Go ice skating at your hotel in Miami

by Melanie Renzulli on


What’s better than ice skating during the holidays? How about ice skating with the knowledge that the sunny beaches of Miami are waiting for you when you’re finished?

Travelers escaping the cold for the balmy climes of South Florida can enjoy a little taste of winter with the Intercontinental Miami’s Holiday Ice Rink. Through January 15, 2012, the full-size rink will be open at Intercontinental’s Bayview Patio, which has views of Biscayne Bay.

While you don’t have to stay at the Intercontinental to enjoy the rink – the ice is open from 10am-10pm daily; admission is $20/hour adults and $10/hour kids, inclusive of ice skate rental and discounted parking – you can pretend that you’re in St. Moritz by taking advantage of some of the hotel’s cool après-skate activities, like spa massages or a dip in the heated outdoor pool. Building on the ritzy Swiss resort theme, the grand lobby of the Intercontinental will feature through January 1, 2012, the photography exhibition “Andy Warhol: ‘The Model Boy’,” the inaugural installation of the Intercontinental Miami Arts Program displayed in conjunction with Art Basel Miami Beach.

For families considering a stay in Miami over the holidays, the Intercontinental is offering the Holiday Ice Rink Package, which includes ice rink passes for a family of four and tickets to the Miami Children’s Museum, starting from $269 per night.

By the way, if you’re planning on New Year’s Eve in Miami, none other than Ludacris performs right in front of the Intercontinental as part of Downtown Miami’s New Year’s Eve Celebrations. Hotel rink by day, rap concert by night? Sounds to me like a well-balanced way to ring in 2012.

Photo Flickr/daveynin

SkyMall Monday: Nuddle Blanket

by Mike Barish on

We can tolerate a lot here at Skymall Monday. We have a soft spot for Wine Glass Holder Necklaces, adult bibs for sloppily eating in the car and, of course, the Edge Brownie Pan. Sometimes, though, products just rub us the wrong way. Sure, we can usually feign enjoyment for the sake of a joke, but not this week. Frankly, we’re at our wits’ end. Enough with novelty blankets already! The Snuggie stopped being funny years ago. The Slanket was equally terrible. Forever Lazy is an insult to the human race. Why are people so desperate for bizarre, unflattering, poorly named mutant blankets? This crap needs to stop right here, right now. No one should be wearing these things to a ball game (or anywhere outside of their homes, for that matter). No one should be wearing these things period. If you own one, throw it out. If you don’t, stop thinking about it. And if you’re looking at SkyMall, don’t even consider buying the Nuddle Blanket.The world needs another wearable blanket like David Hasselhoff needs more body hair. Do I care that the Nuddle Blanket has a special foot pocket for keeping your tootsies warm? No! Because we have socks for that. And slippers. And adjustable thermostats that can make our homes warmer. Feet don’t belong in pockets. They’re not hands!

Did you know that the Nuddle Blanket doesn’t have sleeves because sleeves would just get in your way? You know what else doesn’t have any annoying sleeves? A regular blanket! The Nuddle Blanket also has a pocket for keeping your remote control handy. You can’t just place your remote next to you on the couch. That’s would be ridiculous.

Don’t feel as angry about this as I do? Watch this sycophant drone on about the Nuddle Blanket like it just cured cancer:

The name tells it all? Really? Nuddle means to “walk quickly with the head bent forward.” That’s a thing? That requires a word? Oh, wait, apparently Nuddle is a combination of nap and cuddle. Well, now I’m nangry (nauseous and angry). I have never felt so enveloped in stupidity.

The product description isn’t doing it any favors either:

Cuddle up with the Nuddle Blanket. It has an exclusive foot pocket to keep your feet warm all year round.

Openings for your arms let you sip, read, write or text without bothersome sleeves getting in the way.

Perhaps the foot pocket is exclusive because everyone else realized that it’s a moronic idea. Also, sleeves are bothersome? Not when they’re on shirts. Sleeves are only in your way when they’re attached to blankets. And blanket with arm holes is just a torn blanket.

Enough with the novelty blankets. Sleeves, no sleeves, arm holes, pockets, whatever, we don’t care. Just stop. What happened to us? We use to build fires to keep warm. We were survivors. We were a proud people.

Say no to the Nuddle. Reject the Snuggie. Continue to be oblivious to the Slanket. Don’t be Forever Lazy. Resist the urge to be a fleece Spider-Man. Put on a pair of socks if your feet are so cold. But not those toe socks. Man, those things piss me off.


Check out all of the previous SkyMall Monday posts HERE.

Popular blind French eatery in Europe debuts in New York this month

by Jessica Festa on

The popular French eatery where patrons are served by blind waiters in complete darkness has been a complete success in Europe. On December 9, 2011, the restaurant will try its luck in the United States, making a debut in New York.

Right now, Dans Le Noir has locations in Paris, London, Moscow, Barcelona, and St. Petersburg. While a bit bizarre, the concept is actually educational as well, as people get to have a unique dining experience while learning what it’s like to be visually impaired. Dining at Dans Le Noir is also, in essence, a live show, as guests are entertained by the staff and space.

So, how does it work? After being welcomed in the bar area and signing a waiver, guests choose a surprise dinner menu based on their dietary restrictions. For example, if you’re a vegetarian who doesn’t eat meat or fish you would choose the “Green” menu. This also means that you will not be choosing your wines but will be guided by the restaurant’s French wine expert, Christophe Garnier. Before being led into the pitch black dining area, lockers are available to put your possessions (you are not permitted to bring in anything that gives off light), and guests are advised to use the restrooms for safety reasons. From there, a guide will lead you into complete darkness, where you will spend the rest of the night eating, drinking, and talking without being able to see a thing.

Sound like fun? Click here for more information. Also, if you’d like to make a booking for the restaurant’s grand opening in New York, click here.

Blogger Jessica Marati

by Jessica Marati on

Introducing another new blogger at Gadling, Jessica Marati…

Where was your photo taken: This photo was taken on my family’s beach in the southern part of Guam, the tiny Pacific island territory where I grew up. It’s probably one of my favorite places on the face of the earth.

Where do you live now: I’m based in New York, but I’ve spent the last several months living in Phnom Penh, where I’ve been researching and writing about ethical fashion, sustainability, and travel.

Scariest airline flown: Laos Airlines, on a particularly memorable flight from Hanoi to Luang Prabang. I had been warned that their track record was less than perfect, so I was hyper-sensitive to every unfamiliar whirr and pressure dip. The landing was bumpy, but thankfully I’m still here.

Favorite city/country/place: Are four-way ties allowed? New York, Paris, Bali, and the aforementioned beach.

Most remote corner of the globe visited: Probably Carp Island, a private island in the Palau archipelago in Micronesia. One night, we were sitting on the dock when the sea started lighting up in brilliant blues and greens — my first encounter with bioluminescent plankton. All seven people staying on the island came out to watch. Combined with a star-filled sky, it was pure magic. Tierra del Fuego was pretty quiet too.

Favorite guidebook series: These days, I’m really digging my iPod Touch and the variety of travel tools available in the iTunes App store. Triposo offers free interactive city guides, World Nomads has great phrasebooks, and nothing beats TripAdvisor for the latest hotel and restaurant reviews. I also like to save travel articles, like the New York Times 36 Hours series, to my Instapaper for later reading. It’s allowed me to ditch the massive Lonely Planet budget guides I used to haul around.

Solo or group traveler? A little bit of both. I love taking trips to visit friends living abroad, because I get to experience the place with more context and better restaurant recommendations.

Favorite means of transportation: Hopping on the backs of motorbikes here in Cambodia used to terrify me, but now I’ve become quite used to it. Nothing beats weaving through oncoming traffic with the wind blowing through your hair.

Favorite foreign dish? Restaurant? My Roman grandmother makes the absolute best parmigiana di melanzane (eggplant parmesan). Beats any restaurant in Italy, or anywhere else for that matter.

Dream travel destination: Havana, Cuba. I think this might be the year!

Culinary Cab Confessions: where to eat raw meat in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia

by David Farley on
The cab driver didn’t blink when I told him what I wanted. It might have been one of the most unusual requests he’d ever had. But he didn’t even look back at me or take a glance in the rearview mirror. He pointed his diminutive blue taxi up the wide boulevard and asked where I was from. As we turned on to Chechnya Street, named because of the apparent anything-goes debauchery that takes place here when the sun goes down, he turned into a de facto tour guide, pointing out the places where one might encounter a prostitute.

But I wasn’t seeking thrills of a sexual nature. I wanted to eat. And to eat at a place I may never find on my own. Welcome to Culinary Cab Confessions, a short series about letting cab drivers decide where I’ll be eating. There’s a long-standing belief that taxi drivers hold the secret to a city’s best eateries; not the upscale variety, but the affordable, no frills type; the places where we may never think of going and in neighborhoods where we might rarely venture. Wherever I’m traveling in the world or if I’m home in New York City, I’ll be hopping in cabs and telling the driver to take me to wherever he–or she–likes to eat. And then I’ll be writing about it. If the driver is hungry and inclined, I’m always happy to have a culinary guide to the restaurant. Lunch is on me.

Today I’m in Addis Ababa, the chaotic capital of Ethiopia. I walked out of my hotel, the Hilton, and jumped in the first taxi I saw. I got lucky. Fekadu Kebede, 27 years old, said he had a special treat in store for me. He looked excited. I’d been here already for almost two weeks and was slowly tiring of the usual local fare. I hoped he had something different up his sleeve. After cruising down relatively tame Chechnya Street (it was still daytime), we made a few twists and turns before navigating onto a bumpy dirt road. “Okay,” he said. “We’re here.” I put my hand on the door knob and then paused. “Come on,” he said, beckoning me to get out with a wave. There are no street lights on this road–somewhat typical of Addis–and so at night we would have been wandering into the blackness. Wherever it was Fekadu was taking me. There was no sign to indicate what it was, just two open gates and a hallway flanked by ceiling-to-floor bamboo. “Welcome to Yohannes,” he said. “This is the best kitfo in Addis.”

I needed no introduction to kitfo. I had read about it in my guidebook and hoped to try it while I was here. Kitfo is an Ethiopian specialty: raw hamburger meat. I know what some of you are thinking: eating uncooked meat in a developing east African country would be about as questionable a decision as Justin Bieber deciding to make a sudden, unexpected appearance wearing ass-less chaps at a NAMBLA convention. The guidebook and everything else aimed at non-Ethiopians strongly recommended to get the cooked version of kifto. But I wanted whatever Fekadu was having. He ordered for us and within minutes small cast iron bowls were set in front of us, each one layered with an ensete leaf. The server plopped a huge mound of minced, raw beef in each bowl, garnished with dollops of soft, spiced cheese. I was nervous. Was this going to be a turning point for this trip? An Ethiopian version of the Delhi Belly, the Addis Ababa Bowel Effusion? Fekadu went first and I followed. It was delicious. Imagine steak tartar but imbued with mitmita, a spicy chili powder and then doused with niter kibbeh, a spice-and-herb-infused butter.


I ate mine so fast that Fekadu scooped some of his kifto into my bowl. As we ate, sometimes with the spoon, other times scooping it up with injera, the ubiquitous spongy bread Ethiopians use as edible silverware, my new friend told me about how he dreams of taking his wife and their seven-year-old son to live in San Diego where his older sister has been living for the last 20 years.

“We will not find kifto there,” he said. “But I think that’s an okay trade off, no?”

And with that I raised my beer, Fekadu his soda, and our bottles clinked, echoing for a long second to the high ceilings of a restaurant I would have never found on my own. In the end, I took his picture next to his car–yes, that’s really Fekadu above–and he drove me back to my hotel.

So, where, you’re most certainly wondering, is Yohannes? I couldn’t tell you. After all, that’s what cab drivers are for.