July 1, 2009 A Royal Encounter

When traveling for work I'm usually given an itinerary for the trip-typically a list of places to visit, hotels to check out, and things to do suggested by local tourism reps. On a trip to England this June, however, there was something a little different on the schedule. There, in the middle of Day 2, was this instruction: "Travel to Buckingham Palace. Tea with HRH the Duke of Edinburgh." Naturally, my mind when to the most obvious question-"What am I going to wear?!"-quickly followed by the second: "Huh?"

It turned out that VisitBritain, the nation's tourism board, was putting together a media tour in which 70 travel writers and broadcasters from around the world would check out some of the latest happenings in London, then fan out to explore various parts of the kingdom. As part of the event, the Duke (AKA Prince Philip, AKA The Queen's Husband) would meet with us at the Palace, on what it turned out was his 88th birthday. In advance, we were given just a few instructions: No cameras. Turn off cell phones. Wear business attire. Oh, and no need to curtsey or bow.

The day itself started out as a bit if a spectacle, with us media all piling on to a couple of Routemasters buses (the now-retired red, double-decker ones) and pulling in through the gates of Buckingham Palace, much to the surprise of the gathered tourists. After showing our passports and getting checked off a security list-by, I have to say, the most polite security team ever-we all trouped in past the arches, through a courtyard and into the main hall. The Beefeater guards, of course, didn't even flinch.

Inside, we were greeted by various officials, then split up to take a guided tour of the State Apartments, the coterie of public rooms where the Royal Family holds events and receives guests (including, recently, the Obamas). We traipsed past exquisite paintings by masters like Rembrandt and Rubens and portraits of kings and queens past, thrilled by the fact that, unlike in a museum, these were all collected by people who once lived in this house. (These apartments are actually open to the public for a few weeks a year, when the Royal Family goes to Scotland for the summer; for details visit www.royalcollection.org.uk.) Then it was time for tea-Twinings Earl Grey, served in simple china emblazoned with Queen Elizabeth's insignia and accompanied by plates of delicious shortbread biscuits from Prince Charles' company, Duchy Originals. We gathered in small groups and chatted until, at exactly the appointed hour, the Duke appeared.

The actual royal encounter was short and sweet: When he got to our group he shook each person's hand, asked our names and where we were from (it was fun to say the words, "New York, Your Royal Highness,") then made small talk about traffic, big cities, polo and traveling. He seemed a bit stunned when someone wished him "Happy Birthday" (turns out he doesn't like to acknowledge it-something our protocol briefing didn't mention), but otherwise, any international incidents were averted. Mainly, I came away impressed with how the Duke patiently made a connection with each person and how deftly he makes small talk (which, I guess, is kind of his job). Afterwards we found out that this was just one of several meet-and-greets he had that day-pretty impressive at any age.

- Sandra Ramani

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June 2, 2009 The Bag-Go Round

I try my best to only travel with a carry-on, mainly to avoid paying the $15 domestic luggage check-in fee (which should be repealed now that fuel prices have dropped). On a recent trip from Miami to Turks & Caicos—a direct, one-hour flight—I was persuaded by an enthusiastic American Airlines curbside attendant that checking-in would be easier; it's free for international travel, he reminded me, plus the distances (and constant construction detours) of the Miami Airport would be easier to navigate without extra baggage. So I gave him my little suitcase, but somehow in his eagerness, Mr. Attendant switched my bag tag with that of another traveler, one who was going to Washington, D.C.

Of course, I didn't know this until I arrived at my destination, minus luggage. And so began a three-day ordeal of internet searches and constant phone calls to the airline, both at the local airport and through their 800-number. Luckily, I had a determined team from my hotel—the excellent Regent Palms Turks & Caicos—helping me in my quest, but that often just meant that four people were frustrated instead of only me. Have you ever lost your luggage, and if so, was anyone able to give you a straight, informed answer about what was going on? We had some people tell us the bag had traveled to a bunch of different cities, while others admitted that bags don't even get scanned until they "arrive" somewhere, which meant mine could still be sitting in the bowels of the Miami Airport. Info never got updated in their system, and they were never able to reach an actual human at the airports themselves. Meanwhile, we were also trying to track down the person who my tag got switched with—let's call her Nancy— to see if she had maybe picked up my stuff. (It turned out she worked for the government in Washington—thanks, Google!—and had somehow received her correct bag.) It would have all been comical, had I not been stuck wearing my airplane outfit of jeans, long-sleeved tee and tennis shoes for days, watching from my room as all the other guests lazed around the pool and took dips in the warm, blue-green ocean.

Finally, and thankfully, my bag did arrive, covered in tags from Miami, DC and, randomly, JFK. (It also had Nancy's name on it, of course.) While I was happy to be reunited with my bathing suit, the whole thing made me think about the utter disorganization of the bag-handling system. For this we pay $15? I'd rather save up for a GPS.

- Sandra Ramani

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May 6, 2009 Making Friends Mile High

You know the feeling: Pre-takeoff there's any empty seat next to you on the plane, so you sit there crossing your fingers, avoiding eye contact and silently repeating "Keep on moving!" as other passengers make their way down the aisle. Along with the luxury of having more space, being seat mate-less also increases your chances of a peaceful flight. It's a buffer, if you will, from some of the major annoyances up there in the (formerly) friendly skies—like overly-chatty travelers who pepper you with personal questions or undertake a flight-long monologue. For most of us, dealing with this species can be tricky: ignoring them and putting on headphones just seems rude, while engaging them can mean saying bye-bye to the prospect of a nap.

I fear, however, that the fear of getting trapped next to one of these talkative fliers has given in-flight socializing a bad name. While the majority of time I still hope the seat next to me is empty, a couple of recent experiences have made me re-think my seat-mate prejudice. On a flight from Cambodia to Thailand, a fellow American seated near me struck up a conversation and, over the next few hours, I got to know a really inspiring woman; a grandmother and cancer survivor, she was backpacking by herself through Asia—a lifelong dream—and experienced everything with an infectious enthusiasm. On a domestic flight this spring, the groan I stifled when the passenger next to me asked, "So, where are you from?" morphed into a fascinating two-hour conversation about everything from protest marches in 1960s Berkeley to major life and career changes.

If it's true that most people are more honest with strangers, then maybe your next new friend will turn out to be the person buckling in to seat 15B. Until then, we'd love to hear some of your favorite fellow-passenger encounters, positive or not!

- Sandra Ramani

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April 3, 2009 Life's A Suitcase

In the last few years, most major hotels have stepped up their game when it comes to in-room facilities, so much so that things like IPod docks, high-tech lighting systems and mini-flatscreen TVs in the bathrooms have become common touches. So it was pretty exciting when, on a recent trip to China, my hotel room at the Park Hyatt Shanghai came with the coolest, most unexpected item of all: the toilet of the future.

Now, I've seen my fair share of bidet-style potties, but it's normally not something I spend a lot of time thinking about (or where I want to spend a lot of time, period.) But this state-of-the-art john—the Rolls Royce of toilets, if you will—was something else. First of all, it was placed in own separate room with a sink, away from the main bathing area. When you enter the room, the toilet lid automatically raises as you approach, thanks to a motion sensor in its base. (Though only the lid rises automatically, you can also have it raise and lower the seat, ensuring relationship harmony for the duration of your stay.) In addition to a heated seat—a nice touch on a cold night—there are a few buttons above the paper dispenser that activate gentle, cleansing sprays of water in various directions, and even an oscillating drier. It's more that you ever would have thought you'd want from a toilet—but very easy to get used to once you try it.

So intrigued was I by this contraption that I did a little investigating and found out that the 21st century throne is actually not from China at all, but is in fact by renowned Japanese company Toto, who make a range of high-end bathroom gear, from showers to flush valves. Surfing their US website, I saw that Toto's toilets (say that 5 times fast) come in models with names like "Promenade", "Aquia" and, strangely, "Gwyneth", and boast such features as "Double Cyclone" and "WaterSense", whatever that means. In any case, I didn't see the Shanghai version listed on the US site, so I guess this is just one more example of how China is beating us to the future. It's been said that the revolution starts at home—but no one said in what room.

- Sandra Ramani

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January 20, 2008 Life's A Suitcase

One of my favorite things about traveling is the perspective it can give you on life back home. Even something as simple as a long-weekend getaway to the next town over can give you enough distance to see things—be it a work problem or larger "what's life about?" musings—in a whole new light, and for me, traveling outside of America so frequently has also afforded the chance to get some insight on my country. Yeah, part of that is political—I'd be lying if I said I haven't been forced into a few heated conversations over the last eight years—but for the most part it's been really cool to see how similar people are around the world, and get a feel for America's place in it.

At no time was this more fascinating that in the weeks leading up to the Presidential election. Traveling through Asia in October, I felt as connected to the campaign happenings as if I'd been in New York. It's what everyone was talking about, from the rickshaw driver in Cambodia who excitedly greeted me with "Obama!" and a thumbs up, to the Australian hotel manager in Malaysia who peppered me with questions on our electoral process—including such stumpers as "Why is the election on a Tuesday?" (I had to look it up.) In Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia's capital, I had the chance to meet some travelers from Iran, where access to foreign Internet sites is often restricted and the government has denounced coverage of Western celebrities. Imagine my surprise when these travelers knew not only all about Sarah Palin and her daughters, but also that Tina Fey was playing the Governor on "Saturday Night Live."

On Election Day itself I was in Sabah on the island of Borneo, off the coast of Malaysia. Being a half a day ahead of the U.S., it was already Wednesday late-morning for us before reports started trickling in from the polls. "Any news?" people kept asking my colleagues and I, and seeing how eager they were to hear the results really drove home how what happens in America affects the rest of the world. Finally, as we stood on a dock in the middle of the South China Sea, my friend's Blackberry tweeted with the news, and we rushed back to the hotel to join the crowd gathered around the business center television to watch the speeches. Later that night, the restaurant staff surprised us at dinner with champagne and a cake adorned with the American flag. We may not have been celebrating with the crowds back home, but for a moment that beachside table in Borneo was our own little Grant Park.

- Sandra Ramani

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December 9, 2008 The Tuk-Tuk Tussle

On a recent work trip through Thailand, I found myself with a day off in Chiang Mai—and with a friend in town with whom I could spend it. Located in northern Thailand, Chiang Mai is known for its great regional food, unique cultural attractions and bustling markets filled with locally-made crafts and products (it's considered the craft center of the country), so we were excited to have the time to get a feel for the place. On the way into town, we had both also heard about the famous craft workshops / factories located outside of the city center, where artisans create everything from textiles to ceramics, lacquer and woodwork, so visiting those was on our list, as well--if there was time. What we hadn't counted on, however, was the Tuk-Tuk Tussle.

Like most major cities, Chiang Mai has its pushy cab driver and tour guide contingent; the only difference is that here, they're riding around in tuk-tuks, charming motorcycle-fronted, open-sided pedi-cabs. Within seconds of stepping into the center of town, my friend and I were approached by one such aggressive gentleman peddling trips to the factories, but we managed to put him off, popping instead into roadside stalls to check out some of the famous woven work done by the area's hill tribes. But unfortunately, we weren't so strong later on: After wandering around in the dusty heat for an hour or so, we were feeling a little wilted, so when the tenth tuk-tuk driver approached us he caught us in a weakened state. We explained that we wanted to focus on the town, and he readily agreed to take us around the historic center. "We see the old town and markets," he explained. "Then after, factories." For a four-hour booking, he quoted us about $3. We climbed aboard.

You know how there's no such thing as a free lunch? Add cheap, motive-free tour guides to that list. Within minutes, it became clear that Mr. Tuk-Tuk had other things in mind for us, as he drove at break-neck speed past many of the notable sites. "That's Tha Phae Gate," he waved as be whizzed by the old city wall, "and that's a temple." "Are we going to stop anywhere?" we kept asking, are we craned our necks for a glimpse of the attractions. But he kept driving, and after a quick circle around the center, seemed to feel we were done. "Factories now?" he asked, visions of siestas and kickbacks clearly dancing in his head.

And so began the negotiations. We asked to actually enter the old town; he did a quick drive, then shot back with, "Factories? Now factories?" "Later!" we kept crying. After repeated entreaties directed to the back of his chair (covered, oddly, with stickers for shooting ranges), he finally relented and pulled over to local flea market we'd spotted—then grumbled about how we kept him waiting for 10 minutes. Questions like "What's the hurry?" and "Aren't we paying for your time?" fell on deaf ears. At one point, when we briefly got out to take a photo of a temple, I'm pretty sure he tried to ditch us.

Finally, we gave in and headed for the factories—which turned out to be large, commercial, over-priced traps geared towards the tour bus crowds. It was interesting to see some of the artisan demonstrations (though I could have done without seeing silk worms being boiled alive!), but it all lacked the authenticity we were looking for. "We want local places, where they are actually making the stuff " we kept telling Mr. Tuk-Tuk and anyone else we met, but sadly, this is what they thought all visitors wanted to see. "You don't want to go there", our man said about one small place we passed on the way back to town. "It's very expen-cheap." Like the rest of the afternoon, we chalked that exchange up to Lost in Translation.

Thankfully, our trip ended up being quite successful, shopping-wise; the next day, as we drove up north, our hotel-based driver took us to many of the real workshops and we picked up beautiful fabrics and celadon pottery. But I'm hoping to get back to Chiang Mai town sometime soon—that gate really did look pretty.

- Sandra Ramani

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November 1, 2008 From Take-Off to Bottoms-Up

"Ladies and gentlemen, I just wanted to let you know that there is no more alcohol left on this plane. You have drunk us dry. And on a related note, both the lavatories on board are full, so there will be no going to the bathroom until we land in 40 minutes. Enjoy!"

Okay, so this isn't exactly how the airline steward made his announcement, but it is precisely what happened on a flight I took earlier this summer from New York to—I'll give you one guess—Las Vegas (bingo!) Let me back up: To celebrate the launch of ThrillList's new Vegas newsletter, the manly website (they're like a guy's Daily Candy) teamed up with JetBlue to host a whirlwind 36-hour jaunt to Sin City. On board were a number of media folk, ThrillList and JetBlue staff and reps from a wide array of sponsors, from J-Date and Alka-Seltzer to Skyy Vodka and Dos Equis beer. (And a psychic, but more on her later.) The party started immediately at the gate in New York, where a tuxedo'd guy crooned Sinatra while leggy, scantily-clad showgirls staggered around under the weight of giant headdresses. I'm sure the passengers heading to Orlando were very jealous.

In the grand tradition of booze cruises, almost immediately after take-off this became a party plane. As passengers stood chatting in the aisles and perched on arm rests to schmooze with other fliers, the hard-working attendants squeezed between the crowds to refill complimentary glasses of vodka and beer. (Imagine your local bar on a Friday night....then pack it into a metal tube and hurdle it through space at 35,000 feet.) There were raffles and prize giveaways conducted over the PA, and we got to test out JetBlue's new on-board Wi-Fi-service, which works with select laptops and Blackberrys (sidenote: sending email from the sky was definitely cool, but I'm not looking forward to the barrage of "Hey, I'm emailing you from the plane!!" messages that are sure to come once this service takes off.) You could also make an appointment with the resident psychic, a nice lady who read your tarot cards and stuck colored stickers on you from her "office" in Seat 1D.

And, of course, there was the drinking. Which led to the wiping out of the bar stock, the blocking of the bathrooms, and that now-legendary announcement by the flight attendant. But in fact, it was the positive attitude of the JetBlue crew—amused, accommodating but stern when they needed to be—that made the whole thing more entertaining than annoying. They frequently took to the airwaves with a jovial comment or two, and when we finally landed, the pilot welcomed us to Vegas by saying "Local time: Party time." (Seriously.) But best of all was the hilariously deadpan parting shot from our poor beleaguered steward: "Thank you for flying JetBlue," he said. "We look forward to seeing you on a future flight." Pause. "Well, I don't look forward to seeing you personally, ever again, but you know what I mean."

I did. And I really meant to stop and say thanks to him as we de-planed, too, but I had to make a mad dash for the bathroom.

- Sandra Ramani

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August 18, 2008 "Idol" Tripping

With long airport lines, extra baggage fees and inconsistent security rules (seriously, just pick one: shoes on or off?), it's easy these days to forget about the romance of travelling—the excitement of meeting people, having new experiences, and coming back with a cool souvenir. So for our first monthly travel column (welcome!), I turned to some folks who are currently enjoying the thrill of the open road--this year's American Idol Top 10, whose 49-city tour ends September 14—to get their take on all things travel.

Right off the bat, I learned that celebrities are just like us: they over pack. "I packed a whole bunch of stuff I'm never going to wear," admits Number 10, Chikeze Eze. "A lot of clothes that have not seen the light of day." Barefoot songstress Brooke White, country gal Kristy Lee Cook and dreadhead Jason Castro all shipped things back home, but runner-up David Archuleta says he likes keeping his suitcases close. "I feel secure having stuff with me," he laughs. "You never know when you're going to need that random thing you packed."

In terms of travel must-haves, Archie is hooked on his iPhone—which doubles as his recorder and camera—while Castro can't do without his stash of books ("Although I can't possibly read them all," he concedes.) The girls profess love for cleansing facial wipes (M.A.C. and Comodynes are favorites), "amazing" Embryolisse skin care and, for White, "Omega-3 fish oil chews and natural melatonin", but Aussie Michael Johns keeps it simple with "moisturizer and lots of underpants" (yeah, didn't ask a follow-up there). Simple works for winner David Cook, too: "I'm a pretty bare bones individual," he confesses. "As long as I've got socks, underwear and t-shirts, I'm usually set. And maybe a guitar."

Since Cook's gone on record saying he's "always thought there was something romantic about waking up in a different city every day" (cool guy, but that's a whole other column), I was interested to hear if life on the road has been all that he expected. But it turns out that as the champ, he's had to fly back to LA on pretty much every free day, trading in on-the-road shenanigans for recording sessions and photo shoots. "That's one thing bumming me out," he admits. "I thought we'd be doing a lot more truck stops and stuff." Of course, there have also been some winner's perks: he got the Presidential Suite at their first hotel, the Royal Palms Resort & Spa in Phoenix, and he and Johns enjoyed a private tour of the Nike campus in Portland, OR, plus tons of swag from the employees' store. Fans have also been giving the singers gifts galore—t-shirts, DVDs, and baked goods are popular—and they've been picking up souvenirs along the way; Johns is proud of the $10 sunglasses he snagged at a Canadian border stop, and Cook's started collecting sports memorabilia—"jerseys and game-use hockey sticks"—from the arenas they've been playing.

Clearly, there are no Motley Crue-like high jinks happening on this Pop-Tarts-sponsored tour (though Johns claims his hotel room must-have is "a mini-bar", most of the gang say they're happy with "free water and internet"), but being on the road has given the Idols the travel bug. Castro would "like to see Asia", while Archuleta thinks Italy and Croatia would be "cool" and Syesha Mercado has Egypt on her list. Kristy Lee is up for "Hawaii, Alaska or a cruise to some islands", and Johns is itching to get to "Sao Paolo and Rio in Brazil, and Venezuela." And what about our hardworking winner? "I just hope (my management company) sends me to their London office sometime," laughs Cook, who until hitting Toronto on this tour had only been out of the country once before, to Mexico on a family vacation. "It would be cool to see Abbey Road. Yeah, I've got a lot to experience." Don't we all...

- Sandra Ramani

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"A MOST UNUSUAL WELCOME" - Sarah B., New York, NY

Several years ago I decided to go on an adventure vacation. My husband loves to scuba dive and wanted me to learn so he booked a trip to Guanaha. It is a very small island off the coast of Honduras. I'm up for anything so off we went. We flew from NY to Miami and switched planes and headed off to Tegucigalpa in Honduras. Once we got there, we boarded a small puddle jumper and took off for the island. As we approached for a landing, the pilot suddenly and severely turned the plane and we dove towards a small runway overgrown with weeds tucked in between two very large imposing mountains. We landed with a thud as we raced towards the end of the runway (which just happened to be a cliff that dropped about 100 feet down to the sea). The plane jerked to a stop with feet to spare and we scampered out to safety. Suddenly 3 young boys about 13 years old raced to the plane with wheel barrows to gather up our luggage. Our luggage was wheeled down the hill and piled on a small (very small and leaky) wooden boat for our trip across to the island. Fear was really starting to take over and my husband wasn't offering me much reassurance.

The boat trip was an adventure in itself but off in the distance was our little island retreat just waiting for us. The hotel was perched on a very steep mountain side. The rooms were built on stilts and the walkways looked as if they were suspended in the air. What had I gotten myself into? We left our able sea captain and started to climb the 156 steps to the check-in hut. Physically and mentally exhausted, we were greeted by the innkeeper and she informed us that the Island had no roads or electricity. I fell into the seat ready to cry. All I wanted to do was to go home and fall asleep. Suddenly, out of nowhere, as if from a dream, appeared a group of peacocks standing on the wooden walkway before us. We stood there in disbelief as they spread open their feathers, turned and started walking down towards the huts. As if in a trance we followed blindly. They walked up to the doorway of a hut, stopped, turned and looked at us and jumped off the walkway into the jungle. We looked at each other then looked up at the number painted on the wall of the hut...it was our hut. That was the start of our glorious week in the wilderness. No phones, no lights, no motor cars not a single luxury.

Rope A Dope - Cindy G., Chicago, IL

It is hard to imagine being anywhere else in the world when you are resting on a white sandy shore staring out into crystal clear ocean water. This was the outlook upon my arrival to Aruba; however, things aren't always what they appear to be.

My first day in paradise consisted of beach, boyfriend and bikini. While I was constantly cooled off by the island breeze, lounging around in the ocean was quite refreshing. Luckily for the lazy, there was a rope enclosing an area that swimmers could "hang around in" and could rest assure they wouldn't be carried out to sea. For me, laying and playing around on the rope meant I would stay afloat long enough to enjoy my pina colada.

Hours after a day at the beach, it was time for our first night on the island. This meant showing off my new colorful maxi dress, glowing tan, sun kissed hair and RASHES? Rashes, bright red, bubbled and itching, covered my body from head to toe. I figured I had just been in the sun too long, but then came the chills, the fever, and that pina colada I was so happily sipping two hours prior.

A quick trip to the concierge desk and it was confirmed, "I had touched the rope". The rope was supposedly a poisonous trap of algae and fungus, which would be known to the traveler who read the 4 inch by 4 inch sign that read "DO NOT TOUCH THE ROPE". The rest of the week consisted of a romantic, indoor, pizza and movie filled island vacation.

Back Out During a Blackout - Lea E., San Diego, CA

During a famous New York blackout and only a few hours after discovering that my first love and boyfriend of 2 years had cheated on me on a recent Costa Rican excursion, I was off to the airport with my brother to meet my parents for a week long stay in a Tuscan villa.

Sobbing, I arrived at the airport with my unsympathetic brother to find a line that extended from the ticket counter to the revolving doors, snaking around more times than I wanted to count. We quickly found out that the airport was running on emergency power which meant 3 computers and no air conditioning in August! On top of this, the airline decided that instead of honoring reservations, they were going to operate on a first-come-first-serve basis giving preference to those who did not live in New York.

Thinking he was being slick my brother changed our reservation, by phone, to Air India which had flights to Heathrow where we could then connect to Rome. We hightailed it to another terminal to find yet another endless line. After 8 hours of inching forward we finally arrived at the counter only to be told that the transfer of tickets was not valid without a signed voucher, which of course we did not have, and that the flight was taking off in a half hour. Panicked, we took a cab back to the first terminal to find it completely empty. My brother could barely explain what had happened through his gasps for air so we were escorted to a flight with the airline we had originally booked with.

After an 8 hour wait, a 5 hour flight to Heathrow, and a 3 hour connecting flight to Rome, we finally arrived! And just when we thought things could not have been worse, my bags did not show up on the luggage belt. Nothing can be worse than spending 4 days wearing your mother?s clothing in one of the fashion capitals of the world. The only redeeming facet of this trip- Italian food!