with the old man saying this: Yes, dove, I want to die. Not now, though. I have had a beginning and a middle to my life. I want to make the full circle. I have had happiness, love, joy. Now, left for the end, come loneliness and regret. Perhaps they are painful but I want to die with perfect symmetry to my life. For each joy, I want a sorrow. For each filled moment, I want a moment of loneliness. Is not a moment of loneliness just as fulfilling as one with companionship? I shall die eventually and I shall die happy with the knowledge that my life has lacked nothing. I want nothing from you now, Dove. Return to me and remind me of what I have said when Death is approaching and I am afraid.
Deep shit, eh? I got a good grade, anyway, and the teacher made me read it aloud in class.
Now, cheer up and Texans get out and vote. How exciting is this?
Well, yeah. I dislike Tom Cruise but not going to fault him for this hygiene habit. You want to be careful in India. Actually, you want to be careful everywhere. One of the worst nights I ever spent was after visiting a McDonald’s restroom in Memphis. Since then, I’ve become Cruise-ian about washing my hands.
Speaking of health and India, I’m still taking malaria pills. It looks like I have another two weeks to go. I’m kind of annoyed that the nurse I saw at the travel clinic, although she noticed and asked about the psoriasis on my hands, didn’t mention that these malaria pills exacerbate it. And boy, do they ever. Don’t look at me, I’m disgusting… (She didn’t know anything about medical travel to India, either, which casts doubts on her travel medicine knowledge, to my thinking.)
For a few days after I got home, I was pretty sure I had meningitis, despite the vaccine I got against it, because I had a stiff neck. But since I had no other symptoms, I concluded it was 24-hours-in-economy-classitis.
Happily, I returned from India healthy as when I left.
But now here’s a grim story in today’s DMN about a hardbody runner who was bitten by a mosquito on the one unprotected spot on her body (her face). She got West Nile Virus and will never be the same. The end.
Wow, that’s a picker-upper. Especially since she did just about everything right—but she wasn’t diagnosed quickly enough. Yikes.
And here’s a compelling quickie about how Americans’ fixation on happiness cuts us off from a full life. Rock on, fellow melancholic.
It brought to mind a maudlin short story I wrote for a high school creative writing class. It involved a talking dove and a sad old man. (The assignment was to use five specific words in a short story. I think “dove” was one of them. Also “stool” so the old man was sitting on a stool in the sunshine. I don’t remember the other words. I guess I could have gone in a whole different direction, what with "old man'" and "stool" but I don't know where the dove would have worked in...)
The story ends with the old man saying this: Yes, dove, I want to die. Not now, though. I have had a beginning and a middle to my life. I want to make the full circle. I have had happiness, love, joy. Now, left for the end, come loneliness and regret. Perhaps they are painful but I want to die with perfect symmetry to my life. For each joy, I want a sorrow. For each filled moment, I want a moment of loneliness. Is not a moment of loneliness just as fulfilling as one with companionship? I shall die eventually and I shall die happy with the knowledge that my life has lacked nothing. I want nothing from you now, Dove. Return to me and remind me of what I have said when Death is approaching and I am afraid.
Deep shit, eh? I got a good grade, anyway, and the teacher made me read it aloud in class.
Now, cheer up and Texans get out and vote. How exciting is this?
Labels: air travel, health, writing
i wish i could be surprised
Monday, February 25, 2008
Why did AA flight attendants twice deny this woman oxygen?
I fly a lot of airlines and find my hometown flight attendants least warm and helpful.
And another thing--why don't they offer juice and water periodically during long international flights, as most airlines do? Dehydration is a major reason one feels crappy after flying.
Give me British Airlines any day.
I fly a lot of airlines and find my hometown flight attendants least warm and helpful.
And another thing--why don't they offer juice and water periodically during long international flights, as most airlines do? Dehydration is a major reason one feels crappy after flying.
Give me British Airlines any day.
Labels: air travel, travel
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