The 13 most unlucky cities in America

by Chris Owen on

Superstition holds that when the thirteenth day of the month falls on a Friday, it’s bad luck. It happens at least once a year, at the most three times. Hotels, hospitals and cruise ships commonly don’t have a 13th floor because of it. Some people don’t travel on Friday the 13th and many who do are extra careful.

Men’s Health magazine rated cities in the United States for luck by adding up a number of factors including the most lottery and sweepstakes winners, deadly lightning strikes, most hole-in-ones and others.

This gallery, based on the Men’s Health’s study gives us the 13 most unlucky cities in America.

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A couple other Friday the 13th facts

  • Any month’s thirteenth day will fall on a Friday if the month begins on a Sunday.
  • Those with a irrational fear of the day are said to have friggatriskaidekaphobia.
  • The dollar bill features 13 steps on the pyramid, 13 stars above the eagle’s head and in its right talon holds an olive branch with 13 leaves and 13 olives.

Flickr photo by MissTurner


A Traveler in the Foreign Service: Ciao macho man (or how to help Albanian breakdancers win a grammy)

by Dave Seminara on

I was standing on a stage in an auditorium in front of about 500 people frozen in terror at Nota Fest, which is like the Grammy awards for Macedonia’s ethnic-Albanian community. The organizers of the event had invited our Ambassador, Larry Butler, to present a lifetime achievement award and when he, and several other more important people at the embassy declined, the duty was punted down to me, a lowly first tour diplomat.

Attending b and c list events in host countries is a big part of life in the Foreign Service and the more junior you are, the more likely you’ll end up at Tajikistan’s national day (think warm, generic cola and greasy mutton) instead of Italy’s. (think prosciutto and fine wine). It was a command performance but I was assured that I wasn’t going to have to say anything in Albanian.

“All you have to do is get up on stage, smile, and hand someone an award,” said Lindita, a charming local employee from the embassy who probably could convince the Taliban’s Mullah Omar to muster “you go girl” enthusiasm for the Ellen DeGeneris Show.

I had only been in the country for a few weeks and was still feeling insecure about speaking Albanian one-on-one, let alone in front of an audience of hundreds of people, so not speaking was a key point in the negotiations.

After sitting through three hours of live performances, many of them shockingly bad, with nary an alcoholic beverage in sight, I was finally called up on the stage, ostensibly to present the lifetime achievement award. Immediately the jazzily dressed hostess handed me a microphone, sending a wave of panic straight up my spine. Please do not ask me a question, I thought.

Suddenly a torrent of Albanian words filled the air and my mind raced to understand what was being said. I froze as the sold-out crowd waited to hear my response. But what the hell was the question? I didn’t understand it, so I made some general remark about what a great evening it was, in Albanian. She repeated the question and on the second go-around I realized that she was asking me for an opinion on what had been the best performance of the night. Good grief.

The only two redeeming acts of the night were folk groups that I couldn’t conjure the names of for the life of me. In that instant of panic, the only song I could recall the name of was a ridiculous little ditty called Ciao Macho Man. The number featured a slutty-looking, bleach blond, Spice girl wannabe, nicknamed “Tuna,” bopping around the stage encircled by about 7 or 8 break dancing (yes break dancing) teenage boys wearing wife beaters and auto mechanic costumes. It was more or less akin to Billy Joel’s Uptown Girl video, only there was break dancing rather than singing into wrenches.The hostess and five hundred impatient Albanians demanded to know my opinion on the best song of the night, so I said, in Albanian, “Maybe it was Ciao Macho Man,” to a hearty round of applause. This seemed to satisfy the hostess and, thankfully, I was allowed to leave the stage.

I made a beeline for Lindita, who was accompanied by Rita, another one of our colleagues.

“I am so embarrassed,” she said, before I could speak.

“What the hell happened?” I asked.

“The person who was supposed to get the award didn’t show up, so she was ad libbing,” Lindita explained.

“Well, please don’t tell me that Ciao Macho Man is going to get the award on my account,” I said.

Moments later, the hostess reappeared on stage and announced that Ciao Macho Man had indeed won the award for best performance. The three of us fled into a taxi as snowflakes began to fall all over the macho men and women of Skopje. Rita got a phone call and then gave me some comforting news.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I just found out that Ciao Macho Man won because one of the Albanian political parties here fixed the contest, not because you said they should win.”

I felt momentarily relieved that Macedonia’s pervasive corruption, rather than my linguistic ineptitude had won the day for the macho men, but then my phone went off. It was Marija, one of the local employees I supervised at the embassy.

“Hey, macho man, I am so proud of you,” she said.

“Wow, word travels fast, how did you hear about it already?” I asked, totally confused.

“I didn’t hear about it, I just saw you on T.V.” she said.

Apparently I had just expressed a preference for Ciao Macho Man on live national television. I should have been ashamed but the beauty of living in a foreign country is that you can make a complete fool of yourself on television and feel safe in the knowledge that none of your friends and relatives will ever know about it. That is, unless you write about it, ten years later on a blog.

Read more from a Traveler in the Foreign Service here.

Image via flickr user Tibchris.

Freedom to Roam: The Southern Alps by helicopter

by Kyle Ellison on

No, the Southern Alps aren’t in the south of France or Italy as the name may lead you to believe. Rather, they are 12 time zones away in a remote corner of the Pacific Ocean and form the spine of the rugged South Island of New Zealand. Home to National Parks such as Mt. Aspiring, Mt. Cook, Arthur’s Pass, and Fiordland, the similarities to their European counterparts are so similar, however, that when hiking amongst sections of the Southern Alps you could swear you were outside of Chamonix, France.

It’s well known that the original Maori name for New Zealand is “Aotearoa”, a phrase which literally translates to “Long White Cloud”. Seeing as the Polynesian triangle only has a few mountains tall enough to ever receive snow, it’s understandable why a narrow, snow capped mountain range could be construed as being a long white cloud. (The only other mountain in Polynesia outside of New Zealand which regularly sees snow is Mauna Kea on the Big Island of Hawaii, a name which literally translates in Hawaiian to “White Mountain”. See a trend?)

Aside from providing a picturesque backdrop for the majority of the South Island, the Southern Alps are also home to the majority of the outdoor activities in the country, which is really saying something in an outdoor haven such as New Zealand.

When it comes to the Southern Alps, even though you can hike your way through them, ski your way down them, jetboat their rivers, and fish in their lakes, the undisputed best way you’re going to actually SEE them is by getting up on top of them. Unless you plan on climbing 12,316 ft. Mt. Cook (Maori: Aoraki, “Cloud Piercer”) and are a whiz with crampons and an ice axe, your best bet is to get beneath a set of rotating blades and take a helicopter to plop you down on top of them.

That’s what I did over Mt. Aspiring, and in all seriousness, it was one of the best things I’ve ever done.

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Departing from the Wanaka Airport which lies in the foothills of Mt. Aspiring National Park, the trouble with being in a helicopter is you never know which way to look. When you have a a 270 degree view from inside a hovering glass bubble, you aren’t sure if you should focus your attention–and camera lens–on the lakes below you or the glaciers in front of you.

Either way, with the Southern Lakes region shimmering beneath our whirling metal blades, it wasn’t long before our pilot Nick had dropped us down on top of 7,700 ft. Mt. Alta, a rocky pinnacle being whipped by an alpine breeze and the type of place where you could scream and no one would hear you. Not in the scary way, but in the chest-thumping sense of freedom way.

Though standing atop Mt. Alta was invigorating in its remoteness, it was nothing when compared to the glacial flyby we were about to be treated to.

Eventually reaching the snowline, our machine hovered so closely to the melting ice fields you could practically hear the ice changing into water. Racing along ridge lines, all of that melting water suddenly made itself known in a thundering set of falls exploding off of the face of 8,600 ft. Mt Avalanche, an alpine promontory glowing in white and studded in hanging glaciers.

If ever there was a time in my life I felt like an aerial cameraman for a Lord of the Rings shoot, it was at this moment right now.

Just as Nick played a game of chicken with the approaching set of falls, he pulled up on the stick and raised the chopper just high enough above the falls to give myself and the two other passengers in the aircraft a sweeping view of a hidden turquoise lake that is among the most pristine bodies of water I have seen anywhere on the planet. And this is from a guy who grew up in Hawaii.

You can judge a good helicopter ride by the juxtaposition of adrenaline and exhaustion when you finally step back onto the tarmac, and after the 1 hour whirlwind through the glaciers of the Southern Alps there was little left to do but order up a late-morning coffee, lay down in the back of campervan, and question if what I just saw was actually a real place on this Earth.

Can’t relax for too long though, as there are many more adventures to be had in one of the world’s best countries for touring…

For the next 2 months Gadling blogger Kyle Ellison will be embedded in a campervan touring the country of New Zealand. Follow the rest of the adventure by reading his series, Freedom to Roam: Touring New Zealand by Campervan.

A collection of the world’s best street artists

by Grant Martin on

One of the best things about discovering a new destination is in the life of the street. Our features editor Don George is famously good at reflecting on the cafe culture across the planet, and the simple act of walking through the city can impart loads of culture onto a traveler.

Street performers, or buskers, could perhaps be the diplomats of city culture, bring new forms of local art to the always-curious visitor. Whether this is the accordion player on the Paris subway or the acrobats on Barcelona’s Las Ramblas, the visual art that we experience tends to stick to a destination, and there’s a great deal of emotion tied to many of the performances. In appreciation of the art, the team at Gadling Labs thus rounded up a few of our favorite street performers to display for the world.

Got a favorite of your own? Post it in the comments.

Soccer player Iya Traore performs amazing soccer stunts overlooking the sprawling beauty of Paris. Check out more at IyaTraore.com

We don’t know much about this other performer from the city of lights, but his amazing ability to keep his head immobile as his body moves erratically warrants a mention on Gadling

This skeleton marionette in Barcelona dances better than most people we know.

Cigo Man Band is a one man band that performs on the streets of Italy with an eclectic outfit and a surprisingly catchy tune. You can learn more about this spectacle at Gianmaria Zanotti’s Facebook page.

Chilean artist Fabian Gaete Maureira’s paints the detailed landscape portraits of trees, mountains and waterfalls with just the tips of his fingers in less than three minutes in this amazing YouTube video first found on reddit. Read more at Huffington Post Arts.


Sure, it might not be “en masse,” but this Mexico City man knows how to make his one-man routine work like a full-on boy band. Read more at Gadling.

Gadling Gear Review: Insulated fleece jacket from LL Bean

by Pam Mandel on

Let’s set aside the jokes around polar fleece as the uniform for us Pacific North-Westerners. First of all, I can take it and secondly, dude, polar fleece works. And really, it’s getting better, the fabrics are getting softer and hold up longer and wash better. Even while I’m developing a preference for natural fibers, I’m finding myself pawing the new polar fleece performance clothing and thinking, “Hey, not bad, actually.”

LL Bean has a new line of jackets out that are lightweight and weather resistant and really warm. Bonus, they’re cut with quite a nice mind for style and have some details that make them worth packing.

Heads up — they’re not water proof, they’re water resistant, that’s a different animal. You’ll be fine running for the car or the bus, or in transitional weather, but you’ll want to add a rain jacket if it’s really coming down.

LL Bean’s insulated fleece jacket has all the basics that I look for in this kind of gear. There are zippered side pockets and a zippered upper pocket for your phone or wallet. And yes, there’s a pull through for your headphones. The waist has an elastic pull so you can cinch it in place to keep the wind out. There’s soft stuff where you want it — the neck is lined with a fluffier material and the collar with a slightly smoother fabric that won’t scratch your face when you’re all zipped in against the cold.

Some additional nice details… the sleeves have a narrower cuff, great for keeping the wind out. Also on the sleeves, a heavier, wind-stop fabric. The jacket feels well constructed with double stitching and flat seams. The fit seems true to size, I got a medium, and it fits as I’d expect. It looks nice, too; I’ve had compliments when I’m wearing it. And it comes in a couple of different colors, a cranberry and a teal for women, and a gray, a dark blue and a burgundy for guys.

I’d have liked the black/gray to come in women’s sizes too, I have a personal preference for neutral colors for the travel wardrobe. I’d also have liked to have a two way zip in the front, again a personal preference that helps with fit.

LL Bean rates this jacket as good down to 35 degrees/ -15F. I’ve been wearing it out in 40 degree temps and really liking it — I’m warm without being weighed down. I stayed dry in damp, not quite pouring conditions, and I haven’t felt constricted, it’s great for running around in. A little bit of insulation combined with the Polartec wind-stop fleece seems to be doing its job.

Right now,the jacket is $124.00 directly from LL Bean, down from the original $149.00. Want one? Get it directly from LL Bean.