Bad Travel Move: Bringing “Tear Gas” to the UK

Posted on July 31, 2012 by sglaser

It’s official — they seized “tear gas” from me.

Even pre-911, this was a really bad idea. I brought pepper spray to Europe in the spring of 1995. It was an extra rookie move since I didn’t even think much about it at the time. In an age when a bottle of more than three ounces of shampoo or a tube of toothpaste will be confiscated before you even get to your departure gate, it is pretty ludicrous when telling this story today.

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The Friday Travel Ahh…

Posted on July 27, 2012 by sglaser

As anyone who travels knows, there are missteps, mishaps and misadventures, but then there are those perfect moments when we say: “yeah, this is why I travel.” I’m choosing Fridays to be the Travel Ahh… day.

In honor of the Olympics kicking off in London today, here is a photo of my friend Debbie at Trafalgar Square. London was the first stop of our 1987 summer trip to Europe (without parents!)

Iconic as a central meeting place in London, Trafalgar Square also seems an appropriate symbol for a day when so many countries and cultures will come together. Speaking of coming together, strangely, only two pigeons appear in the photo when actually there were heaps of them all over the square that day.

In Paris: “I’ll Have Cheese of the Head, S’il Vous Plaît”

Posted on July 24, 2012 by sglaser

How could France produce the beautiful Eiffel Tower and serve something so atrocious like head cheese?
© Debbie Bacharach

“Well, I know fromage means cheese,” my mom stated as she, my dad, sister and I tried to read a menu at a restaurant in Paris. The menu, understandably, was completely in French. None of us could speak the language, but my mom could recognize some words.

“I’m not sure why it’s listed in the earlier part of the menu. Usually, in France, cheese is served as dessert,” she wondered. Oh, well — whether at the front or the back of the menu, cheese was a great start. How could you go wrong with cheese?

“I’m also not sure what the phrase after fromage means,” my mom added. Our waiter came by and waited patiently as we stumbled through our order. Ultimately, we felt reassured that, at least, cheese would arrive.

By the way, the phrase on the menu after “fromage” was “de tete.” We would find out later the translation was “of head.” We were ordering head cheese. Basically, flesh and other bits from the head of a farm animal set in a jellied mold.

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In Spain: Asking for Directions in Dutchlish

Posted on July 12, 2012 by sglaser

Sevilla and its winding streets.
© Stephanie Glaser

Asking for directions in a large city in a foreign country is stressful. Usually, you are lost in the first place, and if the country’s citizens, understandably, don’t speak English, much effort is involved in the inquiry. Additionally, the streets of many older cities in the world were not developed with the grid system in mind.

This is the case, certainly, in Sevilla, Spain. The streets wind around and often, it seems, their names change randomly.

My mom, Judy, and I visited Sevilla during Semana Santa, Holy Week — the biggest religious celebration of the year. It was challenging to navigate since the city was so crowded. Also, impressive religious processions with large wooden floats, containing religious relics, would flood many of the streets. Consequently, you’d have to go down another street, which may have another procession coming through.

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The Friday Travel Ahhh…

Posted on July 6, 2012 by sglaser

I love this photo because this Dutch man is so in the moment. I ran over to take his picture when I saw him dancing on a wall in Amsterdam on Koninginnedag or Queen’s Day. The Netherlands celebrates this holiday every April and it is not about having tea and crumpets while Queen Beatrix waves from a balcony. It’s a day when the normally somewhat reserved Dutch really revel. The day has a huge sense of community — everyone is accepted as Dutch on Koninginnedag. To me, this photo captured exactly the feeling of the day.

A Rotterdam hotel: “We only charge by the hour.” – “Oh.” Awkward.

Posted on July 4, 2012 by sglaser

Rotterdam — Amsterdam’s grittier cousin.
© Stephanie Glaser

Visiting the Red Light District in Amsterdam is like going to an amusement park: lots of twinkly lights, displays and crazy characters in abundance. Additionally, a Dutch friend once told me that you’ll find a bigger police presence there than in the rest of the city. Consequently, it’s surealistically safe. Indeed, Amsterdam is well-known for the Red Light District and the more tolerant attitude toward drugs and “sin.”

Rotterdam’s vices, on the other hand, are a little less Vegas. It has always seemed a bit more gritty to me. For example, I actually experienced my first sighting of someone smoking crack in a phone booth – in broad daylight on a quiet city street. Of course, Rotterdam is one of the largest port cities in the world – so there’s bound to be a seedy element somewhere in the city.

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Forbidden photos in East Germany — Verboten!

Posted on June 27, 2012 by sglaser

Border patrol tower between East and West Germany. My forbidden subject.
Photo: © Stephanie Glaser

Let’s face it — it’s easy for an American to flub up when visiting a communist country. So many rights we take for granted are just plain illegal — like taking photos of border patrol lookout towers. Actually, this is probably frowned upon in the US, too.

Definitely, however, in East Germany in the late 1980s, taking photos of a guard tower was a bad idea. This may seem like a definite “duh!” to seasoned travelers, but for a college student who, at times, exercised bad judgement anyway, it was a cool image for a photo album.

I was the college student and the incident happened while on a train trip. I was with fellow students who were studying abroad in the Netherlands. We were on a field trip, basically, with our Dutch history professor.

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Can you get me to the Iría?

Posted on June 24, 2012 by sglaser

Having just spent a week driving a motorscooter around Italy’s beautiful but treacherous Imalfi coast, justifiably, my friend Indira had picked up either bravado or a deathwish. Consequently, she was fearless driving a motorscooter on the empty roads crossing the barren landscape of the Greek island of Naxos.

Afraid of wrecking on my moped and scraping off all my skin, I proceeded slowly. And despite wearing the most massive helmet that the island of Naxos had to offer, one that looked like it would withstand even intergalactic travel to the Death Star, I still puttered well behind Indira and Katherine, a friend we had met on the ferry from Athens.

It didn’t take long before I became separated from Indira and Kari. Basically, I was lost. On the interior of this island, the immediate surroundings all looked the same: lots of scrub brush and an occasional windmill, goat or donkey. I stopped and tried to get my bearings. I sure seemed to be in the middle of Naxos’s nowhere.

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This Buda’s for You — in Greek

Posted on June 24, 2012 by sglaser

The tour minivan emerged into what had to be an important historical area of Budapest. The view from the window closest to me was of an especially stately palace adorned with statues, gates, towers, spires — typical castle stuff. The guide began to speak, and I eagerly waited to find out what iconic Hungarian landmark I was looking at.

“There are 16 McDonalds throughout the Buda and Pest metropolitan areas,” said Gabriella, a college student from Greece, who was translating the guide’s commentary, since I was on a tour of Budapest conducted entirely in Greek.

“Huh? Are we stopping for lunch?” was my first reaction to Gabriella’s comment. However, the seriousness of her tone convinced me that this was actually an authentic cultural tidbit she was relaying. Meanwhile, the tour guide, along with the rest of the passengers consisting of Iga, a woman traveling with her seven-year-old daughter, Katerina, as well as her parents and sister, turned to assess my response. None of them spoke English. Continue reading →

No skirts, no service — at least in a Greek church

Posted on June 22, 2012 by sglaser

In many countries around the world, displaying bare legs or wearing shorts when you’re a woman in a sacred place is a definite foreign faux pas. However, it is easy to forget this while traveling during a scorching hot summer in Greece.

On one particularly blistering day, on the island of Paros, my friend Indira and I arrived straight from the beach — in shorts — to visit a beautiful Orthodox church.

Fortunately, a practical employee had provided a basket full of Orthodox sanctioned itchy, unflattering burlap looking sacks that passed for skirts.

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